It takes a foreign correspondent planted amid our White House Press Corps to highlight the latter’s dysfunction. During a presser with “Trump of the Tropics”—Brazil’s visiting prime minister, Jair Bolsonaro—a Brazilian lass distinguished herself by focusing exclusively on … hefty matters. When this foreign correspondent asked President Trump about the “OECD,” the furrows on the sloping brows who make up the American press scrum deepened.
To these presstitutes, it mattered not whether America was going to put in a good word for Brazil at the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, when there was one overriding, life-or-death matter to tackle:
Trump’s irredeemable, unrelenting, absolute awfulness, which not even an exoneration by the sainted Mr. Mueller has ameliorated.
Yes, Grand Inquisitor Robert Mueller found no evidence that the Trump campaign conspired with Russia in the 2016 election. This has altered not a bit the hyperventilating done by the harridans on the ubiquitous television panels.
Let me be clear. When I allude to the women of TV, I include those with the Y Chromosome.
However, other than a few “men”—Don Lemon and his CNN sideshow, Chris Cuomo, come to mind—the housebroken boys on the typical TV panel are tamer than the tarts. Some of the “men” might even be pretending to be temperamentally unhinged in order to hook-up with good-looking girls in the Green Room.
Brooke Baldwin of CNN and Stephanie Ruhle of MSNBC continue to spit out Trump news in CAPS, just so you know HOW EACH ONE FEELS DEEP DOWN INSIDE, AND WHO ARE THE ANGELS AND THE DEMONS IN THE STORY. (Donald and his Deplorables are never angels, if you get the drift.)
Not coincidentally, the asphyxiating hysteria matches the vapid vocabulary. TV’s women rob the English language blind, deploying breathy figures of speech to fit a simpleton’s febrile, emotionally overwrought state-of-mind: “Unbelievable, incredibly embarrassing, amazing, OMG!”
This p-ss-poor, teenybopper English comes with sound effects. TV’s tarts all speak in insufferable, grating, staccato, tart tones. At least, that’s how I’ve always described the gravelly voice of the tele-ditz. Believe it or not, such a depiction is no longer politically proper. The voices from hell have been dignified. Explains the Economist,
“Two vocal features are associated with young women: vocal fry and uptalk. Uptalk, as the name suggests, is the rising intonation that makes statements sound like questions? And vocal fry—often said to be typical of Kim Kardashian, an American celebrity—happens at the ends of words and phrases when a speaker’s vocal chords relax, giving the voice a kind of creaky quality.”
Mandatory elocution lessons might ease the viewer’s pain.
Bad English and bad thinking are intertwined. By logical extension, the “ladies” resort reflexively to ad hominen attack. If Trump expresses an opinion, it’s not because he sincerely thinks it or believes it, but because he’s narcissistic, isn’t nice, makes them sad.
As befits the pedestrian minds described, our pig-ignorant panelists (with apologies to pigs) are incapable of grasping the role of government.
TV’s tele-tarts focus not on the role of government, but on the tone of government.
Thus is disagreement cast as diabolical. POTUS dares to dispute the notion that white nationalism is an urgent problem. He has the audacity to dislike John McCain (who is, likewise, despised by many a Vietnam War veteran), and he’s unconvinced a few Russian bots threw the 2016 elections. Trump doesn’t conform. He rejects received opinion. He’s not like all those sinecured, empaneled “normies.” The reality of difference among TV’s distaff sets off the kind of uncontrollable twitching and writhing conjuring medieval mass hysteria. St. John’s dance frenzy, six-hundred odd years ago, for example.
All this is the stuff of tabloids. For the disciplined mind craves data. It craves facts, not folklore. By contrast, devoid of discipline and a sense of propriety, and seeking the warm smell of the Fake-News herd—cable’s cretins escape into gossip, feelings, and fantasy.
The girlie nature of news reportage means a lurch from one scandal to the next. And it’s never about real news. The “Five W’s” journalists are obligated to impart in their coverage no longer count. These were: Who, What, When, Where, Why. Nowadays, the women in control keep it sensational, as opposed to informative and substantive. They pick the most perverse aspect of a story—often entirely imaginary and symbolic—zero in on it and work it, until the next fix presents itself.
And, no, these dames are not nameless phantoms. Here are some of American TV’s more memorable mediocrities:
Yamiche Alcinder (PBS), Ruth Marcus (WaPo), Marie Barf, Jessica Tarlov and Rochelle Ritchie of Fox News, Alexis McGill Johnson, Jackie Speier (politician), Ana Maria Archila, Nomiki Konst and Symone D. Sanders (high-flying Bernie babes both), Asha Rangappa (former FBI, ever Democrat), Michelle Goldberg (atrocious writer at the New York Times), Hallie Jackson (MSNBC), Sarah Westwood (snide at CNN), Emma Brown (WaPo), Shannon Pettypiece (Bloomberg), Catherine Rampell (WaPo), Eliza Collins (USA Today), Maya Wiley (MSNBC), Jessica Valenti (author of “Sex Object”), Liz Plank (cringe factor infinity ∞ at Vox Media), Liz Mair (lite libertarian), Cynthia Alskne (dumps on Donald for MSNBC), Natasha Bertram (The Atlantic), Anne Rumsey Gearan (Washington Post’s White House Reporter); Jennifer Horn (AP News), Neera Tanden (former adviser to BHO and Democratic operative), Adrian de Vogue (CNN Court reporter), Laura Coates (CNN), Xochitl Hinojosa (big wig in the Democratic Party, if you can pronounce her name), Jay-Newton Small (Time magazine), Adrienne Elrod. On and on. These females are interchangeable in opinion and in demeanor.
And here is my modest Swiftian proposal:
It so happens that a hero of the left, mass murderer Mao Zedong, once proposed exporting 10 million Chinese women to the United States. In a long conversation with Henry Kissinger at the Chinese leader’s residence, in February of 1973, Mao moaned about “the dismal trade between the two countries.” China was a “very poor country,” said Mao, with “an excess of women.”
“Let them go to your place. They will create disasters. That way, you can lessen our burdens,” Mao pleaded in earnest (for he had no sense of humor).
That’s the one and only page America might consider taking out of the Little Red Book—in reverse. Ship the aforementioned to China. Bomb China with American bimbos. Alas, as soon as one prototypical panelist falls away, like sharks’ teeth, another moves in to fill her slot.
Previously: The TV Tarts’ Reign Of Terror, Part 1