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BONG Bull No. 684 the buyout
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Charles Stough
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Oct 25, 2006 12:53 PDT
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The Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild's World-Famous Encyclical
BONG Bull
No. 684
Copyright © 2006 by BONG
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For Oct. 25, 2006. Everybody quit piling on poor piteous Rush Limbaugh!
So he doesn't like Parkinson sufferer Michael J. Fox's endorsement of a
Democrat! So his fans and Fox News analysts are the sort who giggle at
spastics! You critics are missing the point! If anyone is an expert at
how you act when you skip your pills, Rush Limbaugh is such an expert!
Ease up on the fat man, counsels the Burned-Out Newspapercreatures
Guild, and this is BONG Bull No. 684!
GRAY LADY TAKES IN BOARDERS. The New York Times says it is cutting space
needs in its new Uptown office building, and has five floors to let.
Real estate types say the space will get about $85 a square foot per
year.
Can you New York tabloid guys see opportunity here?
For $126 a month, get enough room in the new NYT Building for a bunk
bed. Maybe even share the sheets and split the rent with a nightsider to
save rent.
Even if you feel superior from us boobs in the sticks because you
work for a gritty, gutsy Gotham tabloid, know the real security of
sharing elevators with a solvent newspaper organization.
Duck into the Timesmen's bathrooms once a week when you feel like a
change and washup.
Act now to get your choice of carpet color.
CHANGE OF ADDRESS. Blessings on all who tried. A typo in BB683 led many
faithful astray. But for this edition, see the latest graphic
embellisher from BONG by striking here or inserting the following in the
appropriate window on your screen:
http://new.photos.yahoo.com/copyboy@sbcglobal.net/album/576460762314262947/photo/294928803470710800/4
This gets you to the Yahoo photo album of Chief Copyboy Charley
Stough. Art in the BONG folder is accessible to the public. Yahoo may
even offer prints for a fee. The rascals. For a display-enabled version
or perhaps personalization of your own "The Big Buyout" movie poster,
contact bongs-@yahoo.com. Our fees are bigger.
Did we say "The Big Buyout?" Oh yes, the poster that the producers
would create for a cinema version of your career. Poster lyrics: "Ripped
from the headlines! They came for adventure! But some found <more>!
Blizzards of thrills! Strikes of action! Ink spills of pathos!
Wastebasket fires of drama! Watch these devil-may-care hellions go from
hot type to hotter times! Starring dozens of biggies, and a few who
skipped breakfast. Rated F-fogeys. No one will be admitted who is under
age 55." Plus spiffy graphics. Boffo.
BIG BUSINESS. Ford loses $5.8 billion in three months of selling cars
and trucks, about 700,000 units. Business acumen isn't our strong suit,
but wouldn't it be cheaper to just sit by the door and give $8,000 in
cash to each shopper who comes in? And that way, Ford could keep all the
understyled sedans and testosterone trucklets to itself. Judging by the
price tags, Ford obviously wants them more than the customers do.
THINK ABOUT THE FUTURE YOU NEVER HAD. Being bought out of your newspaper
job doesn't have to be the end. The Norfolk Southern Corporation, a
Fortune 500 transportation company, has an alternative rocking chair for
your enforced retirement if you've been bought out. Become a freight
train conductor. Accept "challenging outside work" operating track
switches and coupling train cars in all kinds of weather. You must be
willing to travel, which seems sort of superfluous for a railroad to say
but there it is. Apply at www.nscorp.com/careers.
But here's the kicker: After a year, some morning at 4:09, somewhere
in the Appalachians, knocking ice off a track switch with a 15-pound
monkey wrench by the light of a flickering lantern, snowflakes drifting
down your collar and over your boot tops and something with glowing
yellow eyes rustling in the woods right over there, you will realize
that nine minutes ago your first year on the job ended and you are on
the Locomotive Engineer Eligible List. You know that's what you always
really wanted. And that's when you will thank BONG for telling you.
COMIX SECTION. The Further Adventures of Herman "Speed" Graphic, ace
photographer for the Chagrin Falls Commercial Scimitar, and his Faithful
Companion, Typo the Wonder Pig.
PANEL ONE: The slamming of the photo lab door jars Speed awake,
dozing in his trenchcoat, a deathbed gift from an ancient mystic wire
service executive editor on a fog-shrouded eastern island, as Typo
arrives and slides the print washer into place, declaring, "You were
almost a big hit at the story meeting, Boss!"
PANEL TWO: Speed blusters, "Big hit ...? Story meeting...?"
Typo rejoins, "Right, Boss! I didn't want to wake you for the
mandatory brainstorming session, so I covered! One of the many things I
learned back at Indiana A&M was foolproof disguise skills!"
PANEL THREE: Speed sputters, "Mandatory brainstorming ...? Disguise
skills ...?"
Typo explicates, "You got it, Boss! And although Features Editor
Hyperba Lee was a little miffed at your suggestion that she quit
interviewing her mother or at least cut her column to 60 inches, I think
the committee was generally in agreement about her hemlines!"
PANEL FOUR: Speed wonders, "Hyperba ...? Hemlines ...?"
Typo agrees, "You hit the nail on the head, Boss! You should've seen
the friendly winks and nods in your direction! But Hyperba screamed that
she didn't want ideas at her brainstorming sessions, so I calmed her
down with a warm caress and a whispered promise of champagne and
strawberries on the terrace, just me and her! Meaning, of course, you
and her!"
INTERPANEL SILHOUETTE: Pain stars surround the inwardly bowing photo
lab door, edging the print washer back inch by inch, overlaid by popout
letters reading ka-WHAM ka-WHAM ka-WHAM.
PANEL FIVE: Speed gasps, "Champagne and ...? Me and her ...?"
Crouching behind the film file, Typo reassures, "You're the man,
Boss! And if that's Hyperba tapping, as of someone gently rapping on
your chamber door, I'd say lunch is served! Bon appetit, Boss!"
BONG Bull is the product of Chief Copyboy Charley Stough in Dayton,
Ohio. E-mail bongs-@yahoo.com for any reason. Or what the hell, for
no reason.
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