CNN CRAP NETWORK NEWS

I think I have a far and distant memory of when CNN was first launched in 1980. I was 14, and I recall that the network stood out for being innovative as well as entertaining. Then again…I was 14, so what the hell did I know about broadcast journalism or news coverage.

During the years CNN has been a channel that consistently served me well. My obsessive personality was grateful for the extensive coverage of the O.J. trial (A trial because of my then working hours I was able to absorb almost every minute of). Their coverage of the Yugoslav wars was excellent, with Christiane Amanpour providing erections as well as precise news coverage. During Iraq I, CNN was the source for excellent coverage, even though Bernard Shaw thought fit to take shelter behind the sofa as the first attacks took place. Even 9-11 (and I was in New York) it was CNN I turned on to view the horrific spectacle of the second plane hitting the south tower.

Right, so now I am the transposed age of when I first saw CNN and I would like to think at 41 I'm a bit more clued-up than when I was 14, although sometimes I do wonder.
It occurs to me that lately CNN has dumbed-down its news coverage for a demographic not surpassing the age of 10. No longer does it stand out as clever and innovative; it stands out like a load of bollocks.

Today: CNN ran this on their website:

LONDON, England (AP) -- Collectors paid thousands of pounds (dollars) Saturday for letters from British royalty to a trusted servant, including a note from the late Queen Mother Elizabeth requesting the aide pack bottles of gin and Dubonnet for an outing, "in case it is needed."

Pounds (dollars)? What do the two have in common? A pound is worth twice as much as a dollar, for starters. How about writing pounds (currency)? I think more than just being stupid…it’s arrogant: would a news organization in another country, say Greenland write ‘pounds (krone)?’ I think not.

Just after its birthday the ‘United States’ stands out like an ill-educated, overweight boxer…punch drunk on past and fleeting glory. Stumbling, slow. Trudging through muck, self inspired doom and a really bad personality crisis.

CNN provides all the insight to this, in this one encapsulation of the very insular society that becomes more a victim of its own failure each and every year.

Happy (albiet belated) birthday, USA.

‘So sorry things have failed to work out.

Sorry too, for CNN.

You launched like your country: full of promise, full of bright ideas.

You become like your country: no promise, out of bright ideas.

Oh, and just to let you know: your flag is ugly and all the world hates you.

The character Dr. Henry Henry played so very well by Christopher Lloyd in Nick Roeg’s great film ‘Track 29’ once bellowed to his wife, “Women and trains do not mix!” I agree with those sentiments but would like to expand the idea to women and public transportation in general. (There are other things with which women do not mix: mobile phones, for example, but I’ll leave that rant for another day.) Right, this morning on the bus…a sort of posh bird gets on and offers the driver a ten pound note. Of course the driver doesn’t have change for a tenner and so the argument begins. “But I don’t want to be late for wark” the bint wimpers. Oh, oh…you are going to be late for work. Oh no. What about the entire bus load of people you are delaying because you don’t have the basic common sense to purchase an Oyster Card (things Londoners use to travel) or pay with a two pound coin? “Is there a chance that you get some change some where along the route?” Yeah…this is going to happen. And so the discussion went on. Almost equally annoying the bus driver never told her just to 'fuck-off' . So, this four minute banter between the two great brains continued until the driver backed down and let her on the bus for free. So the bitch got a free ride, while all the other customers paid and well, I just hope she wasn’t late for wark

I, however, was. Yes, because of that delay I missed my train, had to wait six minutes for another and turned up 15 minutes late for wark. I curse this ugly soulless bitch and wish her a speedy and painful death. Life would be more liveable without people who can’t think three minutes ahead, women who shuffle through great big hand bags to find there travel card while boarding a bus, after having spent seven minutes waiting for it to arrive. Women who suddenly stop at a tube exit because they suddenly realise they need their ticket to actually get out. The problem is a very simple one to work out. Just think…what am I going to need to do in the next three minutes…and what can I do to prepare myself for it. But no…and alas Dr. Henry Henry will always be correct: “Women and trains do not mix!”

Okay ladies/girls let’s just clear up one thing: right here, right now. Your Ugg Boots were fine for the winter. Great even. You managed to turn London into a female army of furry boot wearing robot manikins. One or two of you even looked good. But now…it’s almost June, ALMOST JUNE. Please, for the love of man, take them off. Take the fucking boots off, ladies. Purchase a pair of ‘flip-flops’, paint your toenails and start living in the present. I’m not asking for a lot. Please. Today?

I mean you would have to,
wouldn't you?
Viva La France...

Family outing.

Girls in old Volvos drive me mad.
Their dogs in the backseat looking so sad.
They're early sixties stylized,
my true ambitions realized.
They're so disassociated and cool
and those dogs, how they drool
on the re-upholstered seats
of discounted, faux, bengal fur.
There are sunglasses hiding

vacant stares, despondent pouts

and looks like, "WHO CARES?"

Turning signals never work

and epoxied dash attachments

and little quirks make me want to scream,

"I LOVE YOU !" each time they drive past.
Four on the floor or three in the tree,

it really makes no difference to me.

Their exhaust is noxious, but then so am I.

Cross my heart and hope to die

stick a needle in my eye but...

Fifty five in the slow lane drives me wild.

They're going nowhere and not getting there fast.
You, Volvo Girl, are rebel. You are outcast.

And it is not your fault that people do not

understand your constant and undeviating

requirement for individuality and your disdain

for the human race. So don't let them stare you in the face .

Because you'll get nothing back but a look that says, "DROP DEAD, DUDE."
I dream to find one broken down one day.
An "eighteen hundred E," my dear
what would you say to your knight in shining armor
coming to your automotive rescue?
You, in your leather jacket and paint splattered jeans,
and that interesting hair cut, you know what it means
to embrace those old Swedish machines
and make them young again
like I know you would me.
And I'd be down on my knees
and you'd rattle your keys just out of my reach.
I want to be your hairless dog
and run on the beach and pick up your sticks
and ride in your car and drool on your seats.
I want to be your ornamental pooch.
To conquer the world back
to an airbagless age with lapbelts and leaded.
So lock me in your cage of dispassionate bemusement
and let's drive, honey.
Let's just drive.

We are
mo......