Longtime readers of The Dry Spot will know that I have a strange obsession with Paul Harvey. Uncle Paul has been absent from the airwaves for weeks now, “temporarily” replaced by a seemingly endless stream of substitutes/auditioners. There is some scuttlebutt that Paul is very sick, but I don’t believe it.
I think he’s dead.
As a matter of fact, I think he’s been dead for a long time.
I mean, look at this picture of him from years ago.
Check it out. They didn’t even have color back then.
Now look at this ostensibly recent photograph.
Nothing’s changed. The dude is supposed to be five years older than baseball. He farts dust.
My theory is that years ago, prior to his embalming, some syndicator just had Paul record any possible permutation and combination of any conceivable news event and the expected reactionary comment to these events. Along with 10,000 third grade bogus history lessons disguised as”The Rest of the Story.” Hell, he only worked 15 minutes a day. He had time.
But now his puppet masters have run into a jam. World events are too unprecedented for them to cut and paste a newscast out of his prerecorded sound bites, and they’ve had to seek out live replacements to read the wire copy. The franchise is in jeopardy.
But who can blame them? Who really would’ve expected that a black man and a white cuckolded woman would be vying for the office of president?
At least there’s one thing Paul could always depend on. He never wavered from the fact that Republicans have always been the most intelligent, competent and compassionate leaders of the free world.
Paging Madame Tussaud’s…