8 AM: Laura Ingraham joins the hosts on the couch! She opens by joking about a homeless person outside the studio. They play the Ditka tape again. The hosts and Ingraham love it.
Watching the show is like dropping down a bottomless pit. Eventually, you no longer feel like you're falling—the constant whoosh of half-truths and gleefully delivered apocalyptic provocations becomes your new equilibrium. It no longer matters what the story is or where it comes from—above you or below you, left or right—it feels like it is coming for you. It's news as a planet-covering hurricane of hatred and misfortune heading right toward your family, with outrage as the only available defense.
Back for more tomorrow!
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They play a clip of Newt Gingrich talking about the NFL from last night's Hannity. Newt rails against the selfish players who are dividing our great country.
And here's the dark contradiction at the heart of Fox & Friends: We're reminded constantly that America is the greatest nation ever to grace Planet Earth, yet somehow, everything that happens here is awful. Every story, every issue, is framed as an existential attack on a perfectly virtuous, perfectly imaginary America.
I let out a guttural screech after realizing that only seven minutes of the hour have gone by. This show is hell.
7 AM: Newt stops by in person to deliver the same anti-NFL player talking points.
I don't remember anything else that happened during this hour. It's all war, dangerous minorities, and the end of American values.
The unsettling message of Fox & Friends is depressingly clear by now: Everything is out to get you, forever. Dark forces beyond your control will destroy everything you love. And there's nothing you can do.
Nihilism has never been filmed with such soft lighting.