The real news is the news, so flimsy and destructive, so partial. An industry without integrity or authenticity. An open flesh wound, we can see the bone. Get a tourniquet, we might lose the leg, but we must stop the bleeding. We must.
The local outlets have been poisoned, weather is their only hook. Papers still get thrown for creep's sake! To ink up more fingers, to lull more minds, to wash. Always washing. This is no business, it's cover for organized criminals.
All is hunky dory anyway. We laugh at the spectacle, it's a sideshow act. The dulled drone on without us, without curiosity, without clarity, without courage. Waste your life on worry and regret or get a grip and go. It's a wonderful life.