Walter Cronkite, one of the most respected journalists of our time, died on Friday night at the age of 92. I spoke with him posthumously on Sunday:
Me: Thank you for speaking with me, Walter.
WC: Young man, it is my pleasure.
Me: I’m very honored that I’m getting the chance to interview you. Since you are a veteran journalist, would you mind if I made this interview a fast-paced, hard hitting affair?
WC: (chuckles) Not at all. Please feel free to fire away.
Me: Oh, chuckle at me, will you, old man? First, here’s a softball question. You retired from the CBS Evening News almost thirty years ago. Would you say that broadcast journalism has flourished or floundered after your absence?
WC: The corporatization of television journalism has ruined it. No longer can the people have someone they can trust to deliver unbiased news, and this saddens me greatly.
Me: Now, is it true that Adolf Hitler modeled his mustache after yours?
WC: Where did you hear that?
Me: So you admit that it’s true?
WC: (sputters) No! I would like to know what unreliable sources you’re using for such spurious accusations.
Me: I read it on a blog somewhere.
WC: Don’t get me started about blogging. Blogs are going to be the death of journalism because every mom with a sleeping baby can churn out 500 words of her uneducated opinion and uninformed people will take it as fact.
Me: Plus, bloggers make up random shit like interviews with famous people who have died, too.
Me: Did we just break the fourth wall?
WC: I’m not sure. I know that I just broke wind, though.
Me: Dude, did you eat limburger? Fuuck.
WC: Young man, do not call me “Dude”. You can call me “Uncle Walter”, “Walter”, “Mr. Cronkite”, or “Senor Mustache Ride”, but that’s only if you’re under 19, Puerto Rican, and have an ass I can bounce a quarter off of.
Me: Well, now we’re getting off track. Let’s stick to the interview, fishlips. It is said that the term “anchor” was coined because of your role as a broadcast journalist.
WC: Yes, that’s right.
Me: Why’d they come up with anchor? Why a nautical term? Why not “starboard”? Plank? Mast? Poop Deck?
WC: So you would have the gall to suggest that I would call myself a Television Poop Deck Man? Are you addled in the head?
Me: Hey, I’m not the one with Hitler’s moustache who’s named after a barnacle-encrusted rusty implement designed to stop a ship!
WC: This interview is over.
Me: Wait, one last thing.
WC: (sighs) Fine.
Me: My Canadian brother from another mother, LeSombre, turns another year older today. He told me that you are his biological father.
WC: I am absolutely not!
Me: He swears that you are his father. That you impregnated his mother during an orgy in the early 70s. That you, David Brinkley and Chen Huntley triple-teamed her.
WC: I swear that you have the ethics of an amoral snake-oil salesman.
Me: So you won’t wish your illegitimate son a happy birthday?
WC: I most certainly will not! And may you rot in hell! (storms off)
Me: And that’s the way it is.
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