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A Political Parody

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I was at the top of my game. I was, still am, d****t, a world-renowned photojournalist. I received two Pulitzers, a World Press Photo of the Year award, the NPPA, and the Robert Capa Gold Medal for bravery, to name a few. I put myself out there in life-threatening situations by embedding myself with warlords, crime bosses, cartel kingpins, and in war-infested ratholes with the dregs of humanity. It was dangerous work, but I loved every second of it. I worked with one of the top news organizations. At least I thought they were. But things can change from good to bad.

While I was in the middle of shooting some amazing shots in the slums of Calcutta, I received an email telling me to report to the HR department in the New York Office ASAP.  I honestly thought they were going to inform me about a new award I was to receive. I begrudgingly hopped on a plane and landed at Kennedy Airport. I was surprised there wasn’t a private car waiting. I should have realized it was a bad sign, but I was always oblivious to those ominous warnings.  I took a cab, entered the building, and headed to the HR Office.

I was greeted by a surly secretary who said I was late and would have to wait until summoned.  She smirked as she directed me to sit not on at least a half a dozen cushioned chairs in the waiting room, but on a lone un-cushioned bench. It took all my willpower not to punch her in the face for treating me like I had the plague, but I kept my cool, smiled, and placed my a*s on the bench. I had no magazines, tablets, or any electronic devices to read because they were confiscated at the building entrance for security purposes. How many warning signs does an idiot like me need? I should have turned around right there, as my inner voice was screaming, danger! danger! But danger was my bread and butter.  After about an hour or so of twiddling my thumbs, ‘Miss Personality,’ bellowed, they were ready to see me. I was to go to the third door on the left, knock, open the door, and go in.

When I opened the door, I was surprised to see not only the head of HR but also the Editor and the Vice President of the News Division, and two other stern-looking fellows whom I assumed were lawyers. This was definitely not about getting another award, but something I was not going to be too happy about.  Cherelle Grimsley, the head of HR, told me to take a seat and said,

“Your series on World Hunger has won you another Pulitzer, but at a potential cost to us.  Your photo shoots in the Americas, especially the one you’re in right now, are incendiary. According to the President, he’s accusing them of being political timebombs meant to show his administration in the White House is letting Americans, especially black Americans, go hungry. He’s livid that they're also in the states where many in his political base reside.”

The Editor, John Pierce, with downcast eyes, in barely a whisper, said,

“He wants you to publicly apologize to the American people by saying those pictures were doctored to look like they were in his favored states, but were in his opposing parties instead. You are also to disavow that opposing party and call them anti-American.”

To say I was stunned was an understatement. I couldn’t believe the words I was hearing. I felt like this was China, not the good old US of A. I said,

“WTF, there’s no way in hell I’ll do any of those things. I quit.”

“We’re sorry to hear that, but we have an AI facsimile of you that will do just that.”

Oh, how I miss the days when Trump was president.  

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

let it rip