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Edward R. Murrow is dead, as is Ernie Pyle, so the desperation inherent in slim pickins` must be what allowed David Gregory on stage at the recent White House Correspondents Dinner. There he was....back up rapper for Karl Rove. The audience loved it. I haven`t heard that kind of wild cheering since the Bush`s night of Shock and Awe a few years ago. What got me through this sickening event was the small consolation that neither Tom Brokaw nor Tim Russert were hawking books in a tent on the lawn.
Color me cynical, but if these performing nitwits had put the same amount of energy into a few in-depth investigations, we might not have as many neglected Iraq War vets or as many warrantless wiretaps. We might have found all the Hurricane Katrina victims by now or located a few of the missing billions in Iraq. I know, I know. All work and no play really messes with Jack.
The Correspondents Dinner reminded me of a screwed up family reunion where all the adults slap each other on the back and drink a toast but ignore the naked uncle in the back bedroom with the pre schooler. Why start a big stink that could ruin a perfectly good buffet, right?
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