Try your hand at parody or satire — take an article, film, blog post, or song you find misguided, and use humor to show us how.
“Welcome friends to Nancy Grace,” Nancy says sincerely.
“Bombshell tonight!” Nancy blasts. “A scumbag, lowlife, no-good-for-nothing ex cop brutally and savagely without compassion fails to tip a waitress. There is a special place reserved in hell for people like him.”
“Tiffany Connors, a beautiful nineteen year old mother of eight just starting out in life and working toward a GED,” Nancy says compassionately and immediately rants. “She was left without a tip from this filthy lump of flesh ex cop, Dooley Bentwater. Look at his mug shot. May you rot in hell, Dooley. You can’t get any lower than that. He has to stand on a step ladder to reach a snake’s belly.”
“I hate criminals,” Nancy says staring compassionately into the camera and begins to yell. “They don’t even have to be criminals for me to hate them. Being accused of a crime is good enough for me. I say, ‘No trial, just string them up!’ I’ll build the gallows. Tie the knot, spring open the trap door, and photograph the dangling body. I love executions, even of the innocent. Being accused is good enough for me. They must have done something wrong to be accessed. We‘ll collect the evidence later or make it up. Every now and then you got to slip something under lady justice. There‘s a reason she’s blindfolded; so she can’t see all the evidence. Evidence just delays a good execution. ”
“Let’s go to our panel of lawyers tonight. Criminal defense lawyer, Ray Giudice, weigh-in.”
“A…” Ray starts to say.
Nancy interrupts. “Shut up, Giudice. Cut his mic like Jody Arias cut Travis Alexander’s throat.”
“I don’t need you to be fair and logical. I just want to hang people or pull the switch on ole Sparky. I have one of those Chris Matthews’ tingle-up-my-leg Obama moments every time the lights flicker and dim.”
“We’re going to a commercial now,” Nancy says softly. “But we’ll be back with a baby killer! I mean a real baby killer; a baby who kills. A nine month old baby playing with a .45, my weapon of choice, shot her mother at pointblank range with little more than a whimper. That’s a real baby killer. That baby deserves the needle for killing her meth-addicted, prostitute, welfare, pot-smoking, beer drinking mother. We’ll be right back friends.”
The camera fades to a commercial.
“Where is my handcuff necklace? That’s my favorite. It gives me power. I need power. Anybody, an espresso with a quad-shot of cobra venom before we go back live.”