Rascals are always sociable, and the chief sign that a man has any nobility in his character is the little pleasure he takes in others company. Arthur Schopenhauer

What is j-urine-alism

Let me say that, first of all, in doing this—whatever this is that I do here—I’ve never once presumed to call myself a “journalist.” Nor would I deign to include myself amongst such a louche, villainous, and disreputable a confraternity. What is journalism, anyway? Is it where the guy sponsored by Pfizer, Raytheon, BlackRock, et al, reads you a heavily laundered and sanitized script from a teleprompter, spinning the pre-written narrative approved in some backroom at last week’s CFR/WEF shindig?

I’ve got news for you. Journalism doesn’t exist, and unless someone can prove otherwise, has never existed, as far as I’m concerned—at least not in terms of the hallowed ideal some people have of it.

It’s a fraudulent profession catering to multinational corporations who probably invented it for the sake of creating ‘perception-management’ stenographers to spew out boilerplate crap that serves the currently fashionable establishment agenda. Journalists are nothing more than publicists for their corporate sponsors. Sure, there’ve been a few in the “good ol’ days” who “went off script” once or twice, perhaps after losing it. But for the majority of their career they still operated within a narrowly defined Overton window. Simplicius