I Do Not Know How to Escape from Here


Gerald Ford Torn Apart By Wolves.

By this time, you too would be bored. Before relieving me of my job dispensing information on the air, they decided to have me rattle off possible headlines that might run in the next five years. This is all in case they would want to have me once again—after my decline, dementia, death etc.—delivering the news, since people once trusted me more than any other anchor. Trusted me to testify. Report the facts the way they were. To not blow the story, to convey the proper amount of respect for the dead or victims of catastrophe or crime, and to show the right amount of rigidity and anger towards the perpetrators of the deed who will be caught and swiftly punished.

Gerald Ford Killed By Poison Gas.

It occurred to me that in fact I might better have refused the offer, but it was another week of being paid to speak the truth. And I will go to any length to speak the truth.

Ronald Reagan Finally Dead At Last.

You can send donations to the address on the screen. The dredge defaced in Misery Bay. Another rape and killing has taken place in Houghton this week. A new record snowfall has closed roads and schools again. A new record snowfall has led to an unusual number of snowmobiling deaths. An unusual number meaning more than one per month. Blowing snow and chilling winds have led to the death of children left in the overturned bus. Tragedy has struck again: another snowmobiler through the canal. The President of the University's son has… scratch that: The University President's son has gone through the ice. A task force on winter death is being formed. They will tackle the issues that matter to the people. Donations will be taken for the trust fund to be established in his memory. Please send your checks to the address on the screen.

Gerald Ford Electrified In His Home.

Moose loom over the roads. They roam in nights on streets, causing further deaths. Please be careful when you see a moose: they're angry creatures and will come for you. Please avert your eyes, this is yet another death. Everything, you know, results in death. People are aging faster now. No one is leaving home and the windows always growing smaller. Fish in Torch Lake are found with cancer. The sun will not rise until 6:32 a.m. this morning which is twenty minutes later than its rise on this date a hundred years ago. Yes we have the figures that go back that far to back this up. We do have a history ha ha. The mall will be closed tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow because of fear of disease. Donations to the cancer cleanup fund can be mailed to the address on the screen.

Gerald Ford—An Old, Old Man—Keeled Over From Grief And Culpability This Morning.

Another one has gone through the ice and will be towed up at a later date. You can send donations to the address on the screen. The hearts of mice have stopped their beating beneath the floorboards and will begin—I think—to stink quite soon. Anchorman Dan Kaarala has died today. Torn apart by wolves. Cut with a butterfly knife. Decapitated by a stray wire on the train track. Dead of natural causes. Of foul play. Dead dead dead. The public mills about, remorseless at the loss of this TV news staple. No one loves anyone anymore and the sun is dull and black, a corroded disk.