TV without writers or actors. No. There are actors. Amateurs pretending to be cooks, business leaders, survivors. Little talent amateur production — all buffed and bitched up for your evening tabloid dining.

Run shmyna run.

How may we help you.

We worry so you don’t have to.

Pandemic. Pandemonium. Or how to prepare by ringing your hands. By sounding the alarm.

Wash don’t watch.

We’ve now journalized our way past the tabloid thoughts to begin our silent (but public) vigil for migrant germs (viri).

Cluck, cluck, cluck, do I hear chicken, or free range fear.

Do little Crawford Clucker, oops another chance to feed chicken (,)little(,) bits of money. Merck, Merck, Merck.