“The Art of Fact” is my favorite textbook, like, ever. Other
textbooks have functioned as doorstops, flyswatters and paper
towels before fetching a king’s ransom of five bucks at Barnes
& Noble, but I think I’ll keep this one. Boasting journalistic
dynamos such as Hemingway, Orwell, Steinbeck and Thompson, “The Art
of Fact” rests atop my closet’s top shelf, far away from the
beer-bogged carpet that engulfs lesser literature on a weekly
basis. The book’s greatest sentence isn’t found anywhere in those
hallowed pages; Rather, it lies on the back cover.
Yep, none other than Dan “the Man” Rather endorsed this book,
declaring in its pages “fill me with admiration–and envy.” Whoa
there, Danny boy, hold your horses. Your recent on-air diatribes
are already the stuff of legend in the Ron Burgundy School of
Reporting Excellence, and perhaps future editions of “The Art of
Fact” will include your now-infamous memos on the president’s
military service.
Fear not, loyal readers, Rather’s loss is our gain. Thanks to
the CBS news team’s impeccable fact checking, the sky’s the limit
for anyone with a fifth-grade reading level and Microsoft Word.
Imagine the possibilities. A well-circulated “memo” could
literally change someone’s life. Luckily, I realize the power of
the press and would never use this privilege to devastate another
human being. No, I would elevate others to the fame and fortune
they so richly deserve, “others” meaning “myself.” Graduate
schools, employers and wealthy widows searching for a cabana boy:
Allow me to introduce Jon Butler…the “60 Minutes” way.
Mr. Butler is the eldest son of Gerald and Christine Butler, two
hard-working, God-fearing Americans. His childhood was spent in
typical fashion, listening to classical music, volunteering in
Third World countries growing vegetables for the homeless and
reading poetry at the local library.
In the third grade, Mr. Butler’s affinity for the English
language came to fruition in a streak of spelling bee victories
unseen since the heyday of Agnes “the Obliterator” Milstead.
Tragically, Gerald and Christine neglected to incorporate beatings
and starvation into their son’s training regimen, and Mr. Butler
was unable to advance beyond the regional level.
Soon came high school, and with it, the temptation for
rebellion. Mr. Butler sampled his first swig of beer at the tender
age of 16, but the taste disgusted him. Five years later, while
practicing yoga and reading Thoreau, he indulged in a small glass
of premium Napa Valley merlot. It was quite the 21st birthday
party.
The opposite sex continues to perplex Mr. Butler–he is simply
too romantic for the average woman to handle. The chivalrous Mr.
Butler is confronted daily by women eager for a trip into the
garden of earthly delights, but he remains steadfastly committed to
the idea of true love. For now, he bides his time writing romantic
sonnets, translating the Kama Sutra, maintaining his impressive
physique and nurturing a multitude of stock options.
Mr. Butler has but one serious character flaw, and that is his
inability to refuse a friend. Such loyalty has kept his name
curiously absent from the dean’s list, but Mr. Butler believes the
measure of a man is more than his grade point average. No student
should ever host a boring party–Mr. Butler’s presence spares them
this faux pas without fail.
Hell, a sixth paragraph might mention my Ignatian-educated roots
and a willingness to continue higher learning at a Jesuit
university, despite Ivy League offers. I’m sure my acceptance
letter to Harvard got lost at the same post office yours did. So
what’s wrong with a white lie?
If you follow this basic template, you’ve got a literary Swiss
army knife at your disposal, capable of wooing the opposite sex,
employers and probation officers. Print it up on some fancy,
embossed paper and you’re golden.
Mr. Rather, I’m ready for my close-up.
