I'm now into my second week as a genuine bona-fide journalist, and today I attend the first of many courses with such names as "Copy Writing", "Libel and Copyright" and "Creating Headlines and Intros". Today's session is called "So, you want to be a blood-sucking parasite?" There's no denying it - I'm IN!!!
Hot dang, I love my job.
I’m in danger of developing a Manic-style obsession with this, but with the sparks flying off my tinfoil helmet, I’m certain that Shrub’s Thanksgiving dinner in Baghdad didn’t actually take place. Meticulously planned that it was, five will give you ten that the President didn’t set foot in Iraq. For the paranoid fantasists amongst us there’s a fair to middling chance that he didn’t even leave continental USA.
After years as an X-Files fanatic, I’m convinced that UFOs don’t exist, the truth isn’t out there, and the whole shebang can be easily explained by the twin human capacities of evil and stupidity. But hey, there’s nothing like a good conspiracy theory, even if it involves forgetting everything you've been taught in your journo training.
“What about all those troops and journalists, then?” you ask.
Troops - under orders on pain of losing their pension, freedom and benefits to keep their mouths shut.
Journalists - herded onto Airforce One which conveniently had its windows blacked out “for safety reasons”. For all the passengers knew, they could have been flown round and round the Isle of Wight until they were sick, before putting in at Area 52, Area 51’s more secretive brother. Or they put in at Kuwait, or Bahrain, or somewhere equally hot, desertified and safe.
The other alternative is that Dubya really did visit the troops at Baghdad Airport. A cynical photo-opportunity of a visit, but fair play to the man. Bastard.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Next week: How Princess Di was killed off as a sacrifice to the Lizard Queen Mother by the Cigarette Smoking Man.
Abnormal programming will return tomorrow. I'll get over this. Honest.