The aging media mogul Rupert “Old Guard” Stone, a man who owned three satellites and zero original hips, was celebrating his 98th birthday at his penthouse. He was flanked by his newest “discovery,” a 23-year-old blonde anchor named Tiffany who read the teleprompter like she was casting a spell.<\/p>\n
His billionaire rival leaned in and whispered, “Rupert, be honest. You\u2019re nearly a century old. What on earth do you do with a girl like Tiffany? Does the equipment even… broadcast anymore?”<\/p>\n
Rupert took a slow, shaky sip of his $10,000 scotch, winked a cloudy eye, and rasped:<\/p>\n
“My boy, it\u2019s just like the cable business. I might not have the content<\/b> anymore, but I still own the prime-time slot<\/b>… and I’ve got enough money to make sure she stays tuned in through the commercial breaks.”<\/p>\n
Tiffany leaned over, adjusted her microphone, and purred, “Ready for the late-night segment, Mr. Stone?”<\/p>\n
Rupert grinned, his dentures gleaming under the chandelier. “See? I may be in the ‘Legacy Media’ phase, but I still have the highest penetration in the market.”<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The aging media mogul Rupert “Old Guard” Stone, a man who owned three satellites and zero original hips, was celebrating his 98th birthday at his penthouse. He was flanked by his newest “discovery,” a 23-year-old blonde anchor named Tiffany who read the teleprompter like she was casting a spell. His billionaire rival leaned in and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":22997,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-22996","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-funny"],"yoast_head":"\n