It never would have occurred to me to FOIA the city’s 311 database to mine for loud-sex complaints so I could write about them in the paper.

In that regard, I feel as though DNA Info has some disappointing journalism to apologize for. Not sure if it’s writer James Fanelli who should be doing the backpedalling, or one of the multitude of people that call themselves news editors. Probably if one of them wanted Fanelli to do something worthwhile and write about which building had the most no-heat complaints over the same six-week period, he would have. Or maybe I’m giving Fanelli too much credit.

But, then there’s the New York Post, which has built its entire business and reporting model around chasing after every salacious story, as a means to whoring themselves out for every last dime they can get from clicks and newspaper sales. And when they get scooped, there is no ethical line they won’t cross in order to one-up the competition.

So this time, they sent a photographer out to Bay Ridge, and came away with a picture of the woman who was the subject of the complaint, published her address down to the apartment number, and disclosed the fact that she was pregnant.

All for the crime of living next to the city’s biggest prude, who naturally remains safely anonymous.

Yet the New York Post is not a soulless algorithm that’s programmed to digest raw information and produce a mockery of ethics on a daily basis. It’s an organization made up of people—people who told their staff to go out there and humiliate a couple for being a couple, and two writers and a photographer that did it.

Generally, I’d like to give the junior staff a pass—they’re probably guilty, first and foremost, of needing a job and unfortunately getting one with the NY Post. I get that: I’ve known a couple of casual acquaintances that have worked for the NY Post. Both seemed like good people. Neither stayed at the Post for very long. Those two facts are probably related. I’m sure the same principle applies to these three.

But maybe I’m giving too much credit to Gabriella Bass, Khristina Narizhnaya, and Lia Eustachewich.

Still, I’ll bet if Metro Editor Michelle Gotthelf or Editor-In-Chief Col Allan wanted them doing something worthwhile, like photographing the slumlords responsible for the most no-heat complaints during the first six weeks of the year, that’s exactly what they would have been doing.

Both have been at the Post for a while: Gotthelf since 2000, and Allan since 2001. New York’s 311 service launched in 2003—presumably, Gotthelf and Allan have been party to a lot of disappointing sex since that time, which would explain their comfort in sending three young women to Bay Ridge to humiliate a couple they were probably jealous of.

But it’s not Allan and Gotthelf’s ordinary sex life I find worthy of shame. It’s their daily mockery of journalism. It’s the way they made a target out of two regular people that didn’t deserve it. Allan and Gotthelf set out to ruin other people’s lives so they can make money. Of all the scandals they cover, that strikes me as the most outrageous scandal of them all.