I think we all remember, and I am very sure of this, because I never just make wild assumptions, but I think we all remember that a while back I explained here why I should be Trump’s press rep or whatever they’re called. In it I explained why the Press needs to be disrespected as often as possible and that I am the one for the job.
But now I would like to explain just how those press conferences, or whatever they are, would actually play out for the viewing audience. And there would BE a viewing audience because my press conferences would be huge.
First of all, the 50 or so keyboard slacks would not be all bunched together in a pile like they are in the shitshow-arrangement that currently is in existence.
I am probably the only one left alive on earth who remembers Art Linkletter. Art Linkletter was a very popular TV personality when TV first came out. It had a live audience and it was broadcast live. One segment of the show had 4 kids between 6 and 8 or so lined up in a row of chairs and Art Linkletter was great with kids because he didn’t talk down to them, he talked to them like they were capable of carrying on a normal conversation. The segment was called Kids Say The Darndest Things. It was huge. The kids would all be of course pre-selected for their ability to actually hold a conversation. So, Art Linkletter would have a mike in his hand and approach them one at a time, kneeling on one knee and making it face-to-face for the toddlers and he would ask them questions that were designed to get them to inadvertently or maybe enthusiastically rat out their parents, Art Linkletter could hold an adult’s interest and he could hold a child’s interest. He was huge for a reason. Segments are probably on the internet.
So, I would hold my press conferences the way Art Linkletter conducted Kids Say The Darndest Things. All the news hacks would be in a straight line, in folding chairs, one next to the other, with a good space between each to give a sense of isolation when I came over to kneel on one knee in front of them and hold a mike between us. I would be very animated when I talked to each as though they were just the most fascinating people I had ever met. I would make them more known to the television audience. I would ask them their name, where they worked and since I am more or less one of them I could easily do this with the difference between me and them being I have some actual talent and ability and an intelligence that is operating properly and am aware that they are all basically indifferent fuckheads who just want to fuck with people and not actually get to the bottom of things like they pretend they want to do. That they’re worthless parasites living off the fear they ignite in their listeners.
A typical interview would go like this:
“Thank you, thank you, good to see you all here. Well, I guess you all are very likely have questions that you simply absolutely need to get answered, and I am sure they are the ones the viewing audience is also the most concerned about and not just some rambling, leading, accusatory, loaded, ideology-driven attempt at verbal assassination. So! Let’s do this. Yes! You in the wrinkled suit and the very photogenic face, hold on, let me come over to you. (Going over, getting on one knee and holding a mike) So!! And who am I talking to today? Jim. Do you have a last name, Jim? Acosta. Is that Italian? Spanish? So, Jim, I know you have a question, but first can you tell everyone where you work? You’re unemployed. I see. You once worked for CNN. Well, you know, things can only improve: for CNN AND you. CNN is basically a shitshow anyway. It can only go UP at this point. Can I say that? Can I say shitshow? (looking around at imaginary staff while grinning) Jim, since you’re out of work how is it you were even allowed access here? And no offense intended, I mean I’M glad you’re here, don’t get me wrong. Can I interrupt myself for a second, Jim? Do they ever tell you that you remind them of George Clooney? But with cuter kinda fat puffy cheeks? JIM, COME BACK! Well, I guess my questions were just too hard-hitting. Well, let’s see, who else has a question. Yes, you, the burly, angry-looking man over there, hold on, let me come over there…..(kneeling on one knee) Ok. So, tell me, what’s your name. Rachel Maddow. Wow! Whoa! Wait! You’re huge! What are doing here? ….so…. you say your ratings are tanking. Well, I’M glad you’re here if no one else is: I get to see your face writhe and contort while you have faux emotional breakdowns right here in person.
So: what’s your question. Do you really chop your own firewood by the way? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? Well, I’ll be very sensitive. But, hey, she IS a gal! Well, let’s see, yes, you there, the man I can hardly see, hold on, let me move towards you, are your feet even reaching the floor?…..GEORGE STEPHANOPOULIS!!! YOU RASCAL!! YOU’RE SO CUTE! What are you 4-8? 4-9? George I’m kidding, hey, c’mon. So, George, before you ask your question let me ask YOU, do you write your own questions for an interview? Or does an intern from one of the high schools write them. (me yelling to an imaginary staffer) CAN WE GET GEORGE A FOOTSTOOL? SOMEBODY? HIS FEET ARE JUST DANGLING ABOVE THE FLOOR! George, I’m sorry, really, wait, you’re leaving? No, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean anything. (me getting up from one knee) Here, let me help you down off that chair. (me looking around) Well, he stormed out. I’m losing my audience! Haha except for the ones at home! SO! Who else has a question. Yes, you, the woman over there in the mismatched pantsuit. They still have pantsuits? Anyone? (looking around) (looking back at who I called-on) I guess you have the last one, hold on….OK. So tell me, what is your name? Greta Van Susteren. It SOUNDS familiar, hold on, lemme think. Nope, can’t remember. No matter! SO! What kind of a question do you have for me today. But wait, hold on: can I ask you something? It’s been on my mind since I first saw you. You know how beautiful women start going to plastic surgeons….THEY STILL CALL THEM THAT, ANYONE?…..no matter, so, anyway, as I was saying, you know how beautiful women who are just fucking HOT as hell, they go to a plastic surgeon or whatever they are called now, and they hand over a hundred grand or so, and when the guy gets done….they look like burn victims from an oil-refinery fire? So, here’s my question….do you think that in YOUR case?……that you would come out beautiful?? Kind of like it’s the plastic surgeon fucking-up in the wrong direction? Or in your case the right direction? Just a thought. Might be worth a shot. So!….what’s your…..where are you going?”
(me looking around) Another one left. Pretty soon there’ll be no one here. Except for the viewers at home of course. There’s pro’bly advertisers LINING-UP to sponsor these press conferences. Would that be Constitutional? Anyone?
You all claim to be Constitutional watchdogs, I notice. Can Diet Coke sponsor press conferences do you suppose? Imagine government EARNING money instead of just taking it from people. WHOA! Revolutionary. Well, let’s see: who we gut left. Hold on! I see three fellows who look identical. AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY! Haha, just kidding of course, hold on, let me just get over to these three blokes. So! Let me start with you. (as I take a knee) What is your name, sir? Joe Scarborough. And you?… sitting on his right? You are?….John Oliver…..and you, over here on his left?…..Chris Hayes. Hold on, let me get to my feet here and back up a bit and just look at the three of you……..(after a long time, and still standing)……are you three related? Were you all forceps babies? No, real question! I’m one myself Really! But I look normal! Well, not NOW of course, now I look like fucking Methuselah, but in my younger days I looked ok, eyes far apart: in the right place: All-American kind of look. You three all look like you went through the transporter wrong. Like there was a Klingon attack just at the same time the transfer was taking place and the three of you all had your faces compressed in all four directions, top to bottom and side to side, like two vices were at work, working as a team. I mean, Chris, the whites of your eyes at the bottom are all I see, like, I dunno, like your irises are trying to look up to heaven for assistance in getting a better job. And John, I dunno. You’d be tough to kiss for any woman, especially at the slow-approach before contact. But JOE!!!….Jesus. And you have a hot wife. What’s her name?…Mika….Brzzelzebub? Close enough. And she’s a fuckin’ looker. She kisses that mug? Holy fucking shit, AND I’M SORRY PEOPLE, EXCUSE MY LANGUAGE, but FUCK!!!!! What IS it with you three??? I KNOW it’s not Down Syndrome, cause THOSE people are intelligent and YOU three are….well, let’s not go into it, I mean why pile-it-on. But holy sweet angels and the saints. I think I’m actually going to puke. OK JUST KIDDING EVERYONE! RELAX!
On the PLUS side?…..my vomit would be easier on the eyes. I mean, I thought Greta was bad. She’s Taylor Swift compared to you three. You know what?….everyone else so far has left on their own. But you three, I’m gonna haffta just ask you to leave. Through a television screen I can handle those mugs but seeing you all right here together and us not separated electronically and from thousands of miles away? It’s some brutal shit, man. It’s like looking at Cher, Madonna, and Whoopie Golberg simultaneously.
Now imagine me keeping this up for two hours a day. It’d be legendary.______J.J. Solari
