I grew up with Walter Cronkite. That’s the way it is. Woodward and Bernstein were saints. Geraldo Rivera was at one time a respected investigative journalist and the mic in your face from a reporter from 60 Minutes was serious shit.
As boomers gave up the tie dye and pot and got real jobs, they set about fucking up every organization they went in to. As Journalists they jettisoned the idea that they were there to find the truth and set about “changing the world” to better suit their ideology. They became propagandists and stenographers for the powerful and groomed the public to be compliant toys of the machine. It started with simple whoring “Satanic Sex Cult in Day Care Center” and ended up with “You are literally killing the planet by breathing”.
Journalists effectively slaughtered inquiry and in the process truth. Honest questions labeled you a hater, phobe or ist. Lives have been destroyed. Careers in ruin and all because some poor fool had the temerity to challenge the collective wisdom. Truth became subjective depending upon whether it helped their cause or did not. They had us right where they had groomed us to be. Naked and compliant. They foisted their light bringer on this nation and made any criticism akin to burning a cross on someone’s front lawn. What they could not ridicule, they quietly sent down the memory hole as if it never existed.
For the coup de grace, they would drag the bloated carcass of a former first lady to the presidency and permanently enshrine their totalitarian wet dream. They were unstoppable. They were the Masters of the Universe. They had arranged for the best possible opponent for her to be nominated by the GOP. A blow hard New York reality TV star. A man who was a Democrat the majority of his life and who doesn’t have a conservative bone in his body. The stage was set. “This will be fun”, the high priests whispered to each other in the darkened theater.
But things didn’t exactly go as scripted. Instead of a melodramatic opera, the election turned into an improvisational sit com. The live studio audience was laughing at all the wrong jokes at the wrong time. The heroin, majestic, heroic, historic was mocked and jerred. The court jester applauded! What on earth was happening.
What was happening was the peasants pointing and laughing at the priesthood’s nakedness. The dupes and simpletons that they thought they were leading about by the nose suddenly stampeding them. And it is glorious. The priests burn their incense and hysterically mutter their sacred words (diversity, progress, collective, denier, RACIST) to no effect. It’s like the prols are not listening.
So I’m just going to sit here cackling while the priests are dragged from the whorehouse. Bring on the popcorn.