Imagine being so fake, so irredeemably disingenuous, that you need to pretend that one of your anchors is out with a very contagious and very available virus to get people to tune in.
Now, did the least favorite son of the Cuomo lineage actually suffer a kiss at the sweet lips of Corona-chan. Probably. The man shamelessly reads lies on a teleprompter for a living so it wouldn’t shock me if he didn’t – but let’s assume for the sake of argument that he did get sick.
In all the footage I bothered to suffer through I didn’t once see him dawn a mask or wear goggles to prevent comorbidity. He was touching a spiting on things as he spoke. Was he disinfecting his computer afterward? Was it his personal computer or did others use it? Did he have free-range of the house? It’s not exactly quarantine if your walking around where other, uninfected people go. And that’s just assuming you’re under self-house arrest. Which, of course, Chris wasn’t.
Even after getting caught breaking his “quarantine” by a cyclist. Christ actually had the nerve to act out a triumphant recovery as he emerged from his basement like a sweaty neckbeard ready for comic-con. “Just worked out” he said, seemingly convinced he’s the central character in an erotic fanfic of himself, written by himself. But note I said central character and not protagonist. Being the protagonist would imply he learned from or changed in some way because of this experience. Chris certainly did not.
Not humility, not honesty, definitely not decent acting. No, nothing so…quaint.
Jeff Zucker, I’m will to bet, told Chris to do this, and received no objection. Because, unlike big brother Andrew who gives orders, Chris takes them. Anything to gin-up sympathy for every empty airport’s favorite theater channel.
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