Coming Clean

Ok, I guess it’s time. Out with the truth.

Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I feel that I must take today’s column to make a confession. You see, I have not been entirely honest with my readership in my ten months of being an online journalistic force. What you get on a daily basis is commentary on the issues and events that shape our world. From hard-hitting election coverage to kitchen appliance wars, from taxtime advice to stories of puppy salvation, I use my corner of the web to report in such a way that the editors at my grand archrival CNN.com would throw a hissy fit. It’s unconventional at best, incoherent at worst, and often with the funny in tow.

Well, friends, I was once interested in taking news seriously. I once had the inner motivation to leave the funny at the door in the name of something greater. Hard-hitting investigative reporting. But at that time, I didn’t have a forum to report from. I needed to lend my talents to those with a greater voice and circulation. I was a behind-the-scenes guy. People, I guess what I’m trying to say after all of these years is, well.

I’m the guy they call Deep Throat.

Ok, I know you’re a little shocked. That’s why I’m allotting the next eight seconds of your day to collect yourself, clean up your spilled coffee, and return your chair to an upright position…

…

…It’s been extremely hard for me to keep this a secret all of these years. But I felt that in the name of journalistic integrity it was the right thing to do. Bobby Dub and CB did nearly all of the work, and as the actual writers for the Post, they deserve the credit. I chose to remain behind the scenes not out of cowardice, but out of humility and patriotism. In 1974, I was the one who filled in the gaps in those two reporters’ stories, using my astute inside information from working in the FBI and as a part of the administration. I had always had an excellent knack of sensing when ethics were being breached, and I often found myself in situations where it may be in my best physical interest to keep quiet. For example, there was this one time when I walked into the breakroom and saw G. Gordon Liddy leaving without refilling the coffee pot. I didn’t say anything about that either. Until now.

Oh, what? You want a motive?

In 1971, I was invited to the White House for a social gala. White House galas, if you’ve never been to one, involve a lot of hand shaking, a lot of smiling for the camera, and making fun of French diplomats. But when the cameras aren’t watching, President Nixon was known to sneak away with senior officials through a secret door just off the ballroom. Very few people know about the Calvin Coolidge game room, but it’s quite the layout. Long story short: at one of these galas, I schooled the President in a winner-take-all air hockey match. But when I went to get a drink from the wet bar, Nixon told everyone he won because crossed the blue line before the puck did, making my winning goal offsides.

There’s no offisides in air hockey.

Well, that set me off. I read some documents, I made some phone calls, and I read all about the crumbling of the Nixon administration in the paper. It was that easy.

Oh, and one more thing – the name Deep Throat. That wasn’t my idea. That was all Bernstein. Apparently “You’re a Leak” would have turned every press conference with them into a Who’s on First routine. I also would have been totally cool with Captain Awesome, but that’s what Woodward was called around the office. Cis Chrondon was apparently “too obvious,” as was “Chris Condon Number Two.” Ultimately I gave up on picking my alias, as I had to get off that infamous pay phone. Besides, I had a foosball match against Kissinger to get to.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.