If it is reported on Cable News, it is surely the Truth

 

Gerald’s insurance agency was five blocks from his home.  Except when lunching with prospective customers, it was his custom to walk home at noon.  

The day was fine with high, blue skies, a tremor of wind, and some dead leaves already fallen on the sidewalk.  Gerald microwaved a bowl of soup.  He ate in front of the TV.  A politician on the news show accused the White House of lying.  Abruptly, the image cut to a map of the Pacific Ocean marked with an expanding red blister off the coast of Chili.  A newscaster that Gerald didn’t recognize said that an asteroid the size of the Matterhorn – no! correction, larger than Mount Everest – had crashed into the sea.  

Coverage returned to the studio where the politicians were arguing.  The anchor said that he didn’t know what the news from the south Pacific meant to the network’s viewers.  A politician suggested that the network consult with a meteorologist.  

“That’s a weather forecaster,” the anchorman said.  “A weather girl.”

A young woman who worked for the Washington Post began to sob: “This is so unfair,” she said.  

The network cut to a commercial for a medication alleged to cure irritable bowel syndrome.  The medication had a long list of possible side-effects, including bleeding and rare infections that could lead to death.

Gerald went out on the porch to look around.  

Silence – the birds had stopped singing and, even, the crickets and cicadas were mute.  The wind was holding its breath.  In the western sky, Gerald saw a twisty funnel of cloud motionless over the horizon.

On TV, a panel was convened, glaring into the camera.  The pretty young woman on the panel was sobbing and her make-up was all smeared.  

The anchor man asked: “Will we be forgiven for how we are covering this story?”

A Black political commentator asked: “Forgiven by who?”

“By ‘whom’,” the anchor man said, correcting him.

“Dude?” the political commentator replied.

Gerald found the remote in the cushion of the recliner.  He switched stations.  Andy Griffith and Opie were ambling toward their fishing hole, fishing rods over their shoulders.  On the third cable news network, pornography was showing.  A man was doing something to a woman. Her mouth was round, wet, and open.  

Scrolling through the stations, Gerald settled on Seinfeld.  

Reruns and commercials were broadcast from satellites in orbit around the earth.  They continued to transmit their signal for many months after the disaster but these comedies and advertisements were purely theoretical.  Perhaps, somewhere in a bunker powered by a generator, there was someone left to watch.  Or perhaps not.