Rupert fucking Murdoch Buys Nat Geo.

     Rupert fucking Murdoch, a man who, like the Kochs and Sheldon Adelson, inconsiderately refuses to die, recently bought National Geographic, a venerable institution that's been around since Jack the Ripper in 1888. Ironically, but not surprisingly, Murdoch had his knife man Greg "Death" Knell, CEO of the holding company that owned the magazine, send out the pink slips immediately. Among the first casualties were the editors and the rest of the award-winning staff that made the periodical worth acquiring in the first place.
     Surprise, surprise, corporate cunt Greg Knell's assurances the magazine wouldn't change its editorial vision turned out to be a steaming pile of horseshit. This was to artificially maintain the magazine's talent pool up until the moment of the sale. Sort of like the way Enron's executive echelon discouraged its lower echelon from cashing out so they themselves could softly drop down on their golden parachutes at peak stock prices.
     The firing of the editors isn't a coincidence since we all know what happens when Rupert fucking Murdoch takes over a publication: Everyone who survives starts sounding like Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity clones. So I tried to imagine what National Geographic covers would look like under a Murdoch stewardship.