Ion Cristoiu hasn’t gone senile, nor is he outdated – not by numbers or by the times. He’s grabbed his orange plastic belt and the phosphorescent watch from under the blanket and, more importantly, he’s become a TikToker, posting three to four TikToks a day.
He says, ha, ha! TikTok is the future.
He’s keeping up with the times.
And the times, whatever people may say, belong to idiots who communicate with emojis. So the famous journalist plays charades – he talks, laughs, stares left and right as if someone were after his organs – and these faces now serve as arguments at the biological age of 76.
A three-legged chicken beating a Trabant, a cow with its udder in a bra, and Emil Constantinescu as president are his great journalistic feats (although Cristian Tudor Popescu claims he’s the one who actually appoints presidents; Florin Salam is king of Romania, or so he says).
In the TikTok era, Master Cristoiu claims that neutrality ensures a journalist’s ethics.
