I hate newspapers

This one is a serious one.

Ok, folks, when I'm not puking through my hands into a keyboard, I can do a pretty mean piece of research.. I've got blisters on my ears, eyes and brain from spending an entire day writing two news stories; one I didn't give a shit about, and which didn't take any more than 40 minutes to write, and a second one about a growing problem in my neighbourhood: swarmings. That's what police call it when three or more youths from the rough area (areas in Halifax can be less than a block squared, so there are a lot of different areas in this little town) attack someone from the equally poor but less delinquent "Neal Zone." It's got them in a kerfuffle, most recently because a former student of the art college here and a freind of hers were KNOCKED OFF OF THEIR BIKES by a 4x4 piece of wood TO THE FACE. That's serious. Like to the point where they had to have pieces of the frames of their glasses surgically removed from the brigdes of their noses.
So, I spent my day talking to everyone I could possibly think of . When it was aall said and done, I had 3500 words of notes, and a pretty good idea what the story should look liike. I forgot the fact that I write for a paper equal in format, and even lower in quality, to the Edmonton Sun. That meant I had a little less that 400 words to nurture, birth, and raise a feature magazine article. Needless to say, what came out was a stillborn bastard piece of garbage. Sure, someone with a super-tight writing style might have been able to do something with the space, but I couldn't. I'll post the Story as a comment after I'm done this so it doesn't interrupt this rant.
Seriously, I've YELLED more than 400 words in a row, and that was twice-drunk on a 2-litre bottle of coke mixed 50-50 with rum on new years' eve in Edmonton when it was -40 after working for 10 hours straight. Writing 400 words? I've sucker-punched a keyboard and accidentally written more, and it made more sense that time. I don't like it. I want more room to write.
It's t the point where I cringe at the idea of researching stories, and, though I know my research skills are atrophying, there's nothing I can do. I don't usually have time to research anything because I have 4 300-word stories to write. That's a little easier, though, becuase uyou can just type out the FUCKING PRESS RELEASE, and then get a token quote from the dipshit named at the bottom of the fax printout.
Yes, it's depressing. It's like writing for Hitler while the devil laughs and kicks you. Oh, and you get paid shitty, too. And if I write anything I'm interested in, like science, or nature, it usually gets cut for "hard news:" which equals, knifing, shooting, politicians hwo get AIDS, and, ironically enough, girls getting hit off their bikes with a fucking piece of wood. But we'd never go find witnesses, we'd just type out the press release from the cops.
One night, I rolled a press release up so tight that it would fit up my pee-hole, jammed it in, then let it unwind a little. Then I took a hammer, bashed the paper until it stabbed my kidneys, and smiled because the pain blocked my mind from thinking about how fucking useless it is to work at a tabloid newspaper. Then I took the hammer and bashed the keyboard 400 tiems, and sent that to the copy editors. Ironically, they couldn't tell the difference.
I'm moving to Melfort, Saskatchewan to be a radio reporter. You get even fewer words on the radio, but at least someone listens to what you say.