"Slow, Nothing To Report!"

"I'm going back upstairs.  I can't take it," I'm laughing with tears in my eyes.

Let's back up.  I'll set the scene.

3:17 in the morning and I can't sleep.  Lights are off.  DH, darling hubby, is whirring.  He doesn't quite snore yet, and the night is silent, but he's quietly whirring.  So, I go downstairs, make a mug o' hot tea and turn on the computer to mindlessly play Candy Crush until the sweet black drink is gone.

Sitting in the veritable dark, it's not long until DH comes moseying down the stairs I'd just traversed.  Time for him to rustle around and get ready for work.

He's in that "morning fog".  Some people have it  (he, and several of my sons, and a good friend up north do, too) and some people don't.  I don't.  I don't understand it 'cause I don't experience it.  I just believe.  I've seen it in action.  Well, in non-action, chuckle.

Anyway. he turns on the news on channel 59 FoxTV.  I know this because the tv is now loudly telling me so.  I don't tolerate noise first thing of a morning and he doesn't tolerate light first thing of a morning.  Sadly, we don't mesh that way.  So, the announcer, to me, is yelling at me, commanding.

DH shuffles to the kitchen and makes a cup o' joe.  Excuse me here a minute while I take a last sip of my tea.

Anyway, the nice gentleman anchor on the screen says, (and friends, I don't quote verbatim, I do the best I can but don't expect perfection), he says, "We have a shooting on the East Side to report but we have little, if anything, to report at this time.  We are taking you to (beautiful attractive woman) a reporter who is right now on the scene."

Beautiful attractive woman reporter puts her lips to the microphone, the background is the dark of night, very appropriate for gloom and doom, and she says, "We are here on the East Side to bring you the latest development on a shooting here.  We don't know who has been shot.  They are taking the victim to the hospital at this time, we don't know to which hospital he was taken.  We don't know how many times he was shot.  And we don't know who did the shooting.  The police have bagged up his clothes and are investigating."

Okay, I'm thinking, so the police are doing their job, that's good, but she didn't really tell us much of anything.

And then ... (Lord, help me) she recaps!

"As I said, we are here on the East Side, don't know who was shot, or who did the shooting.  We don't know where the victim was shot, or where on his body he was shot.  But we do know there has definitely been a shooting."

What?????

Did she go outside, pull out a pistol, shoot into the air, then tell Mr. Anchorman, "We have a shooting on the East Side, but we don't know who was shot!"

Oh, my lands!  I'm busting a gut laughing.  And I'm laughing.  I'm not laughing at the poor man who was shot, I'm laughing at the silliness of reporting for 3 minutes of  "nothing."  NOTHING!  Cut it short, or wait until you know something.

I'm laughing at the inaneness of it all!  My night was pointless in the first place being up at 3 a.m. -- this just adds to the pointlessness of it all.  Chortle, the reporters just takes the cake!

Did you get that "nothing" was reported 3 times???????

So, I'm now upstairs, because I realize I forgot my reading glasses, and I go back downstairs to get them.

DH is still in a fog, TV is still blaring, it's still dark out, it's still quiet outside with no traffic on the highway to hear, yet I hear.  I hear Mr Anchorman say, "I just like the plain kind.  Ripples are my favorite."

Oh good golly Miss Molly, I'm laughing so hard I have to hold my stomach, they have so little to report they're now discussing potato chips!

Wait for it.

You have to hear what DH says, it's priceless, a piece of cake, the fitting end to my little interlude.

Like Eeyore of Winnie the Pooh, with a slow negative shake of his head, coming out of his fog a bit, DH murmurs,

"It's a slow news day they have nothing to report."