“GOOD news,” said the young intern as he stumbled in the door.  
“The All Blacks’ win has rated 579 favourable mentions from the press, including Murray Deaker.”
“That brainless oaf,” said the man at the head of the table, face in shadow, “At least he’s learnt that we’re not to be messed with now that Mexted’s gone.”
The other men seated around the table shuffled their papers and moved on to the next item.
“Gentlemen,” said the chair. “Now that we have succeeded in muzzling Mexted and sending the sports media a message, I’d just like to inform you of progress on shutting down other dissenting voices. The major daily papers have been told to remove any comments that don’t fit with our daily talking points from their websites, and next week Josef and I are off to China on a fact-finding mission to work out ways to shut down those… what are they called again, intern?”
“Blogs, sir.”
“We will be shutting down any blog that comes up with claptrap such as this – ‘Corporate sensitivities should never be an issue for free and fair commentary’ – utter bullshit,” he said.
There was a faint chorus of hear-hears from around the table.
“Our employer has made it clear that as long as they are pumping millions of dollars into live televised sport, they will not tolerate DISSENT!” said the chair as he thumped a fat fist onto the table, making the water glasses jump. “We’re all for free speech, just as long as it’s the free speech we want people to hear.”
He turned and flicked on a large television screen. A video of a bikini-clad blonde woman cavorting across the screen ran silently for a few minutes.
“That, gentlemen,” said the chair, “is Mexted’s replacement. Astrid Stavanger, runner up in Miss Sweden last year. She is currently taking a crash course in rugby rules to ensure she is up to speed as a sideline commentator for next year’s Super 14. If play gets too boring, we cut to her in a bikini talking rot with the benches. Gone down very well with test audiences.”
“Ah, excuse me, sir,” said the intern. “Even if she does come to grips with the rules, won’t it still seem a little, um, inane?”
“Inane?” blustered the chair. “Inane? No-one complains about the inanity of Doull or Katzanos, do they? No one calls Tony Johnson inane! Viewers don’t see the inanity. They see the entertainment. That’s what Astrid brings. Entertainment. And God knows our employer knows a thing or two about how sex sells… not that we’re using that as a promotional tool.”
“Ah,” said the intern, “but wasn’t Mexted seen as entertaining?”
“Of bloody course, but we can’t have the entertainment criticizing our product, can we? Next thing you know we’ll have our presenters wearing ‘Murdoch Is a wanker’ T-shirts in public. No, an iron fist and a steel toe up the bum is how we deal with dissent.”
“Now, in another matter, we also need to rev up our cricket coverage. Dunedin was exciting on the last day, but what if we get a fizzer in Napier? With that in mind, we’re bringing in Jesse Ryder and five of his mates for a special segment called On the Piss.
“If play gets too boring, Jesse and his pals will go around the ground having drinking races, trying to knock over rubbish bins and security guards with their heads, and calling manager Dave Currie rude names. Again, our focus groups love it, and so do I. Entertainment – it’s a great business, isn’t it?”