I accidentally stepped in some local news last night, announced by its ISO-standard mating call:

Authoritative White Guy: “I’m Mike Johnson.”
Usually Asian Woman: “And I’m Trish Yamota.”
Authoritative White Guy: “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock News!”

This introduction is so common, so boilerplate, that they could replace it with pretty much anything — including the truth — and nobody would notice:

“I’m a drooling simpleton.” “I’m the journalistic equivalent of a spastic colon.” “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock News!”

“I’m— Ooo! Pretty!” “I appear to have wet myself.” “And this is the Channel Eleven Three O’clock News!”

“I’m a howler monkey.” “I, also, am a howler monkey.” “And this is the Channel Three Eleven O’clock Poo-Flinging Time!”

And then they show half an hour of on-the-scene-thirteen-hours-too-late crime reports and adorable-animal stories and clips of amusing and/or horrifying video from place that aren’t within a thousand miles of “local.” Or “news.”

And then they say, “Good night,” but they don’t mean it.