Tom Brokaw is a Cyborg...Or a Zombie...A Zomborg, if you will. Will You? Will You?

Have you ever noticed that newscasters never sneeze? Ever. Not once in all of my pathetic years of watching any news channels or broadcasts have I ever seen a reporter sneeze. Or scratch their face or nose. Why is that? I mean, I know why that it is...Apparently we can't take a source seriously if we think they are prone to attacks from dust mites and other figures from the allergy lobby. TV news reporters are meant to be cardboard cutouts--2D figures that simply regurgitate factoids like giant Pez Dispensers giving us stale pieces of chalk that will eventually give us ass cancer. Theirs is a life covered by the same curtain that hid that Old Kook the Wizard from the judging eyes of a Furry, a guy in a Water Pot, and some Midwestern Ho-ma.

Never can we see behind that curtain, see that they are fallible, for once they expose a weakness (like, say, being itchy or sneezy or some other Dwarf) their competitors will pounce:

"CHANNEL 4 News takes time out of their broadcast to sneeze; do YOU have time to waste like that? Tune in to CHANNEL 8...Plus check out our hilarious Morning Show with The Giggler and His Hilarious Morning Zoo Crew!"

And maybe it's just me, but every time I'm engaged in some activity where my hands are pre-occupied with some annoying habit, or else everyone's eyes are on me, suddenly I have to furiously scratch a spot on my body like Yasmine Bleeth after Tailhook (HI-YO! Yes, I've broken the blogger code of silence involving Yasmine Bleeth. Finally, someone's taking it to the Bleeth). But not even a cursory pass by on the air for Brokaw or Rather or any of them. Maybe these guys are just a bunch of tough sumbitches who sit through their raging Sneezing Attacks and Infernal Itches just to talk about the latest failed relationship/movie involving Ben Affleck.

We're supposed to trust Newscasters because they are this group of people above the petty nuisances of having foibles and problems, just Talking Heads giving us the same soundbites they did 24 hours previously, except this time with EVEN MORE danger attached to them. But I submit that if we saw newscasters sneeze, scratch, burp, or even hiccup it would be endearing. Gross and disorienting, but endearing nonetheless. We would look at the screen and see ourselves reflected, and let's face it, we're the nation Narcissus built.

To contrast this view, I submit to y'all The Odd Couple; specifically, the character of Oscar Madison (Walter Matthau/Jack "Quincy" Klugman). Now here's a slob. Covered in hot dog leavings and various stains that seem almost purposely placed upon his wardrobe. Not just that, but he smokes discarded stogie butts...I mean, who does that? Clearly this guy's a huge, gross slob; a guy that belches, and scratches, spits, swears, and I'm even willing to bet he has the occasional attack of the sniffles. But what is Oscar's profession? He's a reporter for a newspaper. Newspaper writers are allowed to sneeze and be gross; it's hilarious and endearing, especially when juxtaposed against an effeminate man with a rather sad case of OCD. The point is, no one cared what Oscar did just so long as he delivered his gems of sports reporting. He could be a syphilitic meth addict with a lazy eye, but so long as his articles are popping and on time, his audience loved him. Why can't we go back to those days, people? As a nation, have we truly lost our way that much?

Where have you gone, Oscar Madison, our nation turns its glazed over eyes to you...