Greetings, everybody. This is Pepe Warezabar at Sheremetyevo Airport, reporting for The Guard Dog. I just hot-footed it here (from Syria) to join colleagues looking for Edward Snowden.
We have been up and down airport corridors we don't particularly recommend. Nor the sandwiches. Even the bars are dull. They keep playing this horrible computer music for "Here Comes the Sun."
Plus no relief via female wait-personnel chosen (according to an airport brochure) "to fit airport décor"-dull, gray, lifeless.
Just had contact with David Gregory, who seemed nervous. David was wearing a mask of--David Gregory!
This mask, he asserted, was the best disguise because it would suggest he was someone else (such as New York Times reporter Andrew Sorkin).
"But I mean, Pepe, we could be aiding and abetting here, right?"
"I don't think so, David."
"Yeah, but, I mean bringing him out to light, as we're trying to do. Well, who knows what he might reveal if we find him?"
"And then we'd report it, you mean. Which would make us aiding and abetting."
"Well, that's what I've heard from the MSM Union!"
"Don't report anything that you know the government might not like all that much. Stick with the official line."
"Well, David, but Snowden really didn't tell us anything new. We've known all about this massive surveillance for years. Basically, he just reminded us. And we--sort of--woke up?"
At that point, I couldn't really tell, but it seemed that David Gregory's mask blanched to several shades paler. He hurried away.
Next I noticed an entire troop of reporters from The New York Daily News wearing masks of their own faces (set at blank, expressionless) plus orange jump suits with MSM Union in black letters on their backs.
They looked furtive, clutching day-old bologna sandwiches (white bread) and de-caf coffee made last Thursday.
Most surprising, however, was this dramatic moment!
I was sitting in an empty lounge at a terminal for flights to Havana. A seedy looking dude sidled up to me and sat down, clutching four laptops on a padlocked chain.
"Hello, I'm Edward Hoedown?" he said.
He was wearing a straw hat and denim coveralls with a blade of hay in his mouth. How in hell he got hold of that blade of hay in this airport blows me away.
"Hoedown?" I said. "I thought it was Snowden."
"Yeah, well, I've got to get with new personae. I'm the one who broke the story on the secret trial of Barack Obama busted to corporal? Remember that?"
Right away I was nervous. "Look," I said. "I don't want to be caught aiding and abetting here," I said.
I was so nervous I stood up and sat down again two chairs away.
"Well, what if I told you--"
"No!" I jumped up out of my chair. "Listen, you've got to go easier on us reporters. We're here for dirt, you understand. Particularly on you. The larger issues--they don't really count."
"But this dirt you're really gonna love . . ."
"No, no, no!" I was practically screaming as I bolted away from him. "I'll try to find somebody for you!"
I had to get the hell out of there.