CHAPTER 17 - PUPPY JOURNALISM

Sindy was gone and Johnny Washisname needed to avoid real work. He deliberately started breathing hard and soon had hyperventilated, then loosening his thin reedy black tie, Johnny ran from Sindy’s office down the hallway, past the editors, and news hounds, then he turned into the cubicles of the special correspondents, legmen, hacks, pen drivers, and ink slingers. As he passed he grabbed a copy of this afternoon’s edition of The Times. He had almost made it past the benches of the lowest of the low in the news biz, the ‘journalists’, when he was stopped abruptly by the Tone Checker, Arnold Tallweed.

Tallweed said, “Hey, where you going so fast, I want you to go get me pastrami on white, double mayo, at Khron’s on the square, and I want …”

“no time,” shouted Johnny. “i’m on assignment; an important assignment… gotta run.”

Talweed saw he was breathing hard. “Who’s assignment?” he asked.

“ms. blazer sir, she needs a proof of tomorrows ‘social bits and bites’, and she needs it now,” shouted Johnny as he made it to the elevator door just as it closed.

Mr. Bubbs looked at Johnny and said, “Sub Basement, Johnny?”

“yeah,” replied Johnny wondering how Mr. Bubbs always knew what floor he wanted.

Mr. Bubbs, chuckled to himself, and he yanked the giant shiny brass lever, pulled open the safety latches, looked up and shouted “let ‘er go boys.” The elevator lurched, a rush of wind filled the small lift as it went to free fall. He always knew where Johnny was headed. It all depended on where the lovely Sindy Blazer was in the building. Mr. Bubbs had guided the elevator in its semi controlled free fall less than 10 minuets ago carrying Sindy to the lobby, just enough time for Johnny to hyperventilate get sweaty and take off on an important errand. An errand that, when Sindy was gone, always led Johnny to the sub-basement.

The elevator landed hard as it always did. “thanks mr.bubbs, “ said Johnny as he ran down the dimly light hall of the sub-basement. He passed stacks and stacks of yesterday’s newspaper, yellow with journalists pride, and dusty from the neglect that papers get after their printed and too old to wrap fish in. As he approached the core of the building the massive foundation gave way to the Murdstone Dynasty Mausoleum. He tip toed quietly past the Mausoleum taking care not to wake up Jaloux Murdstone who was sleeping there. He had made to much noise once and woke Jaloux up and hadn’t been able to sit or eat for a week. He shuddered with the thought. Once he was on the other side of the Mausoleum, he descended the little shaft occasionally used by the plumbers when they were searching for news leaks. In a few minutes he was in his office. He lit a stubby blue candle and sat in the chair of the future editor of The Times, and one day media mongol – Johnny Washisname. Johnny felt very good, but there was no time to fantasize about his future exploits, first as an ace crime reporter, then powerful society editor, then fact checker (who got the best bribes), and finally Editor of The Times. No, Johnny knew he needed to be ‘qualified’ first.

On his desk lay the bible of journalism. It was tattered and worn, and a few editions old. But it was loaded with annotations, notes, and aphorisms that were the bread and butter of future gazetteer Johnny knew he was destined to become. He carefully laid out today’s paper and opened the book that he knew would lead to his future – Journalism for Dummies.

“now,” he said to no one, “let’s review some of today’s articles.” He skimmed the paper, giving the contents more attention than the average reader. His eyes fell on a column by the famed Sleazy Coreman, CFH – Certified Financial Hustler. “she’s popular and someone people listen to,” said Johnny all alone in his office. He always talked to himself here. It made him feel as if he had a staff. Sometimes he would even yell “copy boy” and come running in anticipation of an important scoup or assignment like getting lunch. But today he was going to study. “i’ll read sleazy,” he decided.

Johnny had become interested in money things because each pay envelope got smaller and smaller. If this kept up he was going to have to pay Mr. Murdstone just to come to work. Johnny had asked the assistant time keeper about his declining wages and the timekeeper has shouted at him and told him to go away. Something about flation.

“Don’t blame flation on me!” the assistant timekeeper had yelled.

If he read Sleazy’s column regularly he might learn about this mysterious flation. In truth Murdstone had been stealing about 4% compounded weekly from Johnnys’ pay and the assistant time keeper took a commission of 12%.

Johnny got out his crib sheet and placed it next to Sleazy’s column. He had his list of press terminology and he was going to match the terms to the article. Terms like cutline, jump, and kicker. He started to read:

FINANCIAL ADVICE FOR THE LAZY
BY SLEAZY COREMAN, CFH
It will soon be tax season again and its time for all Avatars to think about their financial insecurity as they approach their senescence and early onset of memory loss. A good financial plan is always in order; however, many avatars ask me “Sleazy, where should I put my lindens to ensure a happy senility and nest egg for my progeny?” Well, as a wealthy nob and playgirl, who earned her money the hard way, by inheriting it, I can offer some sound advice on the financial front. A sound plan for a solid financial future should contain a diversified portfolio of investments, including; dentures, discount coupons, flation linked puts, Second Life cemetery plots, as well as a variety of other sophisticated investment vehicles such as Pasts on the Fumis Exchange. In addition, a small position in heavy elements and metals, such as Californium and Hassium is warranted. Don’t forget to keep your trans-uranic elements in a Klien bottle to ensure their freshness. In addition, to ensure that your hard earned Lindens stay crisp and shiny, you must always take care and look at the management fees required of any investment. Remember, the really successful Wall Street Typhoons, make lots of money in those outrageous executive salaries. They don’t make that money by sleeping in late and taking off early for golf at the Georgia Hot Links! So you want to be sure that the management fees you pay are among the highest available. This way your sure to get the best possible service.

Johnny got out his blue pencil and set to work.