I have a friend who worked for a
livestock newspaper for 40 years who has newspaper ink clogging up his
veins. Recently he’s been involuntarily checked into cell block 314 of
the Old Farts Senior Dying Center by his three ungrateful children who
are getting tired of waiting for their inheritance. No sooner had he put
away the contents of his single suitcase, what was left of a very full
life, than his kids put his house up for sale and ripped up the carpet
and tore the wallpaper off the walls looking for a safe filled with
Krugerands that was no place to be found.
My
friend is one of those people who has had a rough life but who has
taken advantage of every bad break he ever had. He’s the proverbial
person who, when handed lemons in life, made a delightful vodka/lemonade
cocktail with the kick of a Missouri mule. So I wasn’t surprised to
hear that he’s making the most of being relegated to Heaven’s Waiting
Room.
In our last phone conversation
my buddy actually seemed excited about his new surroundings. “Just think
Lee, Is there a better niche left in the publishing business than a
“weakly” newspaper in a resthome? I’ve got a captive audience, they have
money to spend and there’s virtually no competition. My readers aren’t
plugged into the Internet but they’re still desperate for news outside
the walls of the convalescent prison. And since they have no short term
memory, I can run and re-run the same copy every week and they’ll never
catch on. I don’t even have to waste money on an editor.”
He promised to send me a copy of his most recent issue.
I
waited with anticipation and a week later I got a copy of Rawhide’s Old
Rag. I saw my friend’s photo above a column that was datelined, “Alive,
From the Rest Home” in which my friend reported, “It was a slow week
here at the Gulag as no one kicked off, there were no new recruits to
indoctrinate and only one brave soul attempted to escape. At press time
the missing prisoner is being hunted down by bloodhounds and two Swat
teams because it’s that time of the month when room rent is due.
“The
food continues to deteriorate and there have been rumblings of a food
strike because every meal tastes the same, like deep fried rat, boiled
woodchuck’s liver, bird’s nest soup with beets, botulism on a bun with
sweet and sour Twinkies® for dessert.”
In the sport’s section it was reported, “In last week’s wheelchair races
Ball Chaser paid off at 5:2 and beat Joy Ride in the worldwide record
time of three and a half hours down the hall. Of course we are all
looking forward to next week’s champion walker races to see if AirBag
can hold off Miss DaMeaner to retain the title. Place your bets with
Crooked Kate in room 236. Kate also has two boxes of Cuban cigars that
came in with last last months contraband. Just remember to shut off your
oxygen before lighting up.”
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