As I'm driving into work today, a TV crew -- van; antenna fully, um, engorged; the whole bit -- is set up on the rocks along Pacific Coast Highway. A body, I think? Somebody found something in the water? What gets a cocaine-addled local news reporter out of bed and on location -- live! -- other than a high-speed car chase? Ah, yes. It's supposed to rain today.
The camera was pointing north, at the vaguely grayish clouds, and would undoubtedly be providing up-to-the-second information on the latest Biblical apocalypse to visit itself Los Angeles: water falling from the sky.
My secret hope is that the cocaine-addled (and, inevitably, poncho-bedecked) spokesmodel, reporting -- live! -- with the storm as a backdrop, stumbles on the rocks and falls, smashing his and/or her pretty little head to pretty little pieces. Then, hey, a body would be found in the water, and it would be news.
Good thing they'd already have the camera there.
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