Pogue and Goatberg are back in full hypnosis mode. Both finds loads of bugs and suffer countless problems, like drivers and apps that don’t work — basically, the kind of stuff that you should expect with beta software. Except, um, this is going out on all Macs, starting tomorrow. Goatberg needed an Apple employee to help get his “seamless” integrated Exchange connection working, and concedes, “you likely won’t have that aid.” Both hacks concede there are not a lot of compelling new features.

Conclusion: A smash hit!

Pogue: “You’ll keep experiencing those `oh, that’s nice’ moments for weeks to come.” [Pogue.]

Goatberg: “Snow Leopard will help keep the Mac an appealing choice for computer buyers.” [Goatberg.]

To be fair, Goatberg is a bit grumpy and doesn’t totally rave.

Pogue, on the other hand, had to change his underwear after writing his piece. Just to be clear: This is absolutely not because David Pogue makes most of his money by writing “missing manuals” and other Mac-related user guides.

Like this one, and this one, both of them for … wait for it … Snow Leopard!

No, David is not pushing Snow Leopard because he has two books coming out that can only be purchased by people who are running Snow Leopard. No. He’s pushing Snow Leopard because he’s an honest, scrupulous, first-rate journalist, with the highest degree of integrity and the courage to overlook a few bugs and flaws and speak the truth.

Namaste, David Pogue. I honor the place where your financial interests and my own do not become one.

PS, is anyone at the New York Times reading this? Are you guys totally asleep at the switch? Do you realize how we laugh at you over here? And hey, Brad Stone? You big ball-busting investigative journalist? You relentless seeker of the truth? Are you there, Brad? Hello? Has it ever occurred to you what’s going on at your own paper? Ah, it just proves again something I’ve always said about you hacks. Sure, you’re all about the “truth” as long as that means busting some company over stock options. When it comes to your own backyard, you’re all deaf, dumb and blind. You know what you are? You’re a pack of sanctimonious whores. And not even the expensive Eliot Spitzer escort whores. You guys are the cheapo crack whores out strolling the Tenderloin, jumping into cars for five bucks. What do you guys make? A hundred grand a year? I guess that was worth it when you could pretend to yourself that you were the Fourth Estate, doing important work to advance the public good. But now? For a hundred grand a year you sell your souls? And then you wonder why your precious journalism business is dying? News flash, kids: It died a long time ago.