She had on way too much makeup. Her shirt, wrinkled. Rollers in her hair.
Another day in the life of Katy Tur.
She sat in front of the camera, buttons undone to tease a glimpse of her cleavage while she read the latest E-mails from her last show. This segment allowed her audience to watch her reactions in real-time, from angry glares to sneers of disgust and beyond. A few mental notes and copy pastes later, she was ready for tonight's show.
The camera followed her from closing her laptop to descending into the run down basement she called her home. Only a giant TV screen and filming equipment had any value. Everything else she bought cheap with the measly stipend she received for carrying out her civic duty. Settling into her chair, she laid back and faked a smile while waiting for the broadcast timer to count down.
3... 2... 1...
"Hi, this is Little Katy, third rate journalist for BS News," she announced with faux pride. Harsh lighting really expressed her layers of foundation and creases on her overmade face. It might have looked fine in a professional news studio, but here it looked absurd. Grabbing the pleat of her shirt, she puffed it in and out to get some air flowing between her boobs. "If you're just joining us, this show is about bottom of the barrel gossip and rumors that not even trashy tabloids will cover. But first, some public comments."
Katy had fallen far. A year ago, she had a published book, documentaries, anchorship on a major TV network. Today, she humiliated herself through regular live streams with ever decreasing viewership as people grew bored and familar with the content. Every airing started with her self-debasing opener, followed by a segment to kill her integrity.
It got easier to stomach the more she did it.
"One viewer writes, 'Damn Little Katy, you look like a lazy whore.' Thanks for noticing. Truth in advertising, you know."
The agents overseeing her punishment took inspiration from her past. In their hands, old candid photos of her preparing to report on real news became a blueprint for how to ruin her public image. She had to grin and bear it, like she did with the next request.
"Another viewer asked me to show and talk about my boobs. Well, here you go."
Without much ado, Katy ripped open her shirt to reveal them. The massive pair sat heavy on her chest. She grabbed them, toggling her nipples absentmindedly and thrusting them up more prominent.
"Yes, they're fake like the rest of me. These silicone fuckbags got pumped up in my early career to help me get attention. Nobody really listens to women talk anyway, their eyes are always down here. The boobjobs I gave with these whoppers got me far before I got caught."
Caught in another horrible executive order, she meant. It was her reporting on them that got her here in the first place. As a truly intrepid reporter, she expected to become a target for one the moment she denounced what had been done to female colleagues and other figures that went against the grain of this administration. What she hadn't counted on was how little anyone cared, and the tools in this administration's arsenal to coerce her into submission.
"Have I ever given blowjobs?" Katy said, the message displaying on screen behind her. "Of course. Sometimes it's the only way to make me stop talking. I pick out my lipstick for maximum smear. Let me show you."
She pulled the microphone closer, wrapped her lips around it and started sucking. True to her word, a bunch of the glossy pink stuff rubbed off. Having not bothered to disable the microphone, the sounds of rubbing and moans fed into the audio.
She hadn't even gotten to the tabloid trash yet.
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Executive Orders: Katy Tur, Third Rate
She had on way too much makeup. Her shirt, wrinkled. Rollers in her hair.
Another day in the life of Katy Tur.
She sat in front of the camera, buttons undone to tease a glimpse of her cleavage while she read the latest E-mails from her last show. This segment allowed her audience to watch her reactions in real-time, from angry glares to sneers of disgust and beyond. A few mental notes and copy pastes later, she was ready for tonight's show.
The camera followed her from closing her laptop to descending into the run down basement she called her home. Only a giant TV screen and filming equipment had any value. Everything else she bought cheap with the measly stipend she received for carrying out her civic duty. Settling into her chair, she laid back and faked a smile while waiting for the broadcast timer to count down.
3... 2... 1...
"Hi, this is Little Katy, third rate journalist for BS News," she announced with faux pride. Harsh lighting really expressed her layers of foundation and creases on her overmade face. It might have looked fine in a professional news studio, but here it looked absurd. Grabbing the pleat of her shirt, she puffed it in and out to get some air flowing between her boobs. "If you're just joining us, this show is about bottom of the barrel gossip and rumors that not even trashy tabloids will cover. But first, some public comments."
Katy had fallen far. A year ago, she had a published book, documentaries, anchorship on a major TV network. Today, she humiliated herself through regular live streams with ever decreasing viewership as people grew bored and familar with the content. Every airing started with her self-debasing opener, followed by a segment to kill her integrity.
It got easier to stomach the more she did it.
"One viewer writes, 'Damn Little Katy, you look like a lazy whore.' Thanks for noticing. Truth in advertising, you know."
The agents overseeing her punishment took inspiration from her past. In their hands, old candid photos of her preparing to report on real news became a blueprint for how to ruin her public image. She had to grin and bear it, like she did with the next request.
"Another viewer asked me to show and talk about my boobs. Well, here you go."
Without much ado, Katy ripped open her shirt to reveal them. The massive pair sat heavy on her chest. She grabbed them, toggling her nipples absentmindedly and thrusting them up more prominent.
"Yes, they're fake like the rest of me. These silicone fuckbags got pumped up in my early career to help me get attention. Nobody really listens to women talk anyway, their eyes are always down here. The boobjobs I gave with these whoppers got me far before I got caught."
Caught in another horrible executive order, she meant. It was her reporting on them that got her here in the first place. As a truly intrepid reporter, she expected to become a target for one the moment she denounced what had been done to female colleagues and other figures that went against the grain of this administration. What she hadn't counted on was how little anyone cared, and the tools in this administration's arsenal to coerce her into submission.
"Have I ever given blowjobs?" Katy said, the message displaying on screen behind her. "Of course. Sometimes it's the only way to make me stop talking. I pick out my lipstick for maximum smear. Let me show you."
She pulled the microphone closer, wrapped her lips around it and started sucking. True to her word, a bunch of the glossy pink stuff rubbed off. Having not bothered to disable the microphone, the sounds of rubbing and moans fed into the audio.
She hadn't even gotten to the tabloid trash yet.