Profit of doom...
I'll be your prophet of doom for today... I am angry. very angry and it's not pretty. The year is 2125.
The little green men from the intergalactic insurance agency do not want to pay up... While smoking in bed, I set the planet on fire and they claimed I did not read the small print... Yes, sure it states that they would not pay up if I'd set the place on fire while smoking in bed, nor would they pay up should I contract lung or throat cancer before the age of 72. Past that age, they do provide free care and hospital cover forever, till obviously I cark it two days after my 72nd wheezy candle blowing birthday from a naturally occurring bus accident while crossing the inevitable road where the flashing sign timing for pedestrians has been calculated just a few seconds short, to eliminate those who are getting too slow across the road...
    According to my statistics, only 50 per cent of smokers will get lung/throat cancer while only five per cent will set the place on fire, but since we live in close quarters, the place of someone who does not smoke has 90 per cent chance of being burned down by one of the smokers... Result?: Everyone gets a black eye.
    And our ABC, now the private property of Mr Murdochovich, tells us the weather is fine, tells us the bed padding is comfy, when, if you look out of the window — an act totally illegal in that 2125 virtual world of fake orgasms and real tasers shocks — you could see the hills are on fire — while dry storms, with tornadoes, are raging across the land — if the clouds were not so low. And don't ever think of opening that window!... you'll get sand grit the size of golf balls in your eyes... Choo choo!
    But back to today's unreal world in which our lovely ABC shoots itself in the foot, to prove "it's balanced" because it can claim it does not have a hole in the other one. Brother!. The budgets are so tight, you can see the plumber's crack through the wedgies... Moreover blandness and flat-olisation is the new norm — the new mission-brown. The news, read by the lovely Juanita, look more and more like hamburger soup. International news? Hamburger soup... National news? Hamburger soup... local news? Sure... We've got these lovely shot of a hamburger up a tree turning into soup, just to bring a bit of colour... Stock-market report? Why bother, the hamburger soup level is up one day, down the next, with a Chinese meat ball upsetting the ripples for a few days, and by that stage it does not affect the price of virtual fish... Then comes the sport nuz, delivered with the same degree of importance as the international hamburger soup. Sport is full of hamburger beef-cakes turning to soup... And the weather... ZZZZzzzz... by that time, I'm full. I'm choking! I have indigestion of blancmange...
    And Blimey! The new revamped nuz on SBS has taken the look of a fat lady who can't get up her chair so it gets a bit of fanning from advertising... It's getting bad stretch marks around the tummy! Nuzz on the the other channels has gone clowning with fake gravitas and gravy on the bib... There is more reality in the Simpsons news-reader that in the nuz gathering services in Orstralya... we're doomed. They've become profit of our doom... uneventful little doom for profit... and we've become consumers without passion...
    And day after day after day!... "balanced nuz"!. 50 per cent porkies, 50 per cent whatever... Investigative journalism? Dead... Doddoed... No one dares lift the carpet just in case the dirt may make someone choke. Safety first. All is reutered, aaped, cnnnned... And the few brave journalists trying to still do a proper jobs are neutered by a system where editorial guideline of "balance" are more important than the full sunny truth. No! Sir! we need to add the dark side of public relations that massage ideals into pulp fiction for balance of braindeadery.... Balance? the world is experiencing one of its most traumatic event: the north pole (the place where Santa lives) is melting fast. Antarctica is following suit somewhat much slower but we still having the Byzantine debate whether angels have wings or not, in the name of balance...
    No wonder the little green men of Intergalactical insurance thought planet Moron was not worth insuring...