My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered,
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My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered,
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.

Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.

Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.

If't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still.

If't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still.

For me it was just exciting to see fake news catching on like that. We don't… you know, it's interesting. read more

For me it was just exciting to see fake news catching on like that. We don't… you know, it's interesting. I think we don't make things up. We just distill it to, hopefully, its most humorous nugget. And in that sense it seems faked and skewed just because we don't have to be subjective or pretend to be objective. We can just put it out there.

Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news; give to a gracious message
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Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news; give to a gracious message
An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt.

But we are at war, and we here at THE DAILY SHOW will do our best to keep you informed read more

But we are at war, and we here at THE DAILY SHOW will do our best to keep you informed of any late-breaking...humor we can find. Of course, our show is obviously at a disadvantage compared to the many news sources that we're competing with… at a disadvantage in several respects. For one thing, we are fake. They are not. So in terms of credibility we are, well, oddly enough, actually about even. We're about even.

Prithee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and the bad together: read more

Prithee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and the bad together: he's friends with Caesar,
In state of health, thou say'st, and thou say'st, free.

O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound.
And news much older than their ale went round.

Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound.
And news much older than their ale went round.