Non-stop partying, ironically, the kind the Irish do so well: lots of noise, booze, sick. The irony? All the party-goers were Brits. That would include me, of course. And we all had something to celebrate. The Irish were going to start aborting more of their loathsome spawn! More dead Irish infants! Brilliant.
Darkey Kelly and O’Cromwell, as Ollie styles himself, had been by earlier with a breezy, “Well, you one-legged, homosexual drug-monkey, the results are in!”
“You two seem pleased,” says I.
“Like every day’s a potato famine, Mr Duranty,” says Darkey. She explained the referendum vote.
“I thought you Irish liked the little people,” I said.
“Not that little,” Darkey laughed. “Although at 12 weeks, they’re wee enough to fool the tourists. The Irish Tourist Board is thinking of stuffing the tiny ones and hiding them under mushrooms for the tourists from Boston.”
That Irish referendum. Pure genius. Leave it to the Irish — that dim and dwindling race.
Posted 27.05.2018 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
I am just swamped in congratulatory emails after “Red Century” appeared in the old paper. Let me reply to one and all here: Благодарю! Your kind notes inspire me to continue my immortal quest to tell a better, brighter truth about the Great Cause. And to those who who uncharitably accuse communism of being a murderous ideology, let me just ask you: so you don’t like Lenin or Stalin. But what about Trump? When will we see the Black Book of Trumpism? How many people must die before we return to our senses and ride the great rising tide of the Antifa and impeach Trump? I’m only asking.
Posted 11.11.2017 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
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.”
Posted 18.05.2017 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
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!
Posted 17.05.2017 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
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.
Posted 05.05.2017 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty