Now more than ever...

…you need real fake press credentials to distinguish yourself from the corporate, social, and lame-stream media shills who have put the truth in a stranglehold since Reagan made that deal with the Iranians to hold off releasing the Muricans hostages until after Jimmy Carter was booted out of office by the predecessors to the neocondi rice and beaners who began our never-ending campaign war of error.

Hell, I’m pretty sure no respectable journalist even bothered to check whether there were any ballots in the polling places when Nixon plastered McGovern in 1972. After all, what was Watergate, if not a foreign power breaking into a hotel to influence an American election? I blame Kissinger’s sperm donor and ovum incubator for the shit we’re all in. 

Are we really going to blame the election of a toxic racist hairball on fake news? Whose fucking brilliant idea is that? Newhouse, Advantage, The New York Slimes, The Unworthiest Post? The American people have never been particularly bright, and the stupidest among them decided that Donnie was better than any grabbable pussy. A nation of Forrest Gumps chose its supreme leader, and now everyone seems so fucking surprised.

It was bad enough when real news was hidden deep in the printed newspaper as sacrificial filler to punch up the lingerie and bladder control advertising, but in the Ted Stevens Age of the Intertubes, there is no real news at all. We have advertising, propaganda, apologies, and indigestible horseshit. You might as well stick an ethernet cable up your ass and get a constant enema of zeroes and less than zeroes to power your tin foil wireless hat. The world has completely run out of ones, and no one knows how to print them anymore.

Back in the day, fellow literary terrorist Paul Fericano and the crew from the Portland Pataphysical Outpatient Clinic, Lounge & Laundromat used to sell press passes to anyone with ten bucks and a passport sized photo. It was great fun going to official functions with a camera and a notepad, wearing a press badge, and hobnobbing with real journalists. What a hoot it was, being the smartest lampshade in the room. 

And you could also use the pass to get into movies and concerts for free. Granted, this was in the prehistoric days before cellphone video and realizing that the plane you were on could be flown into a tall building at any time by someone we paid to have bombed back to the stone age, because that’s the American Way.

Those were the days, back when America was really great, the time that Gropenführer Donnie has promised to return us to. It’s right there on the fucking red hat. 

Some things have changed, of course. The YU press card now costs 50 dollars in today’s Obamination of an economy, but it’s still a deal — guaranteed to get you hunted down and rounded up and placed in the press pen during Donnie’s never-ending alt-white victory tour that’s coming to a repurposed county fairground near you any day now.

I’m no longer involved with Yossarian Universal News Service, so I will not be receiving any funds toward my lifelong goal of bringing on the bomb should you choose to become a YU stringer, but I’m sure Paul can use the funds to help the victims of church-sponsored love crimes. Unlike Donnie’s Shamalamadingdong University, at least YU News Service still has a Web site.

You can order your credentials at YU News Service. You’ll feel so good the next time you share some totally meaningless drivel on Facebook, knowing that you have finally made a real commitment to worsening yourself for the better good while grabbing the pussies of our better angels.