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1.17.01
Hades-Bound
I'm going to hell. And it's all the fault of my job.

Like being a police officer or an EMT, being a journalist eventually makes you jaded. Some could say that lack of sensitivity is a big part of why some reporters are such asses, but that's a whole new story.

Anyway, to a degree, I too have become immune to some of society's horrors. I wish it wasn't true, but it is. I make a distinct effort to report good things, but I can't avoid covering horrible events on a daily basis. As they say, that's life. I'm getting pretty morbid.

One of my co-workers said my eyes lit up when he asked about a "really bad" motorcyle accident. I was watching something come out of the fax machine the other day, and I actually thought to myself, "Hmmm. It's been a while since we've had a good fatal accident." I know, I'm terrible. But I can't really do anything about it. It's part of the job.

And my co-workers aren't helping.

This morning, a pedestrian got hit by a van just a couple of miles from the station. It was an awful crash. My boss and a DJ are asking me about it.

DJ: "So what happened? Who do they think it is?"

Me: "Well, it's not confirmed, but remember those 'Hike for Hunger' people who stopped by the station the other day, wanting media exposure? The rumor is, it was one of those hikers."

My boss starts giggling a little hysterically. It's horribly contagious, and the DJ and I join in, in spite of ourselves.

Boss: "Hee hee hee! Really?"

Me: "Yeah. Tee hee."

Boss: "You know what would have been better?"

Me: "What?"

Boss: "If the Hike for Hunger guy had been hit by a pizza delivery truck."

Now we're all hopelessly laughing.

Me: "Oh, my God. I'm totally headed for hell, and it's all because of you people."

If you laughed, too, don't feel too bad. I'll see you down there, and bring marshmallows.

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