In 1972, a young journalist named Carl Bernstein discovered a laundered cheque linking Richard Nixon to the Watergate burglary, and along with Bob Woodward (a man described as the best of his generation when it comes to investigative reporting) exposed a scandal that led to the resignation of the POTUS. For those of you who don't know, and I'm talking about the hacks at Daily Mail Australia, this is heavy shit. To save you twits googling, POTUS is an acronym for President Of The United States. An acronym is a new word (often a noun) formed from the first letters of the collective words that describe that new word, such as Anzac or ASIO. Most of you reading this probably already know what an acronym is, but I'm kind of doubting the staff of Daily Mail Australia do.
Anyway, yesterday Daily Mail Australia ran an article about 'Sunrise' host Samantha Armytage going shopping in a 'loose-fitting striped dress' and 'granny panties showed through the garment...' whilst she was doing some shopping at Bondi Surf Seafoods. It spoke of her blonde hair being tied back in a pony tail (God, who fucking cares?) Accompanying this paradigm of razor-edge journalism was a photograph taken from behind which showed Ms Armytage climbing into a vehicle. I shit you not. This is what's passing for journalism these days. Someone photographed someone climbing into a vehicle, that someone having some visible panty line, and decided it was a story worth running with. To the hack who wrote this: it's really not. What it is, is utterly creepy and loathsome, and kind of fucking boring. Why do you believe people care if a television talking head purchases seafood and also wears underpants? We don't. No, really; we don't. I don't purport to be a fan of Samantha. Indeed, she has made comments that have loosened the fillings in my teeth. But this article just makes my flesh crawl, and she has my support on this. Samantha, I too wear undies!
Dude who wrote that shit (Margan), I will help you out a little here. Here's a nice article for you:
"Upper Hunter author Simone Bailey was today seen sweeping and mopping her kitchen floor whilst wearing a blue chemise type nightgown over a pair of huge black granny knickers, those knickers large enough and with elastic strong enough to be mistaken for an infant's pilchers. Or those awful sports knickers we used to have wear under our sports tunic at school. Ms Bailey, who is married to a lovely man who has the fortitude and stoicism to put up with her, later showered and changed into a mustard coloured t-shirt that flattered her autumnal complexion, and a shabby pair of pale blue capri length pants through which an outline of her hipster briefs could be seen."
Did you feel better reading that? Did you swoon at the insightful journalism and ground breaking, bowel-loosening facts claimed therein? No? Then you might now know how the rest of us felt when we read your asinine article. On the other hand, a paragraph like that probably made you jizz yourself.
When I was a little girl, I wanted to write the next 'Narnia' series. As an adult, I want to write the new 'Bonfire of the Vanities', or 'A Prayer For Owen Meany'. These books are the pinnacle of fine literature and when I read 'Owen Meany' I actually got it. I understood what my English teachers meant when they talked about language and themes and imagery. I felt like I was falling in love, and thought to myself, 'This is what I want to write'. Now, Daily Mail Guy, when you decided on a career in journalism, is this grubby pile of festering crap what you aspired to write?
I have a memory of myself as a little girl writing stories, and my mother smiling with pride as a told her I wanted to write a play or book that would make people feel great. I'm just imagining this bloke telling his mother, 'Mum, when I grow up-' (hah!) '-I want to be a journalist. I'm going to write all that really important stuff like women's underwear.' His mother no doubt smiled indulgently, and then had a lock put on her underwear drawer.
I wonder what Bernstein and Woodward did after they completed their investigation and published their incredible article? Maybe they opened a bottle of booze and toasted each other. Maybe they just sat at their desks thinking, 'Faaarrrrk'. I'd probably have done both.
The sense of accomplishment, achievement, fear and pride those two guys, along with the staff of The Washington Post must have felt after finalisation of their investigation into the Watergate robbery is unfathomable to me. What do you lot at the Daily Mail do when you've completed one of your jaw-dropping ex-po-zays? I'm guessing break out the tissues and delete your Internet browsing history.
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