Once, in the distant past, I was a man of tremendous importance. I wore enormous cufflinks, hats, and egos with proper pomp and pretension. I hobnobbed with young men and ladies in certain special circles, feigning interest in their lives while suckling at their souls. I was the last of a dying breed.
You see, according to the keynote address, the secret to scribing is neither integrity nor comity nor impeccable penmanship. At least, not according to Mrs. Goldsmith, the assistant editor of a small New Hampshire weekly, who spoke softly, as if her words were reserved for my rapt and impressionable and acne-strewn ears.
No, the key to good journalism (said Mrs. Goldsmith huskily) is having the will to ignore the screaming mother of a small baby with a broken back, lying crying and crumpled and partially impaled upon the base of the towering bleachers from which it fell, in order to accurately and impassively photograph the scene for the front page of the Sunday paper. Why was this the key to good journalism? Because it is the method by which Mrs. Goldsmith was promoted to her position of power. In philosophy they call this post hoc, ergo propter hoc. In journalism, they call it business as usual.
And so, thusly delivered from the able hands of an apt instructor in the art of investigative journalism, I shall now provide you with a look back at the weeks that were. These are actual news stories that I have doggedly culled from the Internet, aided in my efforts only by the forums, a broadband internet connection, and a hearty dose of Xanax. I hope you enjoy them as only the truly vicarious can.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
News You Needn't Know provides coverage and commentary on some of the strangest stories the Internet has to offer. After the advent of cable news, it might appear as if everything that occurs is awarded an audience with Larry King and a book deal to boot. There are, however, stories which still slip into--or fail to arise from--obscurity. So, like a chimp combing crumbs from his mate's hirsute backside, in this feature we scrabble through the dregs of the Internet news machine to find the silliest, strangest, or hairiest articles out there and dissemble them to their comedic core.