My journalistic brethren claim to have no wings, left or right, which I suppose makes them flighty. Why, a planeload of reporters has no more bias than a geometric plane. And if the service on the plane is no good, they speak truth to J.D. Power. They are just newshounds, they maintain, unlike Fox, which lists rightward.
The fact that they vote Democrat, donate Democrat and socialize exclusively with Democrats would no more sway their reportage than consorting with children would make Michael Jackson act juvenile. So why does the corps look like a corpse now that they realize the Dems might not retake control of Congress in November?
Well, I don’t know about them, but I know why I am gnashing my canines; it is because a great career opportunity is going to the dogs. I had been atingle with anticipation for the chance to cover the charge of the light-headed brigade as they declared the War against the Terriers from Fox. There is no doubt the liberal ascendancy would have precipitated a descent into national madness, providing me a rich lode of fabulous material. I was so looking forward to their backwardness.
Here is a compendium of what I had thought we could expect. A delight of dilettantism.
The first casualty would be vending machines. Liberals have been stewing lately at soda. The notion that those cans sit there, glinting on the outside and bubbling on the inside, offering cheap calories to all comers, is an affront to the liberal sensibility. One by one, these relics of the Pepsi Generation have been banished. With a Democrat Congress, the liberal cornucopia—the Horn-in-Plenty—could begin spreading its joy in the form of veggie vending. (No spinach, of course. That stuff is poison.)
Think of the beauty. Each of those little plastic cubicles on the façade of the machine now holds a vegetable. The carrot standing tall, the celery stalk taller yet, the lettuce leaf an open invitation and, cutest of all, the three cherry tomatoes for a dollar. America’s salad days are still ahead. And dressing is no longer required once those stuffy Republicans are unseated. Although it was kind of pretty when they had the thousand points of light on the thousand islands.
The next target is Wal-Mart. Remember, liberal eudaemony is achieved when they give you da money. Getting it from free enterprise is tainted. Particularly from a business owned by The Waltons. Next thing you know we could have a construction giant called Little House on the Prairie Mart. And everyone knows that such economic activities need to be supervised by union leaders who have spent time in the big house.
The new liberal hegemons would not brook such insolence. Every time Wal-Mart advertises a new opening, the authorities must close in. When two thousand people line up for interviews, the paddy wagons should round them up into a reeducation camp. These folks need to be taught the benefits of union membership, such as involuntary donations to the Democratic Party. As for Wal-Mart customers who would lose their bargains under this regime, they will surely appreciate this is a small price to pay for achieving a fair society.
Finally, it will be necessary to embrace the death penalty to save the environment. Smokers and drivers of SUVs are the serial killers of our age. They blithely pursue sensation and comfort, consigning the world to a fiery end. Ignoring the global warning about global warming. They must receive capital punishment. True, our courts are too overworked to accommodate the deluge of new cases. We can solve that by convening military tribunals. The Supreme Court under Chief Justice Noam Chomsky is sure to clarify that the Kyoto Convention trumps the Geneva.
As the world burns, a new soap opera will begin. Who gets into General Hospital? Only the young and the restless? Triage centers will have to be opened to discriminate. Once the professors and gays and Muslims and other protected categories are eliminated from elimination, there will be few remaining slots. The natural solution would be to eliminate the entire right wing of the hospital. All those Bible-thumping stem-cell-dumping hicks go first down the gangplank.
This would make wonderful copy. My writing would take wing, you know that’s right. Until they came after me, at which point I would take flight.
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