Letters from the Front Line — Day 61

article_5ace56be0d9e1My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

I am struck speechless at your willingness to join me in the reformation of this most nobel calling. I shall take our last two letters, and like Martin Luther himself, affix our grievances to the ivory pillars in the halls of journalism.

It is indeed regrettable that it took sixty days of solitude, and nearly 100,000 deaths to discover the rot, brought on by bean counters and consultants, that has infested news divisions across this great land. I endeavor to right this wrong, post haste.

To that end, I shall soon distribute new orders for all men of competent photographic skill. I regret to think that most will ignore said orders, as men of competent photographic skill are loathe to accept direction.

In the meantime, I ask that you remain steadfast, my love, and soldier on as only a man of your grace and incorruptibility can.

I remain in your debt.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9thBattalion

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Mail Call — Day 60

Finest Rick,

“We shall build a wall with the dead, and dare any who deem themselves worthy of this noble craft to scale it!” O my wizened brother at arms, you have stirred tingles in my nether regions!!

I shall forge this great and noble fight with you. Blood, sweat and tears will be shed, for this undertaking is not for the faint of heart!!

We shall blast “Break Stuff” by the ever popular 90’s band Limp Bizkit as we traverse the countryside looking for those shooting buildings with no tripods. We shall gather all those who think the IPhone is acceptable for broadcast television and cast them down with furious vengeance!! If a proper explanation of 3-point lighting is not forthcoming, to the charnel they go!!

For those who can’t scale the dead rotting flesh of those not worthy, we shall erect a cairn for their for efforts. The true MMJ warrior, Colonel Kielbasa will stand guard with his AP certificate and Murrow plaque high over his magnificent pompadour!!

Upon our completed mission, we shall order a festoon of balloons from party city, and quaff spirits till daybreak.
Stay bold my barbary macaque,

Intentionally yours,
Left eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 59

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Mr. Daquano,

(Notice the missing honorific, as your last epistle cut me to the quick.)

So, this is how it is going to be. I shoulder sole responsibility for the downfall of Western Journalism? I am to blame for the sorry state of photoggery on television?

Were it that simple!

Would that all initiate newsmen (and women, for I hear General News has allowed them into our ranks) passed through my Cameraman Boot Camp. What a far different news-scape it would be. A news-scape bereft of Late Private Corkys and Boot Duhes.

Clean sound! Beauteous vistas! Focus as fine as frog’s hair! And tight shots! Mouth-watering pictures so tight they make my heart soar.

Mayhaps this virus is exactly what our flailing craft needs — a hard restart as the kids today are fond of saying. A thinning of the herd. A separation of the wheat from the chaff. A great winnowing.

And when the dust settles on the battlefield of dashed aspirations, you and I shall stand — bruised, but hardly broken — to spread the gospel of sequenced video, action-reaction, and captured moments! We shall build a wall with the bodies of the dead, and dare any who deem themselves worthy of this noble craft to scale it!

Under my tutelage, we shall usher in a new world order! One of heroic shooters willing to sacrifice all for the story, to die for the close-up. Of editors who view scripts as mere suggestions and cast hard time restrictions to the wind for the sake of great sound.

A new world order of reporters who do things the way their photog tells them the first time!

And we shall call this brave new world Newstopia!

Thank you for lifting my spirits so. I apologize if the start of this letter offended your quiet sensibilities or caused you Neanderthalic brow to furrow.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Mail Call — Day 58

97100562_10215979347372206_8754920834348351488_nSweetest Rick,

The fear mongers of the media seem to be the blame for all of societies ills, scarring women and children as they seek to curry favor with their cronies on the left. Could it be our very own that has beset this phenomenon of the MMJ upon our fine but misunderstood industry?

Is it us? Are we to blame for the scourge of good hairs and pretty faces wielding cameras and editing like it’s a junior high school project?

I refuse to fall into that trap, instead I blame you Sergeant Turd, you are to blame for this onslaught of medium, soft focus, pick a color, pan for no reason, audio is not important travesty!!

The above picture fell into the hands of one of the suits in corporate years ago. It became apparent that in thin economic times monkeys can do our job.

The suits make them work long hours, pay them in bananas and voila a trend was started that is single handedly bringing a once powerful medium to its knees.

No more whining you cantankerous fool, go and train the new batch then reminisce about the good ole days while you sip bourbon wearing your fuzzy laced handcuffs next to your amazingly hot wife!!

Intently yours,

Left Eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 57

onemanMy Dearest Mr. Daquano,

I have encountered a scourge far worse than this wretched pandemic. It is more foul than the odor which permeates Forward Operating Base Frat House, more insidious than a last-minute live shot on a Friday evening.

And I am loathe to say it has infected our beloved industry. It is the one-man-band, or in the current vernacular, the Multi Media Journalist. I wish not to paint the entire fleet of camera-toting, mic-slinging, note-taking goodhairs with this single broad brush, but DUDE, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT THE FEED LATELY?

Today, General News blessed me with the task of requisitioning pictures and sound from news divisions around the country. What I found struck fear in my heart and sent my lunch to my throat.

This virus is vastly more intelligent than our leaders care to admit. It seems to have singled out all competent photogs and infected them as to render every newscast save ours unwatchable. Aye, the Chinese were indeed a step ahead of us when they invented this one.

In its wake, this contagion has left the television news-scape littered with out-of-focus medium shots, underexposed wide shots, shaky still-lifes, and a plethora of ill-framed lens meat shouting into dead microphones. And riddle me this. How does one get video a shade of orange so bold as to stupify Mr. Crayola himself?

It is almost as if this industry has cloned a literal army Late Private Corkys and deployed them to frighten an unsuspecting public into staying at home lest the constantly moving ground cause one intestinal discomfort so bad as to spew one’s latest meal at one’s feet.

38775656-bc57-4e31-a7ae-ade6b69ddcea_1.6138bad7d00254a7e75e5e25f1543bcdThe last time I was this happy to finish an assignment, a scantily-clad Mrs. Sgt. Turdpolisher was waiting for me at the door with steak, bourbon, and fuzzy handcuffs.

Once we have served this sentence of solitude, it will be up to us, the brave men of the 1st News Division, to repopulate the photog ranks with like-minded professionals, and spread the gospel of the three-legged camera-holding device — not to mention the well-timed wide shot.

I look forward to enlisting your help in this matter.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Mail Call — Day 55

96231604_10215939580018047_6920349472534822912_n

Most precious Rick,

My sincerest apologies for neglecting to write back in a prompt and timely manner. The boisterous news desk lady has shown no mercy on my weary and aging body. My lumbago is sore, carrying the weight of multiple goodhairs and pretty faces, has left me fatigued.

It brings me much joy that the second floor frat house has a fresh target for its bawdry shenanigans. I must believe Boot Duhe’ has been avoiding the miasmal haze clouding the upstairs as too circumvent an interaction with cranky crooked hat.

Rumors are circulating from Tall Tower 9 that Boot left his Tripod outside OLOL for an overnight stay. Rest easy however, the 3 legged instrument was miraculously in the same place Boot Duhe’ left it.

The continued questions from Crooked Hat is enough to make a competent employee take a sabbatical much less the likes of the Boot. We could only hope he would leave his harsh lighting and gold United States poster somewhere as to never be found again.

It is regrettable that our loyal viewers have to be subjected to the late Private Corky’s pedestrian video. This maybe the cruelest of the great contagions powers. Maybe black holes aren’t such a bad alternative in this dire situation. Subjecting the viewing public to blue, overexposed, soft focus video is the epitome of cruelty.

I’m not strong enough to pen my thoughts regarding your impending surgery. I will keep you in my prayers my dainty dandelion.

Sincerest regards,

Left eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 54

Vincent_D’Onofrio_Full_Metal_JacketMy Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Conditions have grown desperate at Forward Operating Base Frat House. Our supply of passable video has dwindled, not to mention the ebbing supply of journalistic ability of my battle buddy. So bad is it, that we are no longer able to fill 90-second black holes,.

I have fought the good fight up until now. I have done what I could not to complain up the chain of command, for this army does not suffer whiners. General News prefers his men (for that is all we are in Frat House) to be forward thinkers, problem solvers, solution deviners, if you will.

With fewer and fewer opportunities to acquire our own video, and the ubiquity of computer screen faces, we have had to resort to the scourge of all newscasts — file video.

It pains me so to admit this shortcoming. But it has become inevitable.

Conditions were so bad earlier this week, I foisted upon the viewing public, pictures shot by the late Private Corky.

I am sure you remember the dullard’s smile and contemptible hair cut. His overexposed, and grainy video lives in infamy. And his inability to focus is a torture Lucifer himself could not render.

But desperate times call for desperate measures. And these times are among the most wretched.

Tonight, I commit myself to saying ten Hail Marys to appease Drill Instructor No-Hustle. May he not order me to place my neck in his hand and choke the life from mine own eyes. I will also pray a host of Our Fathers in the hope that our Lord will forgive my visual transgressions, and treat my soul with mercy and grace, should I be forced to again lay eyes on another Private Corky story.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Lines — Day 53

GettyImages-902012976My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

I am wounded!

I hate to worry that area beneath the wiry little patch that passes for hair, but this dastardly disease has finally claimed me as its victim. I am not coughing, nor am I feverish, more lethargic than usual, and have no accelerated need for bathroom stationary. No, it is your favorite body part that has been claimed by the aforementioned contagion.

My knee.

To be clear, though inflamed and riddled with pain, my knee is not infected with any virus. Yet, the CDC has classified my injury as a COVID-19 casualty because it was incurred while standing post during this onslaught.

The sawbone at the medical tent attributes my condition to two things, age, and weight. He was kind enough to refrain from calling me a fat, old bastard, but I was able to discern his meaning well enough.

Thankfully, he will not have to amputate as he does with most front line injuries.

After a minimally invasive surgery and a six-week recuperative period, I shall be back to wearing my running shorts, and you will again be able to utter your tired quip comparing my legs to those of a chicken.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 52

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My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Jocularity has returned to Forward Operating Base Frat House.

I dared not to speak of the foul mood most of the men in Frat House had adopted. Fifty-two days without gazing upon the fairer sex can do that to some men. But yesterday, a veritable breath of fresh air blew out the gloom and swept in frivolity.

Fear not, my delicate primrose, it was not a wanton jezebel who restored mirth among the men. It was Boot Duhe.

For the better part of our sequestration, the young lad has kept himself far from Frat House, almost as if we, inside, had fallen victim to the cursed virus. Personally, I think the malodorousness sullies his spirits.

Just seeing his strong jaw and dimpled chin lifted morale — not because anyone was happy to see him — but rather, it gave the men a new target for their bawdy humor.

You see, mischief had become drudgery. One can only crack wise on Captain Crank’s crooked, or waft a poofy in Private Slappy’s face so many times in 52 days before the hilarity leaks from the deed like sand from a gold miner’s sieve.

Even now, two full days since the boot’s is visit, the men still smile at the mention of his name. Boot Duhe may have become the savior of our camp.

Don’t tell Private Slappy, for it may hurt his bruise his delicate ego, but a field promotion may be in the offing for the boot. The thought of Private First Class Duhe could send the Slappster off the deep end.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Mail Call — Day 51

96518838_10215912958552527_3590041082575978496_n

Dear Rick,

Your days of covering a new born giraffe at the BREC Zoo or the prisoners at Angola making wooden toys for impoverished children are not in jeopardy.

You may be capable of turning a lead, but that doesn’t mean you should. The lead needs a man or woman with polished skills and grace, two attributes that you do NOT possess. A thickly well maintained mane, and a soft soothing voice, not the grunts of an irritated ape in heat.

Haven’t our viewers been through enough, lost wages, lost jobs, fear of contamination?? The last thing they need is an aging mental defective delivering important news as they sit around the dinner table watching their favorite news station.

Quite frankly it’s cruel and unusual punishment. Don’t be forlorn’d my little mint julep, your days of covering Sammy the Squirrel and shooting stand ups for Slappy the hillbilly oaf are still a top priority.

I hope this missive makes you feel better.

You biggest fan,

Left Eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

Categories: corona virus, covid-19, Fun, Life Or Something Like It, news, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

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