The following bit was written in October, 2010 when Andrew was tapped to cover mid-term election results for ABC News against a backdrop of a few other media pundit chess moves. In the wake of Breitbart’s passing, I repost it here.
Breitbart had been sitting by the phone waiting for the call from Fox.
It never came.
Eventually, he called one of Fox’s BFF’s – Glenn Beck – and asked what was going on; why wasn’t Fox calling about a date for the prom?
Beck told Breitbart what everyone already knew: Fox is dating that new black guy – Juan Williams – the one everyone is talking about.
Andrew hung up…ate a whole bucket of Rocky Road ice cream through a constant stream of tears and snot…and made up his mind that he’d SHOW Fox what they were missing.
He put on that pimp outfit that he’d been saving – a memento from better times…back when HE’D been the popular boy – and went down to the stroll.
Sashaying back and forth, it would only be a matter of time before someone came along with some cash. SOMEONE would want his style of greasy, vicious ass raping…all he had to do was wait patiently and look eager.
Sure enough, soon a long, black car pulled up. As Breitbart eagerly approached, the tinted windows powered down and a hand threw something. A sticky loofah smacked him full in the face. He recognized O’Reilly’s laughter as the car sped away. Staring after it, he could just make out the terrified face of Juan Williams peering helplessly through the back window.
Disheveled and broken, he sat on the curb sobbing in the depths of self-pity, cursing James O’Keefe, and clutching the soiled loofah.
A man approached. He seemed to have no features…he spoke as though the night were darkest precisely where he stood.
“Come with me Breitbart. I have use of you,” the man whispered.
“No one wants ME!” Breitbart moaned.
“I didn’t say I WANT you, Breitbart,” answered the man, “I said I have USE of you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Breitbart, snuffling back a nose full of rejection and trying to muster up some of the contempt that had served him so well in the past.
“I’m from ABC News,” the stranger hissed, trying to disguise the embarrassment that must accompany such truths. “We have no respect or status…we’re prepared to try anything.”
Breitbart grinned. “I have no respect or status, either! I’LL DO ANYTHING! Have you SEEN my clips?”
“I know,” said the man, “It’s like we were made for each other.”
The darkness raised a gnarled hand and a taxi slammed on its brakes. Usually the driver would have never accepted a fare in this part of town, but there seemed to be something about these two – the fat sobbing white boy in the Huggy Bear pimp outfit and the shadowy figure with no eyes and no soul.
The two slithered into the back of the cab, hand in hand.
“Take us to the prom!” ordered Breitbart. He could feel his sense of purpose returning.