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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo had been planning to post this week about the closing of Dee Cee’s “Newseum” for want of revenues, but Ace beat me to it todayDarn that furry little Ewok!

I drive past the place every day.  For years, the sight always irked me.  Now? Since news of its imminent closure broke, my shadenboner has been interfering with my ability to downshift as I turn off Constitution on to 6th Street.

(In all fairness, this isn’t the only museum that sets my teeth on edge.  I often walk past the Spy Museum, for instance.  That place is a first class tourist trap and everything about it screams “Buy All The Things!”)

But back to the Newseum, I guess there just weren’t enough people willing to shell out 25 bucks a head to view the Press’s monuments to its own agitprop.  Go figure.

As a matter of fact, I’ve really no beef with press partisanship in and of itself.  That’s been a constant since the very beginning, and the opening up of the Interwebz has made such bias easily checkable.  What I do object to is the MSM’s continued collective insistence – and haughty, condescending insistence at that – that it is a totally unbiased, neutral, watchdog championing us rubes, even when we’re too stupid to understand what’s best for our own good.  Want to be hacks? Be hacks.  (Or “Democratic operatives with bylines” as the Puppy-Blender likes to say.)  But be honest about it.

Did Ol’ Robbo ever mention here that he worked for the lone conservative student newspaper at the People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown, CT back in the day?  Yep, I drew politickal cartoons.  One of my most effective (I think) was a caricature of Dan Rather on television sitting at his news desk.  It was entitled “Mr. Rather’s Neighborhood” and Gunga-Dan was staring out with a big smile on his face and saying, “Hi, boys and girls! Can you say ‘It’s all Reagan’s fault?’ Sure! I knew you could!”

I can’t remember if that was the one that inspired a classmate to declare that he was going to find me and break my nose the night Mondale got buried.  I’m inclined to think it was.  (Nothing happened, by the bye.  He was so drunk he passed out before he could find me.)

I wonder if I dug out a copy and sent it to the Newseum whether they’d put it on display?  Actually, I don’t much wonder because I know the answer already.

 

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