I avoid broadcast news for the same reason I avoid walking down dark alleys in the bad part part of town: I fear the clear and present dangers lurking in its telepromptered shadows.
For example, an in-depth report on rising wealth inequality will cause severe cranial trauma from banging my head on the nearest coffee table. Any segment covering congressional politics feels as though I'm being kicked to the ground by a gang of vicious delinquents.
Even a vacuous item revealing some attention-seeking celebrity's unsympathetic personal problems can induce spine-chilling terror. It's like listening to a serial killer's grisly confession, including details of where all the bodies are buried and an ingratiating demand that society should shoulder the blame.
"A cautionary tale for everyone there. And now over to John of the Apocalypse with the weather."
But then I don't really read the newspaper, either. I assume we still have one delivered; it's hard to know. Sometimes it's there on the doorstep. Sometimes it's stolen. Sometimes it's thrown into next-door's fish pond. Sometimes the kid with the paper round calls in sick and nobody bothers to replace him. Sometimes the printers go on strike. And sometimes there aren't enough advertising dollars to justify publishing the damned thing anyway.
So where do I get my news? I guess from the look on people's faces as I pass them in the street. And I have to say the news has got that manic-depressive look in it's eyes. In fact, I'd say the news wants to throw itself under the wheels of an oncoming bus and won't be back after these messages.
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