Tag Archives: journalism

Words the Media Should Stop Using

#1 and #2 – Terrifying, Horrifying or Variants

EXAMPLE: “Senator Bumble’s Support for Bill #535 is Terrifying!”

No it isn’t.  You know what’s terrifying? Leatherface coming at you with a revving chainsaw and the car you’re in is out of gas.

If you don’t support that bill, then Senator Bumble’s support for it is disappointing, ill-advised or contrary to your beliefs, but one usually only feels terror when one is in a dangerous situation, one where there is a great likelihood of danger to your physical well-being.

Things that are terrifying: Mike Myers chasing you with a machete.  A dump truck barreling down on you and your foot is stuck in a pothole.  A Bengal tiger spotting you and licking his chops.

Times I Have Been Terrified in My Life: 1) I was getting out of a car on a rainy night when I noticed another car had veered off the road and was about to crash into the car I was getting out of. I had to make a split second decision to keep getting out of the car and try to make a run for it or get back in the car.  I got back in the car and as it turns out, that was the better move as the impact pushed the car quite a bit, right over the spot I would have been in…as you know, a person not inside a car to protect me.  That was terrifying but I am now here to entertain you 3.5 readers so it worked out.

Other Time I Was Terrified:  I was walking alone in a neighborhood at night and an enormous dog started following me.  He kept sniffing at me, nipping at me, put his paws on me (on my shoulders because that’s how big it was) and it was just huge.  I’m not sure the feeling amounted to terror but there was a large concern in my mind at the time that this mutt could have ripped out my larynx if it wanted then defiled my corpse and it was such a quiet country road that it would have been days before the road cleanup crew would have scooped me up with a spatula.  Luckily, the dog didn’t want to.

At any rate, I have felt terror and close to terror but bloviating politicians have yet to strike terror into me.

Things that are not terrifying: Senator Bumble’s support for a bill.

Here’s a handy tip.  When you read about Senator Bumble, did your butthole pucker? Did you break out into a cold sweat?  Did your heart beat rapidly? No?  OK, so then let’s stop using the word terrifying to describe things that don’t cause these things to happen.

#3 – Destroyed

EXAMPLE: Talk Show Host Talky McTalksalot Just Gave a Monologue That Destroyed Trump!

No.  To destroy is to eradicate.  Make it no longer there. Maybe Talky’s monologue gave a strong argument against Trump’s policies.  Maybe you agree with Talky and are happy to see someone is vocalizing a point you agree with.  Maybe Talky has shown where Trump has made a mistake or has engaged in some action you find disagreeable, but Trump was not destroyed.  Trump is still here.  He is still getting up every day, eating his morning Big Mac, then tweeting up a storm.

There are some other words the media uses that drive me crazy but that’s all I can think of for now.

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Daily Discussion with BQB – “Thanks For Not Raping Us” Column in Washington Post

Ugh.

Check out this column.

You know, 3.5 readers, what passes as journalism these days is abysmal.

I don’t really want to debate the Kavanaugh situation with you 3.5 readers.  Either you realize it was a bag job or you’re too dumb to realize it was a bag job or…oops.  Yeesh.  Thank God only 3.5 readers read this blog.  Anyway, moving on…

I’ve seen so many dumb columns written by women who talk about their own rage and anger over Kavanaugh and how that somehow applies to the men in their lives and I realize I’m expected to weep for these women but I feel like becoming a male Harriet Tubman – freeing these poor men who have to undergo getting kicked in the proverbial nuts in a shoddy piece of writing so their significant others can have their 15 minutes of fame.

Anyway, here’s what Victoria Bissell Brown, an honest to God history professor wrote, along with my pithy commentary.

BROWN: I yelled at my husband last night. Not pick-up-your-socks yell. Not how-could-you-ignore-that-red-light yell. This was real yelling. This was 30 minutes of from-the-gut yelling. Triggered by a small, thoughtless, dismissive, annoyed, patronizing comment. Really small. A micro-wave that triggered a hurricane. I blew. Hard and fast. And it terrified me. I’m still terrified by what I felt and what I said. I am almost 70 years old.

BQB: Hey husband of this lady.  On the off chance that you’re one of my 3.5 readers, please, for the love of god, get up and go!  You’re 70, man.  You’ve put 50 years in with this lady only to get yelled at as some sort of stand in for a frigging judge she doesn’t like.  Sir, you have done your time. Now please, go to one of those brothels outside of Vegas and score some primo strange before you die.

Seriously, man.  You’re old.  You could croak any time.  Don’t let your last experience with a woman be getting yelled at because you are expected at 70 years of age to dawn a superhero cape and literally apprehend all rapists before they even commit rape.  Yes, you must also be psychic and predict when rapists are about to rape and then stop them.  It is not enough that you, yourself, have lived a good life and been a good husband and handled yourself in a moral manner.

BROWN: I am a grandmother. Yet in that roiling moment, screaming at my husband as if he represented every clueless male on the planet (and I every angry woman of 2018), I announced that I hate all men and wish all men were dead. If one of my grandchildren yelled something that ridiculous, I’d have to stifle a laugh.

BQB: Honestly, lady, I talked to my fellow men and we all admitted that women have gotten us to the point where we all wish we were dead too.  Please, by all means, keep yelling us into early graves so we don’t have to be blamed for things we didn’t do anymore.

BROWN: My husband of 50 years did not have to stifle a laugh. He took it dead seriously. He did not defend his remark, he did not defend men. He sat, hunched and hurt, and he listened. For a moment, it occurred to me to be grateful that I’m married to a man who will listen to a woman. The winds calmed ever so slightly in that moment. And then the storm surge welled up in me as I realized the pathetic impotence of nice men’s plan to rebuild the wreckage by listening to women.

BQB: How did she know nice, non-raping men had a plan to defeat rape by listening to women?

It’s true. I’ve been to the man conventions and the man outdoor camping retreats where we sit around the campfire.  There, we roast marshmallows and say things like, “Hey fellas, just so we’re all on the same page, we’re against rape, right?”  And then the men would talk and then we’d be like, “Yeah, and when our wives want to yell at us as stand ins for judges they don’t like we should totally sit there and take it because to try to explain that we are not the judge they dislike seems like it would require a lot of effort.”

BROWN: I said the meanest thing I’ve ever said to him: Don’t you dare sit there and sympathetically promise to change. Don’t say you will stop yourself before you blurt out some impatient, annoyed, controlling remark. No, I said, you can’t change. You are unable to change. You don’t have the skills and you won’t do it. You, I said, are one of the good men. You respect women, you believe in women, you like women, you don’t hit women or rape women or in any way abuse women. You have applauded and funded feminism for a half-century. You are one of the good men. And you cannot change. You can listen all you want, but that will not create one iota of change.

BQB: Dude.  Seriously, husband, if you’re reading this, get the next flight to Vegas because it sounds like the only thing that will make your missus happy will be your balls in a mason jar.

BROWN: In the centuries of feminist movements that have washed up and away, good men have not once organized their own mass movement to change themselves and their sons or to attack the mean-spirited, teasing, punching thing that passes for male culture. Not once. Bastards. Don’t listen to me. Listen to each other. Talk to each other. Earn your power for once.

BQB: That’s pretty sexist, lady.  I’ll have you know my men’s club meets every Tuesday for a brunch of scones with lavender butter while we read feminist slam poetry and talk about how we all wish we could grow our own vaginas.

BROWN: Pay attention people: If we do not raise boys to walk humbly and care deeply, if we do not demand that men do more than just listen, we will all drown in the flood. And there is no patriarchal Noah to save us.

BQB: Is it me or did she just simultaneously diss the patriarchy and then also demand that the patriarchy do something?

She ends on that note.  Honestly, I have no idea what she was trying to say other than husbands who are kind and decent and loving to their wives and cater to all their needs and whims aren’t doing enough and somehow they must stop bad men from becoming rapists and somehow when men goof on each other and slap each other in the ass with towels and engage in bro speak and drink beers and do manly things this is somehow causing men to become rapists.

Is it me or if a man were to write a column about some famous woman who was alleged to have done something wrong and he wrote that he yelled at his wife for 30 minutes as a stand in for what the famous woman had been done, he’d probably have to lock himself in a cage to protect himself from all the angry protesters, am I right?

I have no idea what this column was trying to say other than apparently it isn’t enough for men to be good men themselves and somehow they must be in charge of all men and all I know is that I do my part as I hold weekly tea parties where I invite all the men I know to eat peppermint cookies and hold hands and sing songs about how we will be nice and share all our feelings and emotions because women love it when men tell their feelings and get emotional.

 

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Daily Discussion with BQB – New York Times’ “Nazi Next Door” Story

Hey 3.5.

BQB here.

“Show, don’t tell.” It’s the number one rule of writing.  Trust your reader.  Show what’s going on…and you won’t need to tell them.

It’s the difference between grabbing attention and in so doing, getting the point across, or just lecturing in a boring college class style.

The New York Times ran a “Nazi Next Door” story, dubbed “A Voice of Hate in America’s Heartland” by Richard Fausset.

The story chronicles the life of a young man in his mid-20s.  He’s recently married.  He and his wife shop at Target.  He likes Seinfeld and pop culture and oh, yeah, he’s a white nationalist.

Critics were quick to get up the Times’ butt and look I’ll be the first to criticize the Times or any other paper because journalism on the whole is on the decline.  However, the criticism that came at the times is that this story “normalizes” Nazi-ism, racism, etc by talking about this guy as though he is just a normal guy misses the point.

The point, in my opinion, when you read the article, seems to be that one should be very afraid that there are seemingly normal people like the subject of this article – on the outside they get married, they go shopping, they watch TV, they do all sorts of normal things but in their spare time, they pursue activities in racist organizations so…yeah.

Like, a Nazi with a swastika tattooed on his forehead wearing a German WW2 helmet and a Hitler mustache waving a “Heil Hitler” flag should scare you….but at least you can see that guy coming.  You can spot him from a mile away and step to the other side of the street.

The guys that are, by all outward appearances, normal, who blend in and engage in the usual activities but, oh yeah, they also are actively involved in racist movements…those should scare you even more…because that guy could be shopping right next to you in the store or what have you and maybe you know him, trust him, what have you and then boom…he’s not what you thought he was.  He was a white nationalist all along.

That’s what I took away from the story.  Be very afraid of the “Nazi next door” the evil dude that might be under your nose plotting evil doings and you might not know about it until it’s too late.

People, you’ve got to get smarter.  The Times showed.  They didn’t tell.  I read it.  I got the point.  If you thought they needed to slap a big banner on the article, “Hey in case you missed it this guy is a racist!” – you missed the point.  The point is there may be a lot of people who hold themselves out to the world as normal but in the meantime they pursue evil activities.

At any rate, I don’t believe the Times meant to say, “This guy is a great guy! He’s super normal!”  They meant to say, “Um, it’s a little creepy that there are guys like this who at a first glance appear normal and you wouldn’t know what their up to just by looking at them…”

Learn to read with an eye for the point.

Discuss.

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BQB Rants #1 – Reporters During Storms

I really hate the media.

Sure, you might say, “But BQB, hate is a strong word.”  To that, I’d say, “Yes, but I’m using the word ‘hate’ just as you might say, ‘I hate licorice flavored jelly beans.”  I mean, I hate licorice flavored jelly beans, but not so much that I’d want to purge all licorice flavored jelly beans from the face of the Earth.  I realize other people like licorice flavored jelly beans and the world doesn’t revolve around me.  Hell, once in a blue moon I might eat a licorice flavored jelly bean just to remind myself why I don’t like them.

Now that we’ve gotten that distinction out of the way, allow me to reiterate that I hate the media.  They’re smarmy.  Arrogant.  Self-absorbed.  We, the people, rely on them to report the news but the field of journalism has become so dominated by pompous, preening jackasses that they want to become the news rather than report it.

Never is this fact more on display than when there is a massive storm.  At the time of this writing, it is August 25, 2017 and Hurricane Harvey is about to make the Lone Star State its bitch, which is no easy feet, because even General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna and an army filled with the most advanced, highly trained soldiers of the early 1800s wasn’t able to stop Texans from breaking off and forming their own republic.

Take this brief excerpt from the historical record:

SANTA ANNA:  Hey!  All you gringo dong sniffers in the Alamo!  Put your hands up!  There’s like a zillion of us and like a hundred something of you!

TEXANS:  East a dick!

Pretty sure it was Davy Crockett who told Santa Anna to eat a dick but as you can imagine, historical scholars have been known to disagree on the subject.

Where was I?  Oh right.  Reporters are terrible and are even worse during major storms.  As I write this, I’m flipping through the news channels and even though everyone watching at home is fully capable of imagining what a storm looks like, there’s still some damn doofus with a microphone on screen who was sent out in a rain coat being blown around by gale force winds as rain drops pelt him in the face.

I shouldn’t be sexist.  Sometimes they throw women out there in the middle of Mother Nature’s temper tantrums as well.

Case in point:

ANCHORMAN:  Holy shit, everyone!  There’s a big ass hurricane that’s about to butt rape Texas!  Our own intrepid report Joe Schmoe is on the scene.  Joe, how’s it going down there?

(Cue reporter using a death grip to hold onto a lamp post as the wind blows him to and fro and rain pelts him.)

JOE THE REPORTER:  It sucks really bad!  I think we all might be fucked!  And, oh shit, a tractor trailer just blew five feet over my head but that’s cool, it’s really important that all the dipshits at home see how bad things are here so I’ll keep risking my life!

ANCHORMAN: I’m awfully worried about you, Joe.  Please come inside.

JOE THE REPORTER: Yeah, yeah.  Keep saying that to make people at home think you care.  We all know I’ll get fired if I let go of this lamp post!  Whoa!  Look a bus full of nuns just fell out of the sky and crashed into an orphanage!  Back to you!

Yeah.  And that’s when the equipment is working.  Usually, the storm makes on location reporting difficult.  Consider:

ANCHORMAN:  A fat ass hurricane is about to destroy Texas.  Here to report is our own Sally Schmally.  Sally are you there?

SALLY THE REPORTER:  When am I going on?

ANCHORMAN:  You’re on Sally.

SALLY THE REPORTER:  Can we get out of here quick?  I want to get out of here before the looters come out during the eye of the hurricane and try to have their way with me.

ANCHORMAN:  Sally, is your earpiece working?

SALLY THE REPORTER:  I’m serious.  I’m strapped to the gills and I will pop a cap in all of those futhermuckers I don’t even care.

ANCHORMAN:  Sally, can you hear me?

SALLY THE REPORTER:  Jesus, I guess I have to wait all day getting rained on before they have me on.  Son of a bitch.

Oh well.  That’s my big complaint about reporters during storms.  It sucks they get put into danger.  Yet, somehow, whenever there’s a storm, I can’t look away.  I just pop a big bowl of popcorn and watch at all the reporters in raincoats holding onto lampposts for dear life as they get pelted with rain and whatever blunt objects the wind picked up and wonder how the world got this way.

What do you wonder about, noble reader?

 

 

 

 

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 22

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Natalie sat on a bench just outside the sorority house, checking Lifeboat for updates about the Countess Cucamonga case. Every media outlet was all over the story, and many were applauding Natalie’s crackerjack reporting skills. Unfortunately, these accolades were not directed at “Natalie Brock” but rather, “that Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties on Network News One.” Such was the plight of all female NN1 reporters – no one remembers their names. They just remember the blonde hair and the big titties.

Walter approached with a cardboard tray that contained two styrofoam coffee cups, sugar packets, cream containers, and a couple of swizzle sticks. The cameraman took a seat next to the reporter.

“I didn’t know how you take your coffee,” Walter said. “But I’ve got sugar and cream.”

“Thank you,” Natalie said as she took a cup. “That’s ok. I take it black.”

“Like your men?” Walter asked.

“Like my soul,” Natalie replied. “All my feminist heroes would stab me with a rusty butter knife if they could see me with…with…these things!”

Natalie stared down at her melon stuffed bra and hanged her head in shame.

“Buck up, buttercup,” Walter said. “Anyone who’s anyone in this business walked down a long road of shit before they got anywhere.”

Natalie perked up. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Walter said. “You think Kurt Manley got behind that anchor desk without sucking a bunch of dicks?”

Natalie sipped her coffee. “I never thought about it but yeah, I’m sure he had do go through a lot to get to where he is.”

“No,” Walter said. “I’m saying the man literally sucked a bunch of dicks. The board of directors of the NN1’s parent company called the man up to their meeting room and went full bukkake fest on the guy just to make sure they could control him.”

Natalie’s face contorted with disgust. “Ew.”

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Walter said.

Natalie’s phone buzzed. She looked at it. A new text from the unknown number.

“THAT WILL BE ALL FOR NOW.”

“Oh my God,” Natalie said. She showed the phone to Walter. He nodded. Natalie typed a reply.

“For now?”

A few seconds passed before the reply. “I HOPE THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER INCIDENTS.”

Natalie showed the phone to Walter. He nodded again.

“You hope?”

The reply came quickly. “I AM NOT IN CONTROL.”

“Wow,” Walter said as he read the text over Natalie’s shoulder.

“What should I do with this?” Natalie asked.

“Yeah,” Walter said. “About that. I’ve been thinking and…that’s got to be the killer.”

“Duh,” Natalie said. “You think?”

“It’s the killer or a friend of the killer or someone who knows something about the killer,” Walter said.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Natalie said.

“You’ve got to talk to NN1,” Walter said. “Get their legal department involved. And you’ve got to tell Sharon Walker about this.”

“I do?” Natalie asked.

“Yup,” Walter said. “If it gets out that you had information vital to the case and sat on it, NN1 will be dragged through the mud and no reputable network will want to work with you, whether or not you stuff melons down your shirt.”

“This sucks,” Natalie said.

“Not necessarily,” Walter said.

“First thing they teach you in journalism school is to report the story, but don’t be the story,” Natalie said.

“Oh, who cares about journalism school?” Walter asked. “You get ahead of this thing and you’ll be the hero.”

“I will?” Natalie asked.

“Sure,” Walter said. “You’ll be the Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties from Network News One who helped crack a celebrity murder investigation wide open.”

“Yeah,” Natalie said. “But no one will remember my name.”

“Such is the burden of an NN1 Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” Walter said.

“Fine,” Natalie said. “Let’s go show my phone to the alleged lesbian.”

“Wait,” Walter said as he handed Natalie his phone. “We have to make a pit stop first.”

Natalie looked at Walter’s phone. Walter had cued up a video featuring Sitwell’s illustrious mayor. The reporter pushed play and the Mayor bursted into action.

“Howdy doo, ladies and germs! I’m Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Beaumont Dufresne’s Slighty Used Car Emporium. Exit 93 off Route 199. If you pass the titty bar, then you’ve gone too far! Folks, I got trucks. I got cars. I got SUVs. I got big cars. Little cars. Medium sized cars. I got hatchbacks and full backs. Hell, if I look around the place long enough I might even find a quarterback or a running back. Look people, my prices are lower than a snake slithering under a limbo stick and I just want to…”

Natalie pushed the pause button. “Did he just refer to himself as, ‘the Mayor?’”

“He sure did,” Walter said. “Saw a few kids making fun of his commercial on the TV in the cafe.”

“So what?” Natalie asked. “He seems like an asshole.”

“Natalie,” Walter said. “Is the police chief returning your calls?”

“No,” Natalie said.

“And Agent Walker is a by the book Fed with a stick up her ass?” Walter asked.

“Yes,” Natalie said.

“Well,” Walter said as he took back his phone. “You see an asshole, but I see a public official who is prone to say crazy things and loves being on camera.”

Natalie launched up to her feet. “Start the van!”

Walter stood up. “Way ahead of you.”

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #4

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KURT MANLEY: …witnesses on the scene said that the Secretary of State will be fine and all he needed was a fresh pair of pants and a spatula. In other news, an incredibly depressed man in Wichita, Kansas snapped today. The man, one Joe Allen Babcock, age fifty-nine, lost control, grabbed his gun, and then publicly stated, “Hey, just because I’m fucking nuts and ready to end it all doesn’t mean that all the other people around me have to die as well. Nope, there’s no need for me to take anyone with me while I blow my brains out. No need whatsoever.” Not only did Mr. Babcock not shoot anyone before he shot himself, he even walked outside and shot himself over the fresh, green grass to save a clean up crew the trouble of having to wipe his brains off the walls. A representative of the Wichita police department stated this was by far the most considerate suicide they had ever seen.

(Kurt shuffles some papers and changes camera angles)

KURT MANLEY: In world news, a ceasefire agreement was reached last night in the civil war that has been raging its way through No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan.” UN Secretary General Boodie Boodie A’Mumugavi reports that it was a full five minutes before the “DoWhatWeSayorTakeaMacheteUpYourTaint-tarians” and the “ObeyUsOrGetanRPGUpTheButt-ians stopped trying to stab and explode each others’ taints and butts. Mr. A’Mumugavi believes next time these warring factions may very well go ten minutes before resorting to violence. Sounds like progress to this newshound.

(Kurt changes camera angles again)

KURT MANLEY: Good morning, USA. If you’re just tuning in, I’m America’s favorite news anchor, Kurt Manley and you’re watching Network News One. Yes, that’s Network News One, where he have the hottest blonde chicks with the biggest titties and oh yeah, we occasionally report the news and shit.

You’re no doubt standing by for more news of the unbelievably tragic death of Countess Cucamonga. She was widely recognized as the world’s most beloved pop diva, largely for her catchy tunes about her ginormous bum. Goodness gracious, even this desk jockey wasn’t immune to the Countess’ charms. I know I spent many a lonely night sitting behind this very desk during a commercial break, listening to the Countess sing about her delectable backdoor while flogging my…

(Kurt coughs into his hand and straightens his tie)

KURT MANLEY: And my producer has reminded me that I’ve meandered off the teleprompter. Time to veer this story back on track. Natalie Brock, who I’m pleased to report has been named NN1’s newest Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties is covering this story like stink on a monkey. She’s ready to feed us some more information like the hungry little savages that we are. Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, are you there?

(The screen switches to Natalie Brock who is standing in front of the sorority house. Her fake wig is still blonde and her bra is once again stuffed with ripe melons.)

NATALIE BROCK: I’m here Kurt. A shocking new development in what the media has now dubbed, “The Great Potty Caper.” A third victim, twenty-eight year old perpetual college student and energy beer drink enthusiast Chad Becker, has died in circumstances similar to those of the other two victims. Like Countess Cucamonga in Miami and Hugh Hogan in Boca Raton, authorities found Mr. Becker’s remains splattered all over the walls of a restroom in this sorority house. The toilet was smashed, a water pipe broken. Four students were knocked unconscious when the wall of the stall Mr. Becker was sitting in landed on them.

KURT MANLEY: That’s incredible, Natalie. While I have no law enforcement experience of any kind and only have a tentative grasp on the facts of this case, based solely on your reporting, I think it is safe for me to conclude that this has got to be the work of a psychotic serial killer, an unstable madman who could lash out at any one of our viewers at any moment and therefore they should all keep their eyes glued on Network News One around the clock for further details on when they can breathe easy again. Have the authorities confirmed this?

NATALIE BROCK: Not as of yet, Kurt. At this time, Sitwell Police Chief Cole Walker has refused to respond to press inquiries, while FBI Agent Sharon Walker, the lead investigator on this case, has stated she will not engage in speculation until the facts are known.

KURT MANLEY: Well she doesn’t sound like fun at all. I believe we have a clip of Agent Walker’s press conference from earlier this morning. Maybe if my producer will pull his thumb out of his ass for five minutes he could roll it for us….Dan? Hey, Dan? Yeah, roll the clip. Holy shit Dan. Maybe spend less time worrying about what I’m doing and focus on doing your job.

(A clip of a press conference rolls. FBI Agent Karen Walker takes questions from the press).

AGENT SHARON WALKER: At this time, I can confirm that the remains of Sally Ann Dubawitz, age twenty-eight, better known by her stage name, “Countess Cucamonga,” the remains of retired history teacher Hugh Hogan, age eighty two, and the remains of Sitwell Community College student Chad Becker, age twenty-eight, were all found in similarly disturbing circumstances.

RANDOM REPORTER #1 – Agent Walker, can you elaborate on those circumstances?

AGENT WALKER: I’m not at liberty to discuss such details during an ongoing investigation.

RANDOM REPORTER #2 – But when you speak of similar circumstances, surely the only conclusion the public can draw is that a serial killer is on the loose?

AGENT WALKER: I don’t think it would be productive for me to entertain conspiracy theories. Believe me, when we have solid facts that can be shared, we will share them.

NATALIE BROCK: Hello, Agent Walker. I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, reporting for Network News One.

AGENT WALKER: Hello, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: Should the public panic over the very disturbing possibility that a serial killer is at large and ready to kill anyone and everyone?
AGENT WALKER: Absolutely not. I encourage everyone to go about their daily lives and rest assured that this case is being investigated with the utmost professionalism.

NATALIE BROCK: So the public is not in danger?

AGENT WALKER: I have no reason to believe that the public is in danger.

NATALIE BROCK: Do you have any information to indicate that the public is not, not in danger?

AGENT WALKER: I’m not sure I care for this line of questioning.

NATALIE BROCK: Are you any relation to Chief Cole Walker?

(Agent Walker pulls the microphone attached to her shirt collar off and throws it down on the podium).

AGENT WALKER: This press conference is over!

(Cut to Kurt Manley, back in the studio).

KURT MANLEY: Mee-ow! That Agent Walker seems like one feisty little kitten.

NATALIE BROCK: Indeed, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Were you able to figure out if she’s related to the police chief?

NATALIE BROCK: Yes, Kurt. A number of gossipy townsfolk with too much time on their hands indicated to this Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties that Sharon and Cole Walker were once married, but they divorced ten years ago. No one was able to give me a clear reason why, but theories ranged from an allegation that Agent Walker is, quote, “a big time clam diving lesbo,” to claims that Chief Walker cared more about alcohol than his marriage.

KURT MANLEY: Wowie zowie. Christmas has come early for Little Kurty because this is the story that keeps on giving. America, if you’re just joining us, Countess Cucamonga is dead. A retired school teacher is dead and a community college student is dead. Normally, we wouldn’t give a day old rat’s ass about those lost two were it not for the fact that they died in circumstances similar to that of the Countess. They were all found with their guts smeared all over the walls of bathrooms like some kind of grotesque Jackson Pollack painting. Their toilets were smashed to bits. The water pipes leading to the toilets were broken. Yes, you heard it here, folks. Three toilets have been broken and authorities have nothing to go on.

NATALIE BROCK: That’s very clever, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Thank you, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Now America, even though the lead investigator of this case, a highly trained federal agent, has told the public there is no need to panic, I am going to go ahead and say that you’d have to be a complete and total moron if you didn’t go ahead and panic. I mean, even though we haven’t officially confirmed it yet, two of the investigators involved in this case got divorced because one of them is a deep sea muff diver and the other is a gin soaked rummy. As America’s favorite newsman, I feel confident throwing out those wild accusations, even without one shred of credible evidence in hand to back them up. Panic, people. Panic loud. Panic early. Panic often and be sure to hunker down in front of a television tuned to Network News One. Once your station is tuned to our top notch network, go ahead and break your controller in half so you won’t miss a single bit of information. After all, this is a matter of life and death, people. A serial killer is on the loose, possibly hiding in your bathroom at this very moment as we speak, and you won’t have any idea if you’re safe or not until we tell you, right here on NN1. Thank you, Hot Ass Blonde with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: You’re welcome, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: We’ll be sticking with the Great Potty Caper as it develops. Stay tuned for the upcoming commercial break and oh, do be sure to buy our advertisers’ wonderful products. Their support keeps us on the air and well, as you might have gathered, without their support, we won’t be able to stay on the air and if we can’t stay on the air then we can’t tell you when you don’t have to worry about a psychopath murdering you while you’re on the toilet. Coming up after the commercial break, we’ll share an adorable viral video of a squirrel making out with a tarantula. Also, have you read the latest study that cookies can give you face cancer? We’ll tell you which brand of cookies that is in the next hour, after sports and weather. But first, these messages…

NN1 ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The Hottest Blonde Chicks! The Biggest Titties! And oh yeah, occasionally we report the news and shit.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 8

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Natalie sat in the passenger seat as Walt drove down the highway. The bravado laden voice of America’s favorite anchorman blustered through her ear.

“Natalie Brock. A helluva job you did on the Countess Cucamonga murder story. Helluva job.”

Natalie’s heart fluttered. She’d always dreamed of talking to the man behind the most coveted desk in cable news and now she was. “Thank you. I’m so glad you called, Mr. Manley.”

“Oh, please,” Kurt said. “Mr. Manley was my father. Call me Kurt.”

“OK Kurt,” Natalie replied.

“To be the first on the scene when the world’s most beloved pop star is snuffed out like a spent candle,” Kurt said. “You must have drunk a second glass of lucky juice today, my friend.”

“I was just in the right place at the right time,” Natalie said. “Not that I’m happy the Countess is gone, of course.”

“Of course,” Kurt said. “Blah, blah, blah, we all have to be human and say we’re sorry that we were around when bad shit went down but you know as well as I do that bad shit is always going to go down and its better for our careers if we’re there when it does.”

“I can’t deny that,” Natalie said.

“I hope you broke your foot off in that incompetent cameraman’s ass though,” Kurt said.

Natalie looked at her driver. His attention was on the road. “He was, um, severely reprimanded.”

“Excellent,” Kurt said. “Well anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you on the bang up job you did and let you know that you can take it easy because a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties is being dispatched to Florida as we speak.”

Natalie closed her eyes. She covered her phone’s receiver with her hand, then blurted out multiple obscenities.

“Natalie?” Kurt asked as the reporter raised the phone back to her ear. “You there?”

“Sorry,” Natalie said. “Bad connection. You were saying?”

“You’re off the story,” Kurt said. “The bigwigs and I were impressed by your bravery. I mean, appearing on TV with your looks? That takes huevos, chica. Huevos grandes.”

Natalie took a deep breathe. “Kurt, with all due respect, I believe I’m the most qualified to report on this story. I’ve already broken it. I’ve already spoken to witnesses and authorities on the scene. I’ve even interviewed Countess Cucamonga’s manager on a number of occasions and he will no doubt prove to be a vital contact as the case progresses.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Kurt said. “You’re talking about qualifications and I’m talking about something else.”

“What are you talking about?” Natalie asked.

“Blonde hair and big titties,” Kurt said. “You don’t have ‘em and we need ‘em.”

“That’s disgusting,” Natalie said.

“Maybe it is,” Kurt said. “But we’re Network News One and you know our motto: The Hottest Blonde Chicks. The Biggest Titties and…”

“Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit,” Natalie said. “I know it well.”

“Then you understand the bind we’re in,” Kurt said.

“I understand you’re a bunch of sexist pigs,” Natalie said.

Kurt sighed. “Natalie, it’s easy to write the type of reporter that we here at NN1 prefer as a product of sexism, but if you do that, I think you’re missing the bigger picture.”

“Which is?” Natalie asked.

“The world is a terrible place,” Kurt said. “Umpteen zillion years ago, God granted us the gift of life and we’ve been repaying him for the favor by killing ourselves and each other at a rapid clip ever since. We’ve yet to put our minds to curing that which ails us, like cancer and heart disease, but everyday a new fangled method of killing the masses is invented. It’s sickening when you really think about it.”

“What does that have to do with…”

“Hot ass blonde chicks with big titties?” Kurt asked.

“Right,” Natalie asked.

“The people must be educated about what’s going on in the world,” Kurt said. “But with all the death and depravity going on, would anyone really bother turning on the news unless a hot ass blond chick with big titties was there to report on it?”

“I like to think that people don’t care about what the reporter looks like so much as the quality of the news report,” Natalie said.

Kurt chuckled. “And I think a leprechaun ought to swoop down on a magic unicorn and give me a pot of gold and a Vietnamese hooker loaded up with enough ping pong balls to choke a horse but we’re talking about reality here, kiddo, not fantasy.”

“This isn’t fair,” Natalie said.

“Oh boo hoo,” Kurt said. “Guess what? Life is unfair. Do you think some janitor making minimum wage to snake out shitty toilets only to come home and write out an alimony check for three-quarters of his pathetic salary to his no-good, two-timing ex-wife even though she hasn’t allowed him to see his kids for six months would ever, EVER want to turn on the news and learn about how many people were blown to smithereens today unless that information was pouring out of the supple red lips of a hot ass blonde chick with big titties?”

Natalie struggled for a response but couldn’t find one.

“Do you know how much joy our hot ass blonde chicks with big kitties bring to the average male news viewer?” Kurt asked. “Do you know that the average porn website costs over fifty dollars for a three month subscription? Do you know that in our recent viewer survey, a whopping eighty-nine percent of respondents said that they watch our channel for ‘fapping material?’ We’ve got people masterbating to our reporters and learning about war, destruction, chaos and the latest monkey produced virus to be found in their microwave TV dinners. It’s a beautiful thing.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way,” Natalie said.

“Most women don’t,” Kurt said. “Most women don’t understand what it’s like to have a penis. That little guy demands action 24/7, the type of action that our overburdened, overpopulated world is ill-equipped to offer anyone. The closes the average man will ever come to a hot ass blonde chick with big titties is to watch our channel.”

“Even so,” Natalie said. “I still…”

“Plus,” Kurt said. “Did you know that we are the nation’s number one employer of hot ass blonde chicks with big titties? Without our network, hot ass blonde chicks would be forced to resort to one of the other despicable professions they’re known to work in. We’re talking stripping, pornography, or even worse, appearing in network dramas for scale. Scale, Natalie! Are you trying to starve our hot ass blonde chicks with big titties?”

“No,” Natalie said. “I would never want to hurt the hot ass blonde chicks with big titties.”

“Good,” Kurt said.

Natalie searched within herself for strength. After mustering some up, she gave it one last try.

“Kurt,” Natalie said. “I’ve been trapped at the same local station for ten years. I don’t want to be here for my entire career. If I lose this story, I doubt I’ll ever find another one like it. Please. Don’t take me off it.”

There was dead silence on Kurt’s end of the phone for a moment. Finally, the anchorman sighed and started talking again. “You got guts, lady. You know, you remind me of a young me. Hard to believe, I know, but I wasn’t born the stud muffin I am today, the same stud muffin that gets women to tune in by the millions. We here at NN1 aren’t just about brining the news to men while they get off. Every night, the nation’s supply of females tune in just to flick the old bean around to yours truly.”

Natalie made a face of pure disgust. She was glad Kurt wasn’t able to see it. “OK then.”

“With a little hair dye a whole lot of plastic surgery, you too can be a hot ass blonde chick with big titties,” Kurt said.

“But I don’t want to be a hot ass blonde chick with big titties,” Natalie said.

“Yeah, well,” Kurt said. “Maybe I didn’t want to have ten trillion hairs ripped out of my anus and surgically implanted on my head in order to fight my male pattern baldness. Maybe I didn’t want my teeth replaced with shiny porcelain chiclets. Maybe I didn’t want silicone gel implanted in my pecs or off brand, illegally imported, discount Guatemalan botox shot into my face by a nursing school drop out every morning but damn it, I wanted to be the best damn anchorman around so I did what I had to do. Was I wrong when I said you had huevos grandes?”

“No,” Natalie said.

“Then get out there and get yourself some blonde hair and big titties!” Kurt said.

“But,” Natalie said. “There’s not enough time for me to get blonde hair and big titties.”

“Well,” Kurt said. “You better think of something because your boldness just bought you another round of airtime, kid.”

“Thank God,” Natalie said.

“No,” Kurt said. “Thank me.”

“Thank you, Kurt,” Natalie said.

“And the next time I see you on air, you better look like you just walked off the set of Jumbo Jigglers Part Seventeen.”

Click. Kurt hanged up. Natalie did as well.

“Network News One?” Walt asked.

“Kurt Manley himself,” Natalie answered.

“Wow,” Walt said. “Someone’s moving up in the world.”

Natalie rested her head against the cool glass of the passenger’s side window and watched the bright lights of Miami pass her by. “Where the hell am I going to get blonde hair and big titties at this hour?”

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RIP John McLaughlin

Hey 3.5 readers.

John McLaughlin, host of the McLaughlin group, died this week at age 89, which surprises me greatly because I thought he was 89 like 30 years ago.

Is that relevant to this blog?  Well, this blog is more about pop culture than politics but to make it short and sweet, you wouldn’t have the many, many, perhaps too many talking head pundit shows that you have today without John McLaughlin.

He had a certain style about him.  Or should I say, “formula?”

The formula:

  • Announce the issue and the number he has assigned to it.  Give the issue a snappy title.
  • Address one of the panelists with a quirky nickname. (Journalist Fred Barnes became “Freddie the Beatle Barnes” for example.
  • Shout “wrong!” then move on to the next panelist.
  • After every panelist was done, he’d declare they were all wrong and explain how his take on the issue was the most accurate one.

Admittedly, he wasn’t that bad.  But when I was a kid, I was in love with Saturday Night Live.

I think every kid who is into humor falls in love with SNL at some point.

Back in those days it was Dana Carvey, Adam Sandler, Kevin Nealon, Mike Myers, Chris Rock, etc.

Anyway, I used to watch Dana Carvey do his masterful impressions of the first President Bush, H. Ross Perot, the Church Lady, etc.

And then I’d do my rendition of Dana’s impression.

One of the funniest impressions Dana did was of John McLaughlin.  I’d incorporate it around the house, telling various family members they were, “wrong!”

Was I a no-life having kid who was into things that kids should find boring?

Was it that this was pre-10 million channels plus streaming everything and I didn’t have cable and only had like 5 channels?

A little from column A. A little from Column B.

Anyway, here’s a clip from NBC of Dana doing his John McLaughlin impression.

Saddest part is that Chris Farley is dead (heart attack) and Phil Hartman is dead (shot by wife).

Sigh.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 12 (Part 1)

“What are you up to Alien Jones?”  I asked.

“Consulting the human news reports,”  Alien Jones said as he surfed his space phone.

“Aww sweet,”  Bernie said as he cupped his hands and held them out from his chest, performing his best imitation of a stacked woman.  “Put on the channel that has that hot ass blonde chick with big titties!”

“Which one?”  Alien Jones asked.  “All human news outlets appear to require nothing of their reporters other than an attractive face and a copious bosom region.”

“Just pick one,”  I said.

Alien Jones pushed a button and put a news channel up on a holographic display so we could all watch it.  A television sized squared hovered in the middle of the room.

On it?  A female reporter, just as Bernie described.

Boo! Worst angle ever!

Boo! Worst angle ever!

“Hello.  I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties reporting live from West Randomtown.”

“Wow,”  VGRF said.  “It’s like they don’t even TRY to hide it anymore.”

“…where the military has established a forward operating base to respond to the zombie apocalypse in East Randomtown.”

The screen switched to the news room.  Walking, talking Ken doll Kurt Manley sat behind the Network News One desk, shuffling some papers to give the appearance that he was doing something important.

“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  Kurt said.  “I see General Morganstern is with you.  What’s his assessment of the situation?  Just how dire are things in East Randomtown?”

General Thomas Morganstern

General Thomas Morganstern

The reporter held her mic under the face of the grizzly, war weary General Thomas Morganstern.  I recognized his gravelly voice from a number of war related news reports over the years.  He wore a finely starched uniform that was lousy with medals.

“Make no mistake about it, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  General Morganstern said.  “East Randomtown is filled to the brim with hideous, flesh eating monsters who’d rip your larynx out and swallow it whole as soon as look at you.”

“That sounds horrible,” the reporter interjected.

“It certainly does,”  General Morganstern continued.  “However, what your viewers need to be aware of, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, is that the U.S. Army is here to keep the situation under control.  We’ve surrounded East Randomtown with our best and bravest, who are on standby to eradicate any zombie who dares attempt to shuffle over the town line.  Moreover, a series of coordinated air strikes are scheduled to begin bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“What’s the first target, General?”  the reporter asked.

“Well, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  the General said.  “Surely, you understand that normally I would not advertise over the public airwaves where we intend to hit the enemy.  However, since we’re only dealing with a bunch of dumbass zombies here, I can tell you the first strike will be on ground zero of the zombie apocalypse, the East Randomtown Mall.”

We all let out a collective gasp.  One of us emitted a panicked fart.  I swear it wasn’t me.  It probably wasn’t Alien Jones either as he doesn’t have a butt.  My guess is it was Bernie though I never did get closure on that one.

Back to the newsroom.

Kurt Manley, Network News One Anchor

Kurt Manley, Network News One Anchor

“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties…”

“Yes, Kurt?”

“What about collateral damage?”  the anchorman asked.  “Surely there must be a few survivors left within the East Randomtown limits.”

Back to the base.

“Have you taken potential survivors into account, General?”  the reporter asked.

“Indeed we have, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  General Morgenstern replied.  “The public should rest assured that through a carefully conducted campaign of drone surveillance, we have concluded beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are no more human beings left alive in East Randomtown.  Every last resident is either dead or has been turned into a hideous zombie.  Once we’ve softened up key positions through a series of bombing runs, our units will move in and clean the rest up.”

A bunch of forty-something ladies wearing pink bedazzled cat sweatshirts and blue denim sweatpants marched onto the scene, waving picket signs and shouting, “Save the Funky Hunks!  Save the Funky Hunks!”

Bernie was beside himself.

“People still love us!”  Bernie shouted.  “I knew it!”

“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  Kurt said.  “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Kurt,”  the reporter said.  “I’m going in to investigate.”

The reporter pulled aside one of the protestors.

“Excuse me, ma’am.  I’m a Hot Blonde Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties reporting for Network News One…”

“Oh yah!”  the lady responded with a thick North Dakotan accent, “I love the Network News One, dontcha know?”

“May I have your name?”

“I’m Mrs. Mary Flunderson of Bismarck and my friends and I represent the North Dakota Funky Hunks Fan Club.”

Marge Flunderson, Funky Hunks Superfan

Marge Flunderson, Funky Hunks Superfan

“The Funky Hunks?”  the reporter asked.

“Oh yah,”  Mary said.  “They were a real nice, polite duo of boys from the late 90’s and early 2000’s who rapped about wholesome topics like looking both ways before crossing the street and asking a girl for permission before you give her the old smooch-a-roo.”

“I don’t understand,”  the reporter said.  “What do they have to do anything?”

Mary pointed to her picket sign.  It had pictures of Bernie and I from back in the day, decked out in our rap gear, backwards hats and all.

Funky Hunks represent.

Funky Hunks represent.

“The Funky Hunks used to go by the names ‘Read N. Plenty’ and ‘MC Plotz’ but they’re really Bookshelf Q. Battler and Bernie Plotznick.  They’re both residents of East Randomtown and as soon as we heard about the zombie apocalypse, we drove all the way here to hold a candlelight vigil for those wonderful boys.”

“Does she realize you guys are just a tad younger than she is?”  VGRF asked.

“Hold on,”  I replied.  “Hear the woman out.”

“Our mothers loved the Funky Hunks and now we do too, thanks to streaming media, dontcha know?”

“Have you been getting residuals?”  I asked Bernie.

“Yeah,”  he said.  “The studio sends me a ten dollar check every year.”

“Where’s my check?”

“It’s uh…supposed to be for the both of us,”  Bernie said, sinking his head down.  “Sorry yo.”

“Oh,”  I said.  “That’s ok.  Keep it.  You need it.”

“The Army cannot blow up the East Randomtown mall,”  Mary said.  “BQB and Bernie are there right now!”

“How do you know this?”  the reporter asked.

“Have you ever read the Bookshelf Battle Blog, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?”  Mary asked.

“No,”  the reporter answered.  “Is that even a real thing?”

“Yes,”  Mary said.  “It’s a blog with 3.5 readers operated by Mr. Battler.  He’s been keeping a zombie apocalypse survivor’s journal from day one.”

“I have noticed a slight uptick in readers lately,”  I said.  “It must be Mary and her buddies!”

Kurt put a concerned look on his face and intervened.

“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”

“Kurt?”

“I’m told our in-studio technician is working to confirm the existence of this so-called ‘Bookshelf Battle Blog’ but in the meantime, what is General Morganstern’s reaction?”

“General Morganstern,”  the reporter said.  “In light of this claim that two former rappers are alive and inside the East Randomtown Mall, will you cancel tomorrow’s airstrike?”

“Absolutely not, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  the General said.  “These forty-something year old ladies in blue denim stretch pants are mistaken.  We’ve researched the matter thoroughly.  Everyone in East Randomtown is either dead or a zombie.”

The military man raised his hands.

“Please disperse ladies!  There is nothing to see here!  Leave now or you will be arrested!”

Army dudes marched in and cleared the ladies out.

“Reporting live for Network News One, I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, signing off.”

Back to the newsroom.

“Thank you Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,”  Kurt said.  “Next up, is your breakfast cereal trying to strangle you in your sleep?  Another Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties will give you the answer after this word from our sponsor…”

“Alien Jones,”  I said.  “Can you put up my blog stats?”

AJ punched a button and the Bookshelf Battle Blog stats were on screen.

“Whoa!”  I said.  “One million…two million…three million…THREE POINT FIVE MILLION AND….back to 3.5.  Everyone’s back to officially not giving a shit.”

“Better to have had readers and lost than to have never had readers at all,”  Alien Jones said.  “But I believe we have bigger problems.”

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Network News One Coverage of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse – EXCLUSIVELY on BQB’s Facebook Page

By: Kurt Manley, Network News One Anchormanshutterstock_193904291 copy

…The Vatican said the Pope had no idea a family of squirrels was living inside his pointy hat, but will not disturb them until they’re ready to move out on their own.

In other news, the eyes of the world are locked to a shocking story coming out of East Randomtown, USA, which has been overrun with zombies since Thursday, Oct. 1.  Network News One, your number one source for news brought to you by hot ass chicks who totally used to be lingerie models before we stuck a microphone in their hands, will be covering the latest developments until this zombie outbreak is resolved.

That’s right, hot ass chick reporters like this one:

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What?  Oh right.  You wanted some photos of the zombie apocalypse.  Here’s one submitted by East Randomtown resident Leo McKoy, local degenerate bum and drunkard:

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Yeesh!  What a gruesome bunch!  I need to check out one of our hot chick reporters again to get that image out of my mind:

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Aww yeah, that’s the stuff.

Viewers, we here at Network News One know you have your choice of 24-hour news stations.

That’s why we’re the only network that features a legion of hot chick reporters ready to fly anywhere in the world to report the latest crap storm that just happened.

Let’s face it, this world is a total shit hole, and if you’re one of those people who can’t keep your eyes off it, then you might as well keep your eyes on a hot chick reporter while the latest story to shake your faith in humanity unfolds.

Now, if you’re one of those caveman troglodytes that doesn’t have a TV, or worse, if your cable provider is one of those asshat companies that doesn’t provide you with access to Network News One, then you can still get access to the latest NN1 stories by liking Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Facebook Page.

Hold on folks, I need to talk to my producer.

shutterstock_193904288

Really, Murray?  A Facebook page for some dumbass who only has 3.5 readers?  That’s the best we could do?  What?  No!  Don’t try to justify this screwup.  Polish your resume, loser, because you’re outta here!

shutterstock_193903970

Sorry about that, viewers.  As I was just telling Murray, we here at Network News One are so proud to be partnering with the Bookshelf Battle Facebook Page to bring you the latest zombie apocalypse news.

Don’t forget, our Network News One reports will ONLY be available on BQB’s Facebook page, so you will have to check it out and give a nerd a like to view these quality pieces of journalism.

Stories we have so far are about the reality television stars who we believe may have been zombified during the crisis, and also how acclaimed teflon underpants inventor Dr. Hugo Von Science is wanted for questioning with regard to this whole mess.

And remember, if you’re one of those damn procrastinators who won’t just click on BQB’s Facebook page today, you can always find it later by typing…

www.facebook.com/bookshelfqbattler

…into your web browser.

Coming up in the next hour block, is your toothpaste giving you herpes?  Put that brush down and sit by your TV until we give you the answer after sports and weather…but first this commercial break.

NETWORK NEWS ONE

THE HOTTEST CHICKS…OH YEAH, AND OCCASIONALLY WE DO SOME JOURNALISM SHIT TOO

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