In the wake of the Mueller bombshell that he’s been investigating the President and his flunkies for treason and racketeering, some reporters at the nation’s most respected news source couldn’t take it any longer. They watched aghast with their mouths wide open as their employer’s producers wove together a clever spin on the real scoop.

Mind Eating Deflecting Syndrome:

After the special counsel’s announcement, Three things in the famed NY studios arose:

Hillary has a trove of jaw-dropping emails stashed in a mystical blue chamber of golden mirrors. Do we know where? Do we know what’s in those emails? What don’t we know and who the hell are we even?

You can’t place a cheese slice after the patty — that’s just silly. Silly like female interns furtively ducking into hidden closets when they see old lecherous farts approaching. Or running down the hallways when they could make so many millions. God willing.

Hillary also doubles as multiple entities — agencies with the exclusive legal authority to sell US uranium to foreign states. Also, the uranium never left the country and she was doing other things such as not selling uranium to Russia)

So anyway, as usual, there’s always the recalcitrant shill duds that can’t be pleased by any news. They’re saying harsh things and dismissing these fed up reporters’ acknowledgement as absurd.

Grab a seat and get ready to drown me in praise.

After deeply thinking into it, I also feel a little shortchanged on distinguished flattery. You see, I joined a violent band of thieves back in ‘78. One rainy summer evening, I watched in utter dismay as the gang descended on this poor salesman after pushing him into an alley. I held my hands to my mouth to keep from screaming as the blows rained down. I never talked to them again. Did members of the public send me flowers or a card? Nyet.

Shortly after I quit that mess, I signed up as part of a murderous kingpin’s security detail. In time, I was given a suitcase of severed limbs to ditch in the Potomac. I was shaking the entire time and couldn’t even hold my cigarette between my lips as I tossed the grizzly package over a bridge in a still, starry night. I never spoke to the kingpin or his pals again. No Congratulations forthcoming in this case occurred either.

Did you know I joined a Mayan priest brotherhood in the hills of southern Mexico at the turn of the century? We sought to recreate olden times rituals to a tee. I was sent to random remote villages to kidnap virgins and cattle for sacrifice.

After a while, I just couldn’t take the heartbreak this all caused. Before I quit and came back to America, I felt like telling the grieving families what had happened to their missing kids. But after much pondering, I realized they probably wouldn’t appreciate my bravery. So I let it wane off at that.

Back in the States, I went back to Baltimore and rejoined the murderous kingpin and his baleful bunch. They were welcoming, but still carrying out grizzly murders and sending me to the Potomac. I wasn’t comfortable with all the blood and screaming. I tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep for nights on end.

Mercy me, their poor dead decapitated rivals! With tears in my eyes, I quit again. You guessed it — No bouquet of charming lilies being delivered to my apartment. No poems or songs composed to celebrate my heroics either.