Tag Archive | "broadcast journalists"

Sign on Trump’s Lapel Provides Running Tally of his Lies


Dateline: WASHINGTON, D.C. Year One After Trump—An anonymous member of President Trump’s staff fastened a digital sign to Trump’s lapel whenever Trump has been set to speak to the media, to stop reporters from having to flail about, guessing whether the president is lying.

“It started because I got annoyed watching the TV news,” said the staffer. “The anchors and pundits kept asking why Trump was saying that the sky is green, that two and two are five, or that his inauguration crowd was the biggest of all time. They just couldn’t figure out what Trump was up to—as if no politician had ever lied before! Or as if no legit psychopath had ever held high office!

“I just got sick of watching these fools on TV dancing around the issue, too timid to reckon with reality, just asking tedious questions like, ‘Why would the President say this when he must know it’s demonstrably false?’ or using euphemisms like Hilary Clinton’s gem, ‘Trump lacks the temperament to be president’—because it’s more polite to speak of ‘temperament’ than about Trump being literally a predator like a shark or the Terminator killing machine, a bona fide psychotic narcissist and, of course, a compulsive liar.”

To spare viewers from “having their time wasted by these clueless or cowardly news folks” and to “hold the baby journalists’ hands and steer them to the truth about Trump,” the staffer began affixing a battery-powered sign to Trump’s lapel. The staffer would listen to Trump speak in an interview, speech, or press conference, and editorialize by remote control.

For example, when Trump told ABC news that he’ll launch an investigation into massive voter fraud in the U.S., the sign on Trump’s lapel lit up with a message that scrolled across the small screen even as Trump himself was speaking. The message read, “Mother of all whoppers! The psycho Trump fears that a woman, Hillary C., beat him by three million in the popular vote—coincidentally the same number he says are voting illegally.”

And in his speech at CIA headquarters, when Trump accused the media of lying about his inauguration crowd size, the lapel sign read in blaring red letters, “Yuge lie! Psycho Trump can’t lose in a dick-measuring contest with a black man like Obama.”

Asked why he or she prefers to be anonymous, when Trump surely knows who is putting the LED sign on his suit, the staffer said, “Of course Trump doesn’t know! If he did, I’d be dead. Trump carries a laser blaster at all times. And if Trump knew, do you really think he’d leave the sign on and continue to lie like a madman?”

The extent of Trump’s obliviousness has flabbergasted the rest of the world. “How can Trump still not know about the sign?” asked a Democratic Congresswoman. “How can no one on his team be telling him that he’s being clowned over and over again, that everyone on earth now has a running breakdown of his every boast, evasion, distortion, slander, and confabulation, of every act of vain posturing or brazen pandering he clumsily undertakes?”

Clarice Foggarty, fellow at the Brookings Institution, theorized that “No one dares tell Trump about the sign for the same reason no Iraqi told Saddam Hussein he had no weapons of mass destruction.” In an authoritarian regime, she said, “the emperor is always wearing clothes even when he’s stark naked and his genitals are visibly flapping in the breeze. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself headless.”

As to why President Trump evidently can’t himself see the infamous sign, one psychotherapist speculated that Trump “effectively lives in the fiction he constantly spins. Trump can’t see beyond the hyperbole, according to which he’s a billionaire because he’s the greatest businessman ever, and he’s president because he’s a Batman-like hero who can do no wrong. Anything that contradicts that preposterous self-image can’t register in Trump’s conscious mind. If Trump suddenly could see himself the way practically everyone else sees him, his head would melt from the epic cognitive dissonance.”

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Newscasters Normalize their Relations with Our Alien Overlord Tromp


Major media personalities strive to retain their credibility after being forced to appear naked on television by our alien overlord Tromp.

Tromp, the mastermind of the invasion from Pluto, created mass panic when he landed in the United States in November, 2016 in a fleet of golden skyscraper-shaped spacecraft. But the corporate media calmed the public by normalizing Tromp’s incursions into what had hitherto been a conventional state of affairs.

“It began innocently enough,” said Don Lime, host of a CNN news hour. “Tromp’s ship landed on top of the White House, crushing it. Even I screamed like a little girl when that happened–and I was live on air! Then my producer shouted into my earpiece: ‘Where’s your gravitas, your savvy, your objectivity?’

“So it occurred to me I had to be brave for the viewers. I locked away my true self and began coldly narrating what transpired. I was like a robot–just observing and describing in the most neutral terms I could think of what was perhaps the greatest disaster to have befallen our nation, as if it was barely even newsworthy.

“When Tromp kicked a baby’s head off, I admit I struggled. How to help prevent a human uprising that could cost millions of lives? How to do my job with dignity and avoid alienating Tromp in case he should decide he’d like to come on my show, perhaps be a regular guest or even a co-host. My producers drew up the contract and everything, so that was in the back of my mind: I had to play it cool with Tromp, because as hideous and inhuman as he was, he was now in charge.”

But then Tromp and his minions decreed that all media personalities, including pundits, analysts, and hosts, would have to perform their on-air television duties nude and uncensored.

“I was taken aback when I heard that one,” said Megyn Sally, journalist and commentator at Fox News. “I thought maybe I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But when the projected ratings came in, I said to myself, ‘You’ll still have your journalistic integrity as long as you can pretend that nothing unusual is happening. The viewers won’t know the difference, because they’re just zoning out in front of the TV.’

“At first it was strange. I was sitting naked on set behind the desk, the cameramen leering at me and millions of people no doubt staring at my breasts on their television screens. But I reminded myself that I’m an insider, a power elite who’s making millions of dollars a year, and the schlubs sitting on their couches probably don’t even know our planet’s been conquered by an alien power; they live in their little bubble worlds on Facebook and as with the rest of the news, they’ll forget everything they’ve seen and heard minutes after they’ve turned off their TV. So I gutted it out.”

“Megyn Sally has fine knockers,” averred Joe Nobody, a Fox News viewer, “but I’ve seen better on Pornhub.”

When Tromp did consent to be interviewed on CNN, he sat across from stark naked Brianna Keeley and slid his frog-like tongue down her throat, forcing her to improvise.

“I remember thinking, ‘This is most unfortunate,’” said Keeley. “Here’s this tremendous opportunity to interview our alien master, to find out what makes him tick. I mean, what are his plans for us? Will he slaughter half our population or perhaps exterminate us in toto? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“I’d assumed Tromp might try to use to his advantage the fact that he could decree that I be constantly naked in his presence. But it hadn’t occurred to me he might jam his slimy, two feet long reptilian tongue down my throat and just keep it there for the duration of the interview. My challenge then was to pose my carefully-crafted questions to Tromp without them sounding all garbled.

“At first, I just choked and vomited in my mouth, because I could feel his revolting tongue slithering down my throat. Then it occurred to me that while Tromp’s three hands were occupied with my breasts and other private parts, he’d neglected to control my wrists. So I began furiously writing down my questions with a thick black marker, and I held the paper up to Tromp’s bloated face. I watched as his eyeballs turned to look at my questions, and you know what? He released one of my breasts and scribbled his answers in the space I’d provided him. So it was question and answer, and normality was restored.”

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