The Craven
by Medgar Alien Schmoe
Strictly from Commercial
Once upon a zeitgeist creepy, hardbit reporters got all weepy
Some quaint and curious malady had them weeping on the newsroom floor,
When suddenly in limited seating, my derriere it took a beating,
Forced away from winter heating, to sit upon the newsroom floor
Since I was bid enforced attention, I turned on my teeny text invention
Just some tweeting, nothing more.
Then, methunk, the air grew tenser, as the flopsweat grew still denser
All eyes swung to the Suit whose foot-falls scuffed the dirty floor
“What!” we cried, “Thy board hath sent thee, what dark design have they on we?”*
We shuddered at the footsteps squishing ‘cross the newsroom floor.
Rapidly I texted thither, though my soul began to wither: they were closing up our info store!
Quoth the Twitter, ‘Nevermore.’
[...]
[*Pronounced "ennui"]
OK. It’s just goddam sad and weird that the Rocky Mountain News officially started to Twitter JUST in time to text message their own DEATH RATTLE live in front of the world.*
[See yesterday's "Rocky Mountain News, R.I.P."]
You have to read it backwards, but go here, and start at:
# Scripps CEO Rich Boehne just announced the last edition of the Rocky Mountain News will be tomorrow,
It’s a kind of Real Time train crash that you don’t want to watch, but can’t help but look: rubberneckers yachting by the Titanic, we. But a strange schadenfreudey spectacle, nevertheless.
Or, as the Tempestuously Titled TweetDeck Tweeterer put it:
It’s strange to cover your own funeral.
Oh, brave new world that has such Twittering in it.
To paraphrase somebody or other.
April may be the cruelest month, but February is still the shortest month.
Mercifully.
Oh, and Paul Harvey died, too.
Good day.
Courage.
