At this fateful juncture, the newspeople were given their copy to read...or die. And so, with pit bulls snapping, lava flowing and exes going ape-shit, the newspuppits smiled into the camera and spoke:
"The economy is getting better; jobs are up, way up, and the State anticipates a full recovery."
"It's going to be cloudy all weekend. Find out how cloudy and when the sun returns, when we return."
"We're going undercover to talk to a local forensic specialist and find out what he thinks about tonight's episode of CSI: Miami Voodoo, and is it really possible for a corpse to be sliced open, have all its blood drained, then sit up from the table and say, 'Can I have a ham sandwich?' All this when we return."
"We believe we had an obligation, based upon our Big Mother moral superiority, to bring this 28-year-old story to print, just as your ballots are arriving. Never mind that Gori (sic) Ameri serves as the future poster child to rubber stamp the expansion of this war into Iran. As an Iranian woman, how can you, dear idiot reader, not agree with her agreeing to: escalate the war, privatize social security, more corporate tax cuts, and giving more sweeping powers to combat terrorism (i.e., anyone who disagrees, goes to the gulag). She's a woman. She's Iranian. And we're not CIA shills, goddammit, we're actual..."
Chomp. Fizz. Sizzle.
"I'm melting...I'm melting. I'm being eaten alive."
As a man shouts from the gallery, "Sandy, you ignorant newswhore. I never cheated on you. How could I cheat on you when I was never in a relationship with you. Hell, I didn't even know you existed—you stalker freakazoid—till after you gave me an F, back when you were working as an assistant in Journ 402. Thanks. I'm a well-respected teacher now, not a reviled editor of pig swill. Ha, ha, ha , ha..."
And then I woke up. And faced the news today.