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Fly reporter, fly, around all this little crazy big awesome world,cause you can fly, anybody can fly.
By Fido on 05.30.2012
Peter Parker was a little punk pest who turned his life around and became a reporter by day and ill-fitting jumpsuit clad superhero by night.
By Karen URL on 05.30.2012
the reporter got up and left the room he said was very viciously quiet.
he ran up and down and up and down and fell so hard in love with his colleagues he screamed he couldn’t take it
he loved her so much just then. he loved the way her hair sloped and teased to the side
he loved the way she walked
he loved the way she read
her reports were full
By Brady Glasser on 05.30.2012
people ask me all the time, ‘what do i do?’. Well, this is one thing i’ve been asking myself. As a reporter, what’s actually my job profile. Turns out, I’m not doing much. I just wait all day hoping someone would call me to give me some breaking news.
By thomas on 05.30.2012
A reporter… that’s what I am. To see shit and then describe it to a bunch of unknown faces and then get paid for it. The story of my life.
By Rodrigo Rodríguez URL on 05.30.2012
she was never very good at minding her own business. In high school she was ostracized by her classmates after she wrote a story in the school newspaper about all the kids who smoked dope down by the river after school.
By kevin on 05.30.2012
The reporter came to the interview. Here he sat with the subject and determined all that he needed. This caused him to come to the conclusions that you are now reading.
By nicole on 05.30.2012
You gotta report her if she ever let’s herself go like that. To unleash that tamed beauty strapped under bobby pins and plastic masks is surely a sin. If she ever resists slathering that suffocating lipstick that catches all words unsuitable for a lady, if she ever abandons the blinders hovering dark over her eyes keeping her from looking anywhere she shouldn’t, report her. Report her when she doesn’t smell like manufactured orange blossom or ocean mist and report her when she smells like bed sheets the morning after.
By StatiKink URL on 05.30.2012
omg i love reporters. well the idea of being one i supose. but they are incredibly fake. and soooo terrible at jokes lmao. just watch the news at 6:30 am, its ssoooo funny how terrible their jokes are. ahahahah they also used to wear cool fidoras in my opinion ahah microphones
By Jordan on 05.30.2012
Storytelling. Spreading information. Gathering information and making it known. Truth seekers, supposedly. Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The story of a shipwrecked sailor. Journalism. Report, reporter, repor.
By lucaspelucas URL on 05.30.2012
A reporter is someone who tells it how it is. They can’t be biased, yet usually are. They shouldn’t be however because they have to tell the truth, and there are so many truths in a story. Perspective is everything, and they have to present each perspective as best they can to present a story to the public.
By Elizabeth Arif on 05.30.2012
I am a world renowed news reporter, being deployed into the middle of a combat zone in Iraq. I don’t ususally feel fear, its the thrill of reporting, documenting war violence that keeps me going. There is nothing quite like it. People love to see my work and I am interesting.
By Anthony Jones on 05.30.2012
There was a man standing in the roadway watching all the goings on on the sidewalk. It was lucky that there was no traffic. When I asked what he was doing there, he said he was a reporter and thought there was something worth writing about in the mix on the sidewalk.
By coramie URL on 05.30.2012
I used to want to be a reporter. I studied Journalism in college. I no longer want to be a reporter because politics are awful. I still love to write. Write write write. Type Type Type. Typity Type.
By Alex on 05.30.2012
They tend not to look at the whole picture but may be able to pick out what crucial details one might miss over without a second glance. Unfortunately they are of great lack in today;s society
By Chad on 05.30.2012
I’m just the reporter. I’m the one who’s typing the words, the little black print. I’m not the one living the words. I’m not the one the words are about, the one who’s accomplished something, or the one who’s done something worthy of being mentioned. I’m not that person. I’m never that person.
I’m just the reporter.
By kf. URL on 05.30.2012
Let’s stop and think of the news for a little bit. What is it? WHy does it have to consist of such sad things with rarely one happy thing to remember. People are dying and nobody is happy by the looks of the news to me. I don’t understand it. WHy can’t everyone just focus on the good?
By Denielle on 05.30.2012
Today as I was on my way to pick up some people to go to church, I saw a couple of people with a camera and one of them was all dressed up. I immediately knew they were reporters. Yes, I judged.
By kj on 05.30.2012
the airodrome nip tucked in low over the dirt path between the banyans. he leapt screaming into the bamboo thicket beside the path, his camera swinging wildly against his chest. the bullets came ricocheting in close and hot, their singing loud in his ears, their breath hot against his cheek . . .
By george christos on 05.30.2012
rita skeeter was a vile vile woman who liked to make up news stories to tear apart honest people’s reputations. her last name was meant to evoke the thought of a mosquito. she can turn into a beetle.
By holly on 05.30.2012
the television reporter interviewed millions of people about the election in 2012. Some were liberals and some were conservatives. The reporter also interviewed the state senate of Nebraska.
By Rosemaureen on 05.30.2012
reporter had a long long day.
he sat at the city bus stop all day long.
in search of a story he never would find.
as the world flew him bye, he just sat.
By Jolie on 05.30.2012
I felt like a reporter sometimes. Every word rehearsed, flashing my smile at just an angle so my teeth look nice. It all rings with an awful tin, a hollow persona without a single real emotion.
By alex URL on 05.30.2012
The reporter pushed forward, through the crowd of baying protesters and up to the politician who was still attempting to give her speech. Thrusting his microphone t
By Betty Barker on 05.30.2012
A reporter is one who delivers information to the public. They feel that it is their duty to the public to report the truth of current and past events.
By Jessica on 05.30.2012
Lois Lane, the master of the word, is the one person that pops into my mind immediately whenever i think of this word. She is the ideal reporter because she would do anything to get her story, even if it was dangerous. Thank God she had Superman/Clark Kent to save the day.
By Bo Weast on 05.30.2012
A reporter let’s people in the world know what is going on around them.I believe that they have the hardest, most unhappy job ever known. They put themselves in dangerous situations all the time. Just so us americans and others know what it going on in our neighborhood.
By Samantha on 05.30.2012
The reporter pushed through the crowd, determined to reach the star of the show. He had some good questions to ask. The public’s desire for information about the star’s daily personal life was insatiable.
By Andrea URL on 05.30.2012
By hana on 05.30.2012
The reporter circled her car around the block one last time, hoping for a glimpse of something- anything really. The police had blocked off the area with no comment and fierce looks for anyone who tried to get something out of them.
By Tina on 05.30.2012
I am a reporter. I love the smell of cover taste not the taste. So I make a cup in the morning but never drink it. The smell awakens me.I sit on the window sill of my loft inNYC staring out the window at this place. Wishing I could report about some far off land so I could get out of here. I want to go to Tibet and live e life of a monk. No phone, laptop, iPad, taxis… I hate it here. i love nature and the closest we have to that is centarl park. I want be a travel reporter with no time limit on my reports. I want to travel and write till my heart is content
By Perri on 05.30.2012
the reporter went home after a cold long night of writting on a never ending paper… his mind was cluster withh memories of his past… wishing he could go back to those sweet fall days… where she loved him, when the were happy with a mini he with her eyes…
By Marcela Romero URL on 05.30.2012
The reporter was terrified. She’s never seen anything like this before. This is the most disturbing thing she has ever seen. Shaking out of shock.. or maybe it’s fear. Is there much of a difference? She turns to the camera. Nerves exploding from her body.
By El Ray on 05.30.2012
My conscience is the reporter of my life. It isn’t like a political reporter, studious and serious. No it is likely ESPN obscure sports reporter.
By Louise on 05.30.2012
I don’t know anything about reporters. Other than if I was one I would report on issues in third world countries and why they’re not fully developing. I believe I have a gift of helping people in some way and at some point in my life will achieve something great but I’m far from it. I don’t want to sacrifice my life for it.
By Chelsea on 05.30.2012
Finally my word comes. The reporter. That is what i am doing these days and after the initial apprehensions i have actually started liking it. It helps when writing starts coming to you naturally without putting much pressure on the already small cortex. But ahh, i guess i will have to stop doing this fun job for a nice boring alien job !
By Omkar Thakur on 05.31.2012
Hats have got to figure in here somewhere – funny how it conjurs an image of a by gone newspaper driven era
By Lucinda on 05.31.2012
good things can happen in one word.
it can make other people feel good, bad, or worse, so , let.s think before we go.
By maricel on 05.31.2012
I wonder if reporters disagree with how they represent the events in the world today or if they too have been set to the same path as the people they inform.
By Tim URL on 05.31.2012
the reporter and i had a turblent relationship at best. He was constantly trying to get answers out of me, that wasn’t even there. I loved him but he never truly loved me back, all he ever loved was the written word and all he could ever want was to write.
By paige URL on 05.31.2012
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.