Have Yourself an Ambivalent Little Christmas


The Golden Age of Spam

Will the Real Renaissance Please Stand Up?

My Life of Crime

My Life of Crime, Pt. 2: The War of the Dandelions

Black (and Blue) Friday

Going Home

How Not to Celebrate a Holiday

Traffic Report Fall Down
and Go Boom

O, Holy Weekend

You Mean My Vote Actually Means Something?

Side Disorders

Lessons for Hurricane Preparedness as Taught By Example in Raleigh, North Carolina

You Mean My Vote Actually Means Something?, Pt. 2: Are They Gone Yet?

The Last Reality Show

It Builds Character

Sink the Flu

WTF (in C Major)

Intruder Alert

Kneel before Za

I Got Your Breaking News Right Here, Pal

Christmas in July...or April...or maybe even December


Why I Hate "The Little Drummer Boy"

I Got Your Breaking News Right Here, Pal

(As I write this I'm watching the coverage of Hurricane Irene on TV. I'm impressed by the professionalism the reporters are showing. A normal person would not cover these things without showing any signs of fear. Or anger. I think if reporters were more like normal people, it would only be a matter of time before we saw a report like this:)

That was Gary Pritchard reporting from Wrightsville Beach, and now I understand we have some breaking news from Jenny Ramsey in Nags Head. Jenny?

Yeah, I got some breaking news for you. Let me tell you about breakfast this morning. I was talking with someone with Channel 6 in Wilmington, someone from Channel 3 in Wilmington, Channel 26 in Wilmington, 9 in Greenville, 7 in Washington, 12 in New Bern, 5 in Raleigh, 2 in Greensboro, 9 in Charlotte...do I need to go on, or do you get the idea? And I just wanna know: WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Oh, no! Don't switch back to the studio! Don't you switch back to the studio, you asswipe! You switch back to the studio and when I get back there I will reach up your ass, pull your intestines out, and strangle your sorry ass with them, do you hear me? Are you gonna stay with me now? Good. 'Cause I got your breaking news right here, pal.

Why the hell did every station in the state of North Carolina have to send their own reporter down here? You couldn't coordinate something with the other stations and maybe let a few of us stay out of harm's way? There's gotta be 200 damn people in this hotel and they're all from TV stations. You've got another 200 in Wrightsville Beach, another 200 in Pine Knoll Shores, another 200 in Nags Head...are you trying to kill us? Do you want to reduce the staff but you don't have the balls to fire anybody so you're gonna let God do your dirty work for you? Is that it?

And why me? You know I'm your political reporter, right? Why did you send your damn political reporter down here? What line of thinking made you decide that would be a good idea? "Hurricanes are like politicians because neither one of them will answer a reporter's questions, so we'll get the political reporter to cover the hurricane"? Was that it? I know it takes a lot of reporters if you want someone in every god-damned town on the coast, but Hell's bells! Did it ever occur to you that you didn't need to plant a line of reporters from Myrtle Beach to Virginia Beah to cover this? Meanwhile, the damn weatherman is back in the studio! Send his sorry ass down here! What, does he have pictures of the co-anchor and the producer walking out of the Gonorrhea Inn together?

Let me show you viewers at home something. Ken, turn that camera down the beach. You see that, everyone? Every fifty fucking feet for as far as the eye can see there's a reporter and a cameraman. And they're saying the same damn thing. Every damn reporter on the coast is saying the same damn thing. The wind is blowing really hard, the rain is falling really hard, all the roads are flooded, there's no power, and anyone who's got an ounce of sense got the hell out of here days ago. Hell, I could've given that report from my bathroom. I could've been sitting on my toilet in my own house, taking a shit, and given that report without even getting up to look out a stupid window. You didn't need to send me to some sorry-ass dump of a town in the Outer Banks to figure that out. But here I am, me and all my god-damned reporter friends in this god-damned hotel.

Oh, and speaking of people in this hotel, did I tell you who I ran into? Remember George Cook, that son of a bitch you had to fire 'cause he kept he kept groping all the women in the office? Yeah, turns out he works for Channel 4 in Knoxville now. Why people in Tennessee even give a shit about a hurricane I don't know, but here he is. Maybe he just missed my tits, I don't know. I warned all the women here about him, and I think he knows I'll knock his teeth in if he so much as looks at me. Yeah, seeing him here just made my day.

Anyway, there's my report and I hope you choke on it. Am I done here? Yeah, I'm done here. I don't care what you say, I'm done here. I'm gonna get the hell off this beach, go into the hotel bar, and get totally shit-faced. And yeah, I'm expensing every drop of it, suck on that why don't you. Back to the douchebags in the motherfucking studio.

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