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BONG Bull No. 687 humility lesson
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Charles Stough
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Jan 09, 2007 22:35 PST
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The Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild's World-Famous Encyclical
BONG Bull
No. 687
Copyright © 2006 by BONG
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For Jan. 10, 2007. Gee whiz, Mr. Blackwell, have some restraint! We
agree that Britney Spears and Paris Hilton are fashion disasters, but to
call them "two peas in an overexposed pod" is language we couldn't get
past the copy desk, laments the Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild, and
this is BONG Bull No. 687!
HUBRIS IS SUCH A PAIN. And once again, thanks to the University of
Florida Gators' trouncing of the Ohio State Buckeyes in Monday's
championship game, humility is on the agenda. Humble pie is such a
bitter repast. But I must make amends with the guys back in San Antonio.
With jibes and wisecracks I abused our friendship and their home town
newspaper's slavish devotion to yokelizing national news, not only in
sports (but there is very little truth to the tale that the Express-News
bannered "S.A. Sisters Cut Vacation Short" on Dec. 7, 1941).
Anyway, arrogance and pride are put down. Yes, I ragged the home boys
too often over Longhorn mishaps, plagiarisms and prohibitions. In coming
decades, years, weeks, hours, whatever time I have left, my
grandchildren will ask what I remember of the 2006 season, the one where
the Buckeyes took a 41-14 hosing from the swamp reptiles in the most
important game of their history, the game that Congress shut down to
watch, and, voice cracking, breath wheezing, I shall be forced to
recall, with a rueful and quavering smile:
"Ohio State 24, University of Texas 7."
And so will my grandchildren's grandchildren.
THE AFTERNOON OF THE INSURGENCY. The trend should've been obvious years
ago. Mom called long-distance in about 2001 to demand, "Why aren't the
God damned papers reporting that insurgents have taken over Rodman Naval
Station and are shooting rockets at ships in the canal?"
Rodman was a little set of piers at the Pacific mouth of the Panama
Canal. My mother is an aged former Zonian, one of those colonial
American civil servants who for generations populated the Canal Zone. To
this day they still pine for their little paradise. Most of the rest of
us think it was about as charming as the back side of a Wal-Mart, but
they remember mango trees, 15-cent Heinekens and maids for $25 a month.
It all went away, and so did most of the Zonians, in 2000 with the
Carter-Torrijos Treaty.
For an insurgent army, Rodman would be a dandy artillery position. It
was in the shadow of the Bridge of the Americas and could cut off the
Pan-American Highway. Tank farms, port works, the canal, a couple of
airports and all of Panama City would be in range. Mom's telephone tree
of disenfranchised colonials must have known that. They certainly were
burning up the wires.
But of course the Panamanians who control the canal know it too, and
anybody harassing ship traffic would be a smoking crater in about six
minutes. So, though I was in Ohio and not following Panamanian politics
daily, I had a pretty good idea why the damn papers weren't reporting
what the gossipers were telling each other.
"Well," I speculated, "could the papers be omitting it because it
isn't true?"
Thinking on it, Mom granted that it might be a reason. But at that
very moment I could imagine some other grumbling Civil Service retiree
phoning his local talk show and taking the ridiculous rumor on the air.
They were the same people chasing mythic black helicopters bringing
invasion troops to national parks, dodging radio beams focusing on the
new money, bragging about aliens in Hangar 18 and quoting Rush Limbaugh
and This Guy Down at the Plant with what the lying New York Times and
the liberal media keep hid.
Many of Mom's friends can still be jolted with alarming phone gossip.
I'd give you her number but it's probably busy.
HELD OVER. To the immense surprise of the Editorial Output or
Immortality Committee, copies of our novels (you should excuse the
editorial we, but modesty is among my most famous qualities) are still
available in new or used markets. Seek out "Warm Spit" or "Stone Flute"
in online venues for a fun read, as well as cheap.
SPEAKING OF FAMOUS PEOPLE. Bridget Fonda will be 42 on Jan. 27. Isn't
she somebody's daughter? 42? It's so unfair. But then Jim Voigt
<JimV-@harryhiggens.com> points out some other heartbreakers whose
calendars might hang yet in the old ITU locker room:
Brigitte Bardot, 71; Sophia Loren, 71; Gina Lollobrigida, 78; Angie
Dickinson, 74; Shirley Temple, 77. And Joan Collins, 72, also a surprise
since most of the back shop boys thought she was about 75 in 1980.
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: Speed marks his score, remarking, "Wow, Typo, if I do that
well in the last frame, I'll have 113, my personal record!"
Fingering his personalized marble-print bowling ball with his
handmade lambskin glove, Typo takes aim down the alley and responds,
"You've been improving all week, Boss, but you were terribly slowed by
circumstances! We never could've put regulation lanes in the newsroom
before the staff buyout!"
PANEL TWO: While the automatic pinsetter does its thing, Speed tosses
aside his trenchcoat, a deathbed gift from an ancient mystic wire
service executive editor on a fog-shrouded eastern island, and asks,
"So, do we have ideas for Features Editor Hyperba Lee's column on latest
fashion tips for our few remaining readers?"
PANEL THREE: Typo pulls some notes from the pocket of his monogrammed
silk team shirt, remarking, "Sure, Boss! And most of these we can
illustrate with photos of editorial writers! Let's see: If you wear
bifocals, avoid nose rings. Spiked hair only accentuates bald spots. A
pierced tongue calls attention to dentures."
PANEL FOUR: Typo continues, "Worn together, a navel ring and gall
bladder surgery scar make a poor impression at the beach. Always button
disco shirts so as to conceal a heart monitor. Oh, and this one will get
Hyperba's picture in the paper again: Inline skates and a walker,
definitely a no-no on any red carpet!"
PANEL FIVE: Speed cheers, "Got them all in the pocket digital
assistant, Typo! Let's grab the camera and get to work!"
Typo cautions, "Uh, one thing you're forgetting, Boss! With that
gutterball, at a dime a point you owe me $192 so far this week!"
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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