It had been months since The Media had enjoyed itself. Long months of covering the same few people as they continued their race like three titanic slugs cutting a path through glue. As time went on, all excitement for the slug race dissipated to nothing. It became harder and harder to find guests to yell at each other, and The Media resorted to creating stories rather than actually finding something new that they could report.

Stories broke that attempted to examine the "race" and "gender" issues, much to the chagrin of people all over the nation who felt that they didn't need The Media to constantly tell them they were racists and/or sexists who would probably never elect a black man or a woman. The Media flagellated the public with their own opinion stories, endorsing one candidate strongly and then, when that candidate didn't do well, certain commentators even stepped out and said, "The people have decided to not listen to you Media bastards." It was all very powerful stuff.

But it was clear that The Media was tired. There were only so many human-interest stories to buoy them up before they began feasting upon themselves, putting out stories like Lou angrily ranting about how his views on immigration had been misrepresented, forgetting that he was not actually running for office and that no one cared where he stood on pretty much anything. But then, a glorious story fell into the Newsroom...

"Spitzer!" shouted Lou to Wolf, reaching across networks for the first time in years.
"Spitzer!" yelled Tucker in glee, hoping that the story would delay his impending canning.
"Spitzer!" cried CNN.
"Spitzer!" exclaimed MSNBC.
"Spitzer, Spitzer, Spitzer!" said every respectable news organization on the planet, and Fox, too, I guess.

It was such a clear case of corruption. So easy to digest. The moral high ground was high, the prostitute's mouth was low. Jokes came freely, the story seemed to write itself, and everyone could say something that was kinda sorta new.

But alas, Spitzer resigned. The story's momentum fell, leaving nothing but the trail of three slugs to follow.

The Media shuffled after the slugs. Their shoulders hunched again, their heads dropped low. But yet, there was something different in their gait, a twinkle, if you will, in their ever-present eye. The race would go on, but it would eventually end, and The Media had been reminded that no matter what, corruption would always remain in those at the highest levels of power and authority.

Elliot Spitzer may be gone, but prostitutes are forever.