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Aquarian
Weekly 3/13/02
REALITY CHECK
THE RAPING OF ABC NEWS
Around 9:32
am, this past Monday morning my publishers at BLAZO!! received
a rather interesting fax from the office of David Westin, president
of ABC News. The thing wasn't signed or even issued by Weston,
who wouldn't know BLAZO!! or me from a hole in his shoe, but there
it was just the same.
It read
Mr. Reality Check,
Disney is
screwing us good this time. By the time you read this everyone
here at the Washington bureau of ABC NEWS will be cleaning out
our desks to make room for the sawdust and elephant dung, because
the circus is moving in. But not even that is entirely true, because
the circus has been moving in for some time. This is what network
news organizations get for allowing amusement park moguls to run
the show.
And believe
it, it is a show now; Paddy Chayefsky 's worst fears realized.
But instead of a broken down schizophrenic like Howard Beale ranting
and convulsing every night to the strains of a gospel organ beneath
a circular stained glass window, it is poor, dejected Ted Koppel
forced to spill his guts on the op ed page of the New York Times
like a pathetic caller to these afternoon talk shows that litter
the landscape of radio these days.
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Maybe
you can convince Koppel to chair a panel show where inbreds
beat each other with tire irons or maybe he can join degenerate
imbecilic couples on blind dates and report on the wacky
results?
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Koppel is
no "latter day prophet decrying the hypocrisy of our times".
No, he is a newsman. That's all Ted would like to be, a newsman.
And there is apparently no room for newsmen these days in the
rapacious network swirl of events, even when that newsman outdraws
David Letterman and all his "young, hip audience." But
there really isn't any reason to weep for shows like Nightline
or even This Week, even though Cokie Roberts is being treating
like a crack whore by an establishment she has toiled under for14
years.
It would
not surprise any of us if by September; Peter Jennings is hosting
a variety show wherein celebrities spread feces over each other
until someone cracks. It will all be for charity of course. We
like to mask our dilution of standards with ice cream and good
wishes here at the American Broadcasting Company. Pretty soon
the news will be special reports from lollipop land hosted by
Zsa Zsa Gabore and Emo Philips while the rest of us "journalists"
are all sent to bag groceries or spit out futile columns in entertainment
weeklies like yourself.
Doom is in
the air. One only has to breathe to taste it in the back of the
throat, where the last of the bile erupts to save the innards
from rotting. That is what is happening here, rotting. It is terrible
to see. Our accomplishments and credibility decays like a corpse
in the desert sun and we are helpless to stop it.
I would cry,
but my contract does not allow it. Put this in your column if
you have any guts. No one would believe it, and in your case,
that is an advantage.
Sincerely,
Distressed
Despite
the pejorative references to my standing in the journalistic community
and its ludicrous inference to Letterman pulling in a "young
and hip" audience, it was, after all, ABC NEWS and so I was
kind enough to respond:
Distressed,
Do yourself
a favor, please remove your miserable head out of your ass and
smell something rosier.
Your news
division has been prostituting itself for over thirty years. I
too love Ted Koppel. If it weren't damned by the Living God I'd
drive right now to DC, wrap him in my arms and take him to the
Watergate for three days of forbidden passion, but Nightline is
a show, funded by ratings and advertising and network goons who
couldn't name the first ten presidents of the United States or
locate Wyoming on a map with ten chances and a tutor. You have
sold your sold to rock and roll, and now you whine like a schoolgirl?
This is why
you are all doomed. You have not heeded the writing on the men's
room stall. It has been there for years. Nightline was born on
the bloated coverage of the hostage crisis in 1980. For the sake
of all that is holy, I was a child then, and even I could see
the news exploitation of that mess. Where was Nightline when the
Iranian consulate was railroading Jimmy Carter, while William
Casey was negotiating a hostage release from the Ayatola Khomeyni?
Trouble is
news doesn't bring the big numbers anymore, otherwise how could
anyone explain these infinite obsessions with Monica Lewinsky,
O.J. Simpson and Jennifer Anniston? Maybe you can convince Koppel
to chair a panel show where inbreds beat each other with tire
irons or maybe he can join degenerate imbecilic couples on blind
dates and report on the wacky results?
C'mon, could
it be any worse than hiring Dennis Miller to commentate on football
games?
Hey, why
don't you just swing the whole operation over to ESPN? It's practically
running the joint now. From what I understand they're going to
send Sam Donaldson over there to baby sit Dick Vitale through
March Madness. The network can bill it as a freak show and throw
a gimp in there for halftime analysis.
C'mon, could
that be any worse than having Bobby Knight on your tournament
selection show?
It's time
someone in your position makes a stand and wracks his brain for
better ways to disseminate information. These cable news shows
are a wasteland of yammering idiots who glean less than 1% of
the consumer base. Fifty-year-old "I Love Lucy" reruns
out draws Bill O'Reilly and this crazy fucker has a goddamn limo.
And from what I'm hearing cable news is killing the networks.
So even if you pray for another catastrophe or for Gary Condit
to kidnap another woman, you might as well get your hackers license
and chauffeur diplomats to Dulles for a healthy tip.
Here's one
more piece of friendly advice: It's time Koppel ends his thirty-plus
year career at ABC by revealing that Michael Eisner tried to rape
him in the make-up trailer during the Republican convention. Then
he can smile like the Cheshire cat, flip America the bird and
head off to the California hills with an unlimited supply of Carona,
a pair of EZ-kill mortars, a mail-order bride and a box of Macanudo's.
And tell
him to wait for me.
NEVER SURRENDER,
jc
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