Here’s the conversation I just had with the night editor about my BIG. F’IN. STORY:
Night Editor: (verbally shrugs) How long you got?
Me: I got as long as you want, baby.
NE: How ‘bout writing the news? You know, put all the good stuff up top and all the crap on the bottom, and then when we run out of room, we cut the crap off. That’s how we do it, you know.
Me: But I don’t write crap. You know that.
NE: (likely rolling his eyes) Well, then I guess we don’t cut it.
Me: Exactly.
NE: Well, at least put some enthusiasm into it, then.
Me: Oooooh, I’ll GIVE you enthusiasm. I’ve got enthusiasm flying out of my ass.
So yeah, Chelsea Clinton in E.C. Sunday afternoon: Really good stuff, even if the powers that pretend chose possibly the lowest-rent place in all of NWI to host her. (I ask you, how is letting the former First daughter speak one street over from Lake County’s most dangerous neighborhood a good idea? I suppose it cleaned up all right, but still, wood paneling went out in the ‘70s and made the lighting for shit in there. Seriously, your constituents would’ve come to her, Jorge; there was no need to waste taxpayers’ dimes on the extra police protection to put her off Guthrie.) I couldn’t get over how poised and relaxed she was; I suspect she knows more about Hillary’s plans than Hillary does, to be honest.
The other thing that killed me was that here we were in the most heavily populated Hispanic city in Indiana IF not the Midwest, and the only question posed about immigration was how Hillary was planning to keep immigrant families together. How about streamlining the process to make it easier for people to become American citizens? What about that? Not a concern, apparently. A politically connected pal of mine surmised that people didn’t ask the question because we were in “Puerto Rican territory” and that immigration issues mean different things to Puerto Ricans and Mexicans, but still, right? It’s not like Chelsea couldn’t have answered the question.
Of course, when I tried to go up to her after she was done to clarify*, E.C.’s finest goons kept pushing me away from her like a commoner. Not even Secret Service, man! One of them jerks stepped right on my foot, too.










