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December 30, 2011


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An HOUR they claimed! Thirty minutes for the pischer locals THEN the hard left hook of Cronkite and the big black eyeball! THAT was with LESS advertising too!

Now I gaze down upon that station and look at that staff they've got...so YOUNG, they look like they should still be playing stickball.

Not at all like the Great Agronsky! Agronsky brought the hard news! Sevareid, Ned Calmer...Murrow's boys, those two!

Now you have these kids who report news rubbing shoulders with these meshugginer Occupy schmutzes!

Agronsky wouldn't dirty his suit for such a non story! Tailored by Nagelberg's of Beverly Hills-the same ones who did for George Burns, y'know.

Then, you got the news, now...not so much.

Martin, those Occupy kids aren't so bad...not so bad for a RATINGS BOOK!

So long as the little bastards didn't overturn my RV, I'd have no problem taking a camera and interviewing them. Of course, in "post", I'd dub in something by The Fugs and Zappa's "Apostrophe" behind the B-roll, then launch the piece on Sunday Morning.

You can't argue with unintentional comedy and ratings.

I mean, these kids look like extras from a Save The Children commercial...y'know, that one with the big, white-haired fellow who, despite trotting about in squalor, never gets a stain on his khaki Dockers or knit golf shirt?

Charlie, you're talking about either God or Sevareid, and last I heard The Almighty made Eric shave off his beard.

I hope to Him (God that is, NOT Sevareid, Eric's ego is big enough as it is), you're not talking about Savitch.

That Peacock shikseh is like Beetlejuice, say her name more than once in passing and she's on you looking to cadge double Glenlivets and then vomiting caviar and crabmeat all over the front of her silk ballgown!

Martin, I know you lament about the decline of hard-hitting news and brag about being the Great Agronsky-interviewing Connally in his bed of pain-but who was there when Oswald took a bullet to the gut from Jack Ruby?

That's right, Great Agronsky, Ike Pappas!

Heard Oswald say "ooof"!

But, you guys are right, Jessica Savitch is in a class of her own. Couldn't call a cab after downing a quart of Johnny Walker Black, and winds up flipping her station wagon into a rain-filled culvert.

Hah, "Peacock Pride"!

Ike, NO! You said HER NAME!! NOOOOOO!

Hello, boys!

"White-haired fellow"?!? Agronsky, you big-assed s.o.b., everyone knows that I get my hair colored by Donald Payne, hairdresser to the Purgatory-bound.

Just for that crack you don't get to buy me a double Canadian Club. Charley does.

You men mock my hard-charging newsreading skills when I was at NBC, buy I don't recall YOU guys reading a 'Prompter after undergoing a dilatation and curettage and grooving on a mix of Valium and Gilbey's gin.

Oh, and as for that episode of nausea I experienced, I didn't throw up on MY dress, I did it all over Rosalyn Carter's at a dinner party they'd invited me to.

So much for getting the details right, newsmen. You'd get nauseous too if you saw your husband hitting on Bert Lance!

Now, Charley, my drink is a double Canadian Club and Coke!

Oh, gaaaawd, Jessica's flirting with me!

Ike, do me a BIIIG favor and see if Andy Rooney's cleared customs, and if he has, get him in here, NOW!


Kuralt, you old player, I knew you had your eye on some of that Peacock talent!

Took me a while to clear customs, being Agnostic and all, St. Peter stamped my passport to Purgatory, and said while I may have had doubts about The Almighty and His Son, THEY never had doubts about me, and looked forward to seeing me in 100,000 years or so.

Now, Jessica, have you ever wondered about the three types of milk...or rubberbands...I mean, they're rubber, but I think they could only make one instrument, not a whole band...oh, and how about phone books, I used to get so many of them at my office and at my house, and why the yellow pages and not brown or green or red...you know I passed Kurt Cobain on the way down here, I told him that the network made me apologize about my commentary, but I still thought I was correct when I thought he was a whiney little baby and said that so many people would have loved to have his fame and success...have you ever wondered why socks disappear...

(Slams highball glass on bar)

That's it! You can have your little, furry-browed pal talk about shoe laces versus loafers or black and white tv versus color...

I'm outta here, gonna find that one-lunged Canuck, Peter Jennings, he's good for a laugh and bottle of whiskey!

Hey Martin, take a look down at the end of the bar...do my dead, spectral eyes decieve me or is that Helen Thomas?

I didn' think she was due here for another ten years at least.

Maybe Dick Cheney IS running for president after all?

Charley, Helen has sleep apnea and pops in here occasionally to down a few shots of Metaxa and get a little Hooray Henrietta about the Palestinians.

Whatever you do, do not make eye contact with her or you'll be greeted with an earful of how the Israelis should go back to Germany or Poland.

That, and once she has a few shots under her belt suddenly she thinks she's Kim Novack or Lana Wood.

Talk about double-thick booze goggles.

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