Monday, July 02, 2007

A bit of amusing jape

Iowahawk has gotten creative again:

They say dames are like a flowers. Maybe they’re right. Nice to look at, fun to smell, covered in complicated reproductive do-dads. But brother, get too close and you’ll also find out that they have thorns. And bees. And enough pollen to flood your sinus with a hot painful load of mucus that’ll take a jumbo economy size box of Claritin and a six pack of hankies to forget.

It’s a hard lesson you learn every day in my line of work.

My name is Rather. And I’m a dick.

It was 5:15 and I had just finished typing up the final Abu Ghraib report (Dan Rather #23: The Prisoner Wore Panties) into my trusty Remington 17. Ever since my suspension at CBS (Dan Rather #21: Judgment at Black Rock) I was working down in Cable Hell’s Kitchen. A freelance investigative gig at HDNet, a smalltime news outfit wedged between MTV-6 and the Cubic Zirconia Channel. Not much money, but they didn’t ask too many questions and they didn’t have any nosy “fact checkers.” I had just pulled out my hip flask for a snort of Zima malt beverage when I saw a familiar silhouette in my office door. It was short and curvy with a pair upturned perky hairflips straight out of the CBS makeup department.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Katie Couric,” I growled as she walked in. “Why are you slumming down here on the cable news docks? I thought a hotshot media deb like you’d be out sipping champagne out of your shoe, with the rest of the swells up on West 57th.”

She stood there, perky and defiant, atop a pair of muscular cheerleader’s calves that looked powerful enough to snap a co-anchor in two. But, at the same time, she looked strangely vulnerable. She heaved, just a little. Suddenly she burst into tears.

“Oh Danny, Danny, Danny!” she sobbed. “I’m in an awful fix! The auditors found over three million missing from the Nielsen account, and they’re blaming it on me! If… if I can’t come up with the missing viewers, the network boys downtown are gonna cut me loose, and I’m gonna end up on god-forsaken basic cable filler network like… like…”

“Like HDNet?”


She collapsed into my arms.

“Can the waterworks, sister! Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you ditched your nice little fluffy morning news bit in Perkyville! Maybe you should have realized the anchor desk is no place for a dame! Well, welcome to big time journalism baby!”

I slapped her hard.

“But… but you’re my last hope, Dan!”

I slapped her again, softer. Then she slapped me back, extremely hard. But not before I got one more good slap in. After trading a few more slaps I had her calmed down.

“Okay Couric. Maybe I’m a soft touch, but I’ll help you find those missing viewers.”

“You will?” she sniffled.

“Yes. Because this time it’s personal. And you’re gonna help me.”

“I am?”

“I’m gonna make a journalist out of you yet, baby.”

She moved up closer, eyes closed, lips parted longingly. For some reason, I decided to slap her again. She kicked me straight in the nuts.

Damn, those legs were powerful.

Now go read the rest.