Roger died of fatness today so the staff had to duct-tape Jimmy M. to his office BarcaLounger. The pathetic Little Dill kept trying to tap dance on the desks. I’ll be away organizing a reception down here. Today’s lesson: you can’t really die of embarrassment, but, as Jim told the crew, “your embarrassment can die for you—and take all your Ailes away.”
Little Dill (that’s “Jimmy Dill” to you; the “Big Dill” is Lachlan, of course) will join me at an all-hands meeting today in Studio F to discuss the magic way we are getting rid of all the embarrassing, annoying right-wing viewers. It’s all part of the little Dill’s plan to make the business into something he can be as proud of as he was of The News of the World, when I sent him to run that into the ground.
My background report:
I told Pinch even before I came over here from the Times my opinion, which is that Rupert should have just adopted Les Hinton and sent the Double-Dills to a Cambodian orphanage. Instead, we have Big Dill faking autism and Jimmy Dill channeling his wife’s business tactics. Getting rid of Ailes and O’Reilly was all her. She made it sound so simple: severance for silence. Worked like a charm.
Mrs. Little Dill is a genius at fear manipulation. For example, there was a lot of angst last month when we renegotiated Hannity’s contract. Happened right after I got here. Rupert ask me to calm the boy down, since he was afraid Hannity would walk. Why? Because we fired one of his best friends and mentors, Bill Shine. I told them Mrs. Little Dill was right: nothing would pry Hannity out of the building. Where’s he going to go? Morning talk on WABC? So she told Little Dill to just ask him, “Sean, are you Sirius?” Not Sirius, he said. Just kidding.
Both Dills know, from personal experience, the best way to calm down anxious, unskilled workers is simple humiliation. So, the deal was made: we’d give Hannity the 20 mil, but he has to shut up about Shine and, just to remind him who’s the daddy, he’s have to do his show wearing ladies’ undergarments.
“That’s all?” he asked.
“Just that and you’re good, Sean,” said L’il Dill.
Hannity: “Show me the thong.”
Instant peace—if you don’t count all the weirdos screaming down the hall, “I’ll do it for free!”
Pinch tells me that now that we’re all on a combat footing, things are going much smoother at the paper. I miss the old place! Especially now with the press at war and everybody in the trenches against Trump. Pinch told Dill how it would work: “We throw poo, a big handful every day. Then we watch the monkeys screech through the briefing.” Does it work? Does it! Suddenly the daily briefing sounds like something from “Animal Planet” with Spicer ducking turds. Great television.
Every morning. Every. Single. Morning.
All working to plan. And Rupe—we’re saving a place for you down here!
This little cubicle at Fox is pathetic. And why I ever let the Pinchlette convince me that I’d like working for his protege Jimmy M. is beyond me. I should have known from listening to Jimmy’s cell-phone convos with Becky B that he’d never be more than a half-wit trying to make his mentor proud. Plus, Pinch himself told me he thought there was something “congenitally weird” about these Murdoch Katzenjammers. So here I am in a utility closet where the walls are covered with torn O’Reilly posters. More on this once I find the charger. Battery’s almost gone.
Engaging in protests and public actions will embolden others to join in and hearten the vulnerable.
So our strategy is moving away from the unpredictable ballot box and toward street riots?
The problem is, the damn streets run everywhere, including up and down Eighth Avenue. Do you realize how expensive a “public action” in front of our glass-fronted building at 620 Eighth Avenue can be? The only thing keeping our doors open is civility (or laziness) on the part of half the country’s population, all of whom hate us. If we encourage the hoodie troopers to “join in and hearten the vulnerable” we should remember just how vulnerable we are.
(One more thing: If we’re going to carry guns, we really need to watch our feet:
Think of the message sent if the “day without immigrants,” in which foreign-born workers stayed home, became a week or a month.
…or a lifetime, which I think is their whole idea. Which idiot wrote this?! Did somebody forget to grab the passcard from Howell Raines?)
So just calm the hell down! Pinch, back away from the matches. Farenheit 451 and all that.