Informant38

Ω{I was watching the 'TV' the other night and I don't know, maybe it was the hour, or the setting, but it hit me like a pie in the face. Johnny Carson. He looks and moves enough like Johnny to be his son. It's that gaping hole in the media landscape, nobody's ever filled it. And the minds and hearts his presence occupied have been hungry all these years. Once you see it it's unmistakable.
And while we're on the subject of empty templates filled by behind-the-scenes cynical manipulators of human destiny:
Imagine Rollo, the All-American Generic Boy, born in the 50's, early 60's. He grows into consumerhood, which unlike sexual maturity begins way before adolescence, in fact it's sliding down the age range until today consumer maturity has its puberty around the terrible twos. But back then it's maybe 7 or 8. Rollo wants stuff, his Dad says "Well son, I'd like to get you that new Schwinn, and a Daisy pellet gun, and that shoulder pad and helmet set, but I'm afraid this year with your sister's braces, and Mom's doctor bills, it's going to have to be one of the three. Because we just don't have as much money as last year."
And Rollo, like most young boys, is processing rapidly. That night in bed he puts it together, money, it's in the bank, except where does it come from? The Treasury's too vague and distant.
Eureka! The Brinks truck!
He wants one for his very own. Oh yes he does.
Viola!
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Hummer.}