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BONG Bull No. 692 unzapped
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Charles Stough
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Sep 19, 2007 13:36 PDT
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The Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild's World-Famous Encyclical
BONG Bull
No. 692
Copyright © 2007 by BONG
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For Sept. 20, 2007. Thanks for cleaning up that acceptance speech by
Sally Fields, Fox. But how does your garbagemouth pal Ann Coulter get
past your killbutton boys? asks the Burned-Out Newspapercreatures Guild,
and this is BONG Bull No. 692!
CAREER ADVICE. Actually it's not that good an idea to take career advice
from people over a certain age. Sort of like a college professor telling
how to become a millionaire. And then getting graded for reciting it
back. I often heard from my many Irish aunts that their grandfather used
to say, "Go into a business that's necessary, or habit-forming." They
thought the old man was deucedly clever. But they became civil servants,
every one of them, just like him.
Then there was my old man the infantry colonel. He judged haircuts by
likely survival rate after a head wound. "Probably not many snipers in
the coliseum for his show, Dad, not at $280 a seat," we'd say.
Insubordinate brats, we. He had good advice on how to overcome a town's
hostility to a local Army post (declare the burg off limits for a couple
of weeks, then pay the troops with $2 bills and turn them loose; amazing
how the shopkeepers and bartenders some around). But after he retired he
was a poor judge of necktie fashions, like all lifers. No risk to GQ
magazine.
So, in the twilight if not stumbling dark of a press career, my
thoughts on job health should be taken with a grain of salt. To wit:
Get some watercolors and hang with artist friends. Arts will outweigh
all the newspaper work I ever did. I should have taken the hint from
watching artists doing a quarter of the Bengals game between paint
strokes. They don't know deadlines except maybe if they discover they
have glued a flap of the weather map on upside-down and it's 6 minutes
to engravers' lunch break. They have closets full of comic books. Me, I
had a doofus Canadian department head who stopped pages until he
understood expressions like "Monday-morning quarterback." Reporters can
whine and blame the copy desk. Artists can say, "You don't like it? Have
your mama try." They have cars, drugs, women, booze. Well OK, maybe
writers have those too. But artists have 88 colors of chalk.
TO THAT END. Go to
http://new.photos.yahoo.com/copyboy@sbcglobal.net/album/576460762387368757
to see latest works.
SPEAKING OF THE END. In July the New York Times published this
correction:
"An article on Thursday about the arraignment of three men in the
shooting of two New York police officers, one of whom died, misstated
the schedule set by a judge for a trial in the case. The trial is
expected to begin by February, not by 'Feb. 30.' The error occurred when
an editor saw the symbol '--30--' typed at the bottom of the reporter’s
article and combined it with the last word, 'February.' It is actually a
notation that journalists have used through the years to denote the end
of an article. Although many no longer use it or even know what it
means, some journalists continue to debate its origin. A popular theory
is that it was a sign-off code developed by telegraph operators. Another
tale is that reporters began signing their articles with '30' to demand
a living wage of $30 per week. Most dictionaries still include the
symbol in the definition of thirty, noting that it means 'conclusion' or
'end of a news story.'"
Yeah, well, it also ends something else. When a copy editor for the
New York Times doesn't know what "--30--" means, as well as thinks there
has ever been or ever will be a Feb. 30, something else has gone by the
boards too. Sure hope somebody regrets the error.
OUT SICK. Yeah, well, it's true that dear old weekly BONG has been
coming out at odd intervals recently. Regularity is a problem for all of
us. This is to heads-up that BONGers can expect another delay in
receiving BB693. I'll be doing a surgical appearance at a local
hospital, but look forward to renewed bile soonest.
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: Cruising to Las Vegas on the copy desk coffee urn,
converted to a low-orbit rocket by the addition of a Do-Good Pellet from
the pocket of Speed's trenchcoat, a deathbed gift from an ancient mystic
wire service executive editor on a fog-shrouded eastern island, Speed
reviews the photo assignment, remarking, "Charged with all those
felonies for just barging into a room with a gun, terrorizing business
people, holding captives and making off with valuables -- what kind of
place has this Las Vegas become, Typo!?"
PANEL TWO: Typo rejoins, "I know, Boss. It sounds like any of
Absentee Publisher Gimlet Peen's sales meetings, doesn't it? But Nevada
isn't Chagrin Falls, is all I can say!"
PANEL THREE: Aground behind the Galactic Casino, Speed warns, "Stash
the urn carefully, Typo! This use renders its contents a potent
aphrodisiac! Only copy editors are immune!"
Typo gasps, "Too late, Boss! That busload of tourists has spotted us!
Duck behind that limousine before ...!"
PANEL FOUR: The panel is obscured by popout letters reading OBSCENE
MAYHEM and TURN THE PAGE, KIDS, QUICK!
PANEL FIVE: Speed wonders, "Wow, Typo! Look at them all, bent at the
waist, making grasping gestures and tapping their feet! What's going
on!?"
Typo explicates, "We should have noticed the bus banner, Boss!
They're all from Idaho, and that's the Free Senator Larry Craig from
Family Values Coalition, here for their convention!"
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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