The Awkward Truth about Bias, Shallowness, Women, and England

by Regis Boff

There is much cranky insinuation writhing within America’s know nothing class about suspected hints of partiality within our arched and venerated press corp. This has spilled over even into jolly old England like much of our unneeded sewage and they, having barely the cleverness to rename their coinage from shilling to something they themselves can decipher in a rush, are periodically jumping on the bandwagon to condemn us. Well as they say in Pittsburgh, “England can go fuck itself.”
Let me set most of you morons straight. If the news were not biased, not one of you mutton mouthfuls would make any effort to watch the news at all. Those of you who might on occasion masturbate might, if you concentrate, discover some telltale hints about preferentialism. If you fortuitously find yourself aroused and your private parts are at that very moment, “handy”, is your tendency to daydream about that which you enjoy or dislike? There you have it folk’s bias.
I grew up with dour, scaly, old men relaying world events to me as though the news demanded unappealing but venerable newscasters to dampen our population’s suspected tendencies to giggle at the world’s misfortunes. Americans are drawn to the news because we don’t like to miss stuff and because we, each of us, are deluded sufficiently to think we are vital in shaping our nation’s direction.
Cable networks revealed that all news is far more enjoyable if it is brazenly biased. Every American pretends to be appalled by the slant of television reporting, so we each pick news people we think are telling the truth and if our goal has been a bisected, persistently testy country this seems to be going well.
I am the only person I know who watches the news with a genuine disregard for his own beliefs. I accomplish this by first screening the news women who are delivering it for their beauty alone. Then I put together the prettiest into a viewing time line and presto, the news!
When I was in high school, my friends and I always made sure good-looking girls felt insecure about how smart they were. I know now this sabotage was horribly despicable but we who were plain were jealous of how unearned physical attractiveness opened all doors for them. We believed that being smart would make us the successful ones, the ones who would be on TV.
I get my news, my weather, my traffic reports, my broker’s advice, even my political commentary only from the most alluring women in the world. I refuse to listen to plain women no matter the context. If an emergency bulletin were flashing across my screen warning of earth’s expected doom from fracking in downtown Manhattan, I would surf channels until I found a nubile waif capable of holding my attention before I weighed my alternatives.
I have warned the media that I am choosy; that I am immune to truth, facts and intellect, and that I am as shallow as they.
They have nervously responded by shoving ever increasingly more breathtaking women onto the air to help me enjoy my information.
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