by FRED FLEEGLE-GRIEBFLEISCHER, Alternate Reality News Service Journalism Writer
The award for the most creative use of camera equipment goes to the anonymous person who fashioned a noose out of the cord of a battery pack. There is, of course, no award for the most creative use of camera equipment, but the noose was very real. Scarily real.
Idiotocracy wasn’t the only institution to be attacked by right-wing terrorists at the Capitol building on January 6; journalism was. And, when I say journalism, I mean journalists. And, when I say journalists, I mean me.
“Are you a member of the press?” a large man in camouflage gear, ski mask and goggles (which made him look like an alien escapee from a Star Blap movie) challenged me as I observed other journalists at work.
“N…n…n…no,” I responded. “What…what would ever give you that idea?”
“For one thing, you’re writing in a notebook,” a young woman with a wrinkly face (she must have been part shar pei) wearing a Make Vesampucceri Great Again hat accused me.
I threw my pen and notebook away. “No, I’m not,” I told her.
“That means nothing,” Star Blap alien escapee guy stated. “You could have an eyedietitic memory!”
“I don’t! I swear!” I retorted. “I’ve had a bad memory since I was hit in the head with a flying moose when I was six years old! Honestly! What are we even talking about, again?”
A weaselly guy brandishing a Confederate flag as though he were using it to joust (yes, without a horse – ground jousting is a time-honoured tradition in European countries where the gentry rides coconuts) pointed out, “You’re wearing a badge that says PRESS in large letters!”
“Wha – what, that?” I will admit, I had to struggle with this accusation. “I – it’s – it’s a reminder that I have to get this coat ironed. Did I mention that my memory isn’t that great? I can never remember…”
The three people, and several of their friends, moved towards me menacingly. I would likely have received a beating had that not been the moment that a great roar came from the front of the Capitol building, which had just been breached. When the moblet turned to add their peeps to the roar, I did what any other self-respecting journalist in my situation would have done: I ripped the badge off my lapel and started cheering with the crowd.
Not wanting to be killed on the job is a form of self-respect, right?
“Journalists were targeted by the insurrectionists,” said token smart person Amy Sheshutshotshitbam. “It makes sense, when you consider that for four years President McDruhitmumpf has been complaining about ‘fake news’ and claiming that journalists are ‘the enemy of the people,’ journalists are the most hated group in Vesampucceri, second only to Dumbopratic politicians.”
Even worse than mass murderers?
“Worse than mass murderers, pornographers and late night cleaning products spokespeople,” token smart person Amy Sheshutshotshitbam affirmed.
Wow. That’s a lot of hate.
The mood of the crowd was summed up by one person who had scratched “murder the medya” into a door of the Capitol building. Under the circumstances, none of the journalists covering the event wanted to correct the message’s spelling, so by psychic agreement, we all assumed that the word was a combination of “media” and “hyena.” A hyena is sort of like a jackal, and past Reduhblican politicians had talked about “the jackals of the press,” so it kind of made sense if you didn’t think about it too much.
None of us were motivated to think about it too much.
In the middle of the insurrection, a pile was made of cameras and equipment that had been “liberated” from the journalists who had owned them. Some of the rioters tried to light the pile on fire, but being made of plastic and steel, it was a waste of matches. I considered retrieving my notebook and offering to the insurrectionists as kindling, but decided that I hadn’t been around them long enough for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in.
Token smart person Amy Sheshutshotshitbam shook her head sadly. “Attacking journalists is something that happens in dictatorships. The point is to delegitimize any independent sources of information so that the only source a dictator’s followers will believe is the dictator. It’s sort of like kindergarten, but without the naps, because, of course, evil never sleeps.”
I would quit my job and become a squash ball farmer if I didn’t fear my editrix-in-chief more than an insurrectionist mob. That and the coffee in the bullpen. It’s not great, but it’s hot and it flows freely, and that’s more than you can say for most people these days!