By a dear colleague of mine, with whom I had the (mis)fortune to drive around the southern suburbs for two days with, talking our way into brothels and booking dodgy hookers in motels with. For actual work. It was the best of times it was the blurst of times.
Ode to the journo
From typewriters, cigarettes,ashtrays and beer.
The newspaper journo is somehow still here.
They annoy, pester and demand to know.
But the Internet keeps telling them it is time to go.
“Piss off” they grumble as circulation looks stark,
“Without us lot the world would be kept in the dark.”
Take your twitter, your Facebook, your blogs and a text.
That scoop on newsprint is better than sex.
And how dare they call photographers relics of the past,
take your smart arse phones and shove ’em up your arse.
Remember this ode because one day it’ll come true, us journos will rise up all shiny and new.
Until that day, there’s only one thing to do, charge your glasses cos there’s still drinking to do.