| The best part here. Sublime. |
Better yet, you are duped into not realizing your whoredom by being flattered and pandered to and spoonfed lies about the importance of what you do. You believe these lies and fill yourself with the notion that you are central to the business at hand -- essential, key, vital, necessary. But then one day, for whatever reason, you see the real nature of your job. You realize that far from being central to the business of journalism you are in fact the piece that could most easily be dispensed with.
Much to your chagrin and dismay you realize that the true heart of your corporation beats not in the newsroom, where you sit, but on the other side of the wall, in that storied realm you've never actually visited but where you are told various dirty people do various dirty things and are paid, you've heard, a great deal more than you are. You've always dismissed those people, thought of them as a pack of glad-handing graspers who were kept on board to keep the ad machine running so that you, Mr. Hack, could carry on the grand important work of Journalism with a capital J.
Then one day you realize you've had it backwards. The beast doesn't exist to support you. You exist to support the beast. They, not you, are running this business, and they laugh at you behind your back and not-so-secretly despise you for being so easily tricked into lining their pockets for them. The truth is right there in front of you! It has been all along! This is all even more hilarious because you make such a big deal about how shrewd and cynical you are; you're the tough guy who cuts through the bullshit and spots the truth. Except when it comes to your own situation, that is.
Suddenly you feel like a puffed-up, pious fool. Which is good, because that is exactly what you are.