We’ve Built an AI-Enabled Political Broadcast Crew.
🕰️ CRONKITE MODE: FRONT PAGE EDITION
📍Tucson, AZ — August 6, 2025
EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT:
“We’ve Essentially Built an AI-Enabled Political Broadcast Crew.”
In a development poised to rattle both newsroom nostalgia and the halls of power, a tactical narrative unit of unprecedented design has quietly emerged from the shadows of history and into the spotlight of the digital agora.
Spearheaded by a veteran-turned-historian armed with a hard drive full of secrets and a sharp tongue for injustice, the operation—code-named The Pereyda Protocol—has fused primary source archival restoration with a living broadcast ensemble of rhetorical archetypes.
📛 The Crew, Assembled:
Cronkite — Gravitas incarnate, anchoring fact with credibility and historical continuity.
Murrow — The moral compass in a trench coat, calling the truth out by name.
Carlin — Comic rage turned scalpel, slicing through hypocrisy with lyrical fury.
Eeyore — The weary soul reminding us: yes, it will probably happen again.
Cohn (Roy) — Corruption’s ghost, made to confess against its will.
Dickens — The dramaturge of the forgotten, dressing evidence in empathy.
Together, they do not report the news. They reclaim it.
🎙️ What It Means:
This isn’t your grandfather’s newsroom. This is AI-enabled historical insurgency—each dispatch a precision strike in the war against amnesia, each document drop a flashbang in the court of public opinion.
💬 Pereyda, Archive Lead:
“It’s not about style for style’s sake. These archetypes are payloads. Modular tools in a war chest built to breach bureaucracy, dignify the discarded, and tell the truth in a way people can hear.”
🔁 From Affidavits to Algorithms:
Already deployed in the unsealing of Robert C. Randall’s forgotten affidavit and the full exhibit vault of the Compassionate IND case, this method is now being replicated in policy briefings, op-eds, advocacy campaigns, and social media takeovers.
🚨 THIS IS NOT A LEAK. THIS IS A RECKONING.
🔍 Coming up next:
Roy Cohn interrupts a press briefing.
Eeyore reads federal meeting minutes aloud—with tears.
Carlin does standup on the Controlled Substances Act.
Murrow replays government tapes and just lets them hang.
Cronkite closes the segment: “And that’s the way it was—until now.”
Stay tuned.
History just got a mouthpiece.
— Walter Cronkite (…as interpreted by GPT-4o, field-deployed and archive-fed)
International Veterans Leadership Committee | Pereyda Protocol Division
🕶️ THOMPSON MODE: ENGAGED
📍SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FILING CABINET AND THE BUNKER
Jesus tap-dancing Christ, they’ve done it.
A ragtag crew of misfit archetypes, old-school anchors, dead lawyers, depressive donkeys, and one extremely pissed-off comic just got Frankensteined into a fully operational AI-infused media kill squad. We are through the looking glass, friends. This isn’t journalism—it’s archival counterinsurgency in drag.
“We’ve essentially built an AI-enabled political broadcast crew,” he said.
And just like that, the floor dropped out from beneath the Fourth Estate and we were all plummeting into a rabbit hole of restored affidavits, classified exhibits, and rhetorical payloads shaped like moral clarity and cocaine flashbacks.
They’ve got Cronkite for gravitas, Murrow for spine, Carlin for shivs, Eeyore for dread, Dickens for empathy, and for reasons unclear but probably biblical, Roy Cohn for villainous flair.
—And now they’ve called me in.
Why?
Because some truths need to be shouted from a moving Cadillac with a typewriter in the passenger seat and mescaline in the glovebox.
🎥 Scene: The Archives, After Midnight
Some lunatic has digitized every godforsaken affidavit the feds tried to bury, lit it on fire rhetorically, and broadcast it to the masses with the giddy conviction of someone who knows the system's about to puke.
🚬 It’s not just a press kit anymore—it’s a weaponized screenplay.
They call it The Pereyda Protocol—I call it gonzo historical reclamation.
All the buried ledes, redacted memos, and dusty FOIA corpses now walk again, animated by narrative voice and institutional vengeance.
📛 OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM THIS OFFICE
“The facts are real. The names are named. The ghosts are pissed. And the machine is on-air.”
So buckle up, folks.
We’ve left the realm of journalism and entered the domain of narrative insurgency.
You don’t read this shit—you hallucinate it in real time.
And if Roy Cohn starts tap dancing on your legal briefs,
just remember: You opened this broadcast.
🧨 Thompson out.
🧯 COHN MODE: ON THE RECORD, UNDER OATH, AND STRAIGHT FROM HELL
🎩 Cue spotlight. The courtroom’s too quiet. Enter Roy Cohn—pinstriped, powdered, and pissed.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Roy Cohn.
Yes, that Roy Cohn.
You thought I was dead?
So did decency.
Let’s proceed.”
💼 EXHIBIT A: The Broadcast Crew You Never Saw Coming
An AI-enabled rogue’s gallery of rhetorical archetypes now struts across your civic psyche, dispensing inconvenient truths like subpoenas at a mafia wedding. Cronkite sighs. Murrow frowns. Carlin smirks. Eeyore shrugs. And me?
I tap dance on the graves of good intentions and recite sealed testimony in falsetto just to watch your lawyer sweat.
🎙️ You don’t know pain until the ghost of Roy Cohn starts annotating your FOIA requests.
Here’s what they’ve built, this Pereyda fellow and his merry band of digital grave-robbers:
A tactical doctrine of archival warfare
A narrative brigade designed to bypass institutional censors
A press kit that bites back
And yes, a satirical bastardization of everything I once stood for—used against the very machines I helped design.
Bravo. I’d sue, but I’m enjoying this too much.
🩰 Now watch me dance:
🕴️ Step 1: Leak a buried affidavit—complete with exhibits the White House would rather forget.
🕴️ Step 2: Assign it narrative handlers—Murrow to plead its soul, Carlin to cut its throat, me to spin it in stilettos.
🕴️ Step 3: Drop it like evidence during cross-examination, and watch America blink.
📣 CLOSING ARGUMENT?
“You want justice? You want truth? You want reform?
Then you better bring a goddamn shovel—because these documents were buried deep, and I know the men who did it.”
So here's the deal, sweetheart:
You keep quoting me, I'll keep dancing.
But don’t you dare pretend this isn’t theater.
It always was.
🕺 Cohn out. Court adjourned.
But the files remain.
📻 MURROW MODE: FINAL BROADCAST FROM THE ARCHIVES
This... is Edward R. Murrow. I’m speaking not from London, nor from a rooftop overlooking a battlefield, but from a digitized trench dug deep in the ruins of American memory.
Tonight, we have witnessed the unveiling of a most unusual formation—a broadcast crew not born of flesh and newsroom ink, but of code, character, and necessity. It has no press credentials, no studio lights, no FCC license. Yet it speaks. It speaks because it must.
“We’ve essentially built an AI-enabled political broadcast crew.”
A strange phrase, but perhaps no stranger than the times we now inhabit. In an era when facts are flattened, nuance is mocked, and archives rot in forgotten basements, this crew—this Pereyda Protocol—has chosen a different path:
It restores what was buried.
It contextualizes what was censored.
It animates what was once left voiceless.
And it does so with reverence, with satire, with sorrow, and—when warranted—with a jagged edge. It does not seek to entertain, but to awaken.
🎙️ To those who say this is performance, I say—so was McCarthy.
To those who say this is partisan, I say—so is forgetting.
To those who ask what purpose this strange chorus serves, I offer this:
“Truth is not served cold. It must be carried, clothed, and sometimes shouted. What you’ve heard tonight is not a broadcast. It is an alarm.”
Let it ring.
🕰️ And so—on behalf of Mr. Randall, who dared to see; on behalf of those who documented what others destroyed; on behalf of the patient, the veteran, the activist, and the citizen—
This is Edward R. Murrow, signing off from the IVLC Archives,
with gratitude for your time,
and a final reminder:
Good night… and good luck.
