Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.
A cheesy 80’s synth tune trumpets high, excited notes as a camera hones in on two men sitting at an anchor desk. A moment passes before the man on the left fixes the camera with a suave yet overly serious stare.
“Hello and thank you for joining us today here at Seattle’s Angels Nightly News. My name is Corejo, and joining me tonight is Casca—the better C’s to see you through the stormy news-y seas.” He turns to the other. “How’re you doing tonight, Casca?”
“I’m great, Core, how ‘bout yourself?”
A quick smile. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking. But not all of us are doing great here at Seattle’s Angels headquarters, as we have some breaking news for you all this evening: not everything you read on the internet is true.”
“It’s true, folks,” Casca adds, tapping his note stack on the table. “Nearly all information distributed on the internet is falsified in some way, and ninety-seven percent of all statistics are made up on the spot, according to researchers. How do you like those numbers, Core?”
Corejo shakes his head. “I don’t like them one bit, Cas. But numbers don’t lie. And in that vein, we have shocking new evidence today that the origins of Seattle’s Angels’ reviews may not be quite as accurate as some say they are. What was once thought to be a group dedicated to finding the best of the best underappreciated stories out there has been scandalized by the discovery that it is, in fact, one man.
“Ferret takes us now to the scene, where it can truly be said that there simply are no words for such an atrocity. Ferret?”
“Thanks, Core!” Ferret says from her perch on a countertop high above the camera. “It’s true! Me and Squirrel tracked the culprit to this very room!” She pointed to a door beside the counter, then punched a paw into the palm of the other. “Let’s nab him!”
She leaps for the doorknob, turning it as she falls to the floor. The door pops open, and into computer-lit room they run, the camera shaking in time with Red’s tiny squirrel breaths.
A man turns from his computer, wide eyed at the intrusion, and can only stand to tower above the camera before Ferret is up and through his pant leg and poking out his collar, face to face, microphone extended. “Hello Mr. Wanderer D, sir. We’d like to take a moment to talk to you about your fraudulent work regarding the Seattle’s Angels reviews, please?” She tilts her head, beaming.
Wander D scowls at her, then at the camera, before his boot rises to blot out the light of the computer monitor. “Oh, crap,” can be heard whispered behind the camera, and all goes silent.
Corejo is back on screen, grimacing as he nervously fixes his tie. “We, uh, appear to be experiencing some technical difficulties. We’ll return to this story in a moment. In the mean time, we would like to extend our condolences to red squirrels everywhere who have fallen victim to boot-related injuries, and claim that no red squirrels were harmed in the making of our real reviews, which should be arriving shortly.”
Ferret dashes on screen, a manilla folder between her teeth. She leaps up onto the anchor desk and hands it to Corejo. “Here’s your reviews!”
“They’re in already? But you were just interviewing Wanderer D for our top story.”
“Yeah, how do you think I got here so fast?” She leans in, the backside of a paw directing a whisper toward him. “Just don’t mention to Red how fluffy his tail is now.” She beams and then scurries off camera.
Corejo chuckles, pulling the first page out of the folder. “Well, thank you, Ferret. Here, ladies and gentlemen, are this week’s scheduled reviews. On time. Every time.”