But gets interrupted by Josh Davies, looking for a job, and then by a panicked Welsh Losser
For lo, after a whirlpool and sauna I, Boss Lard, am sitting in my cushy office at the city’s only leading English-language newspaper, where I am CEO, enjoying well-deserved windfall supremacy over the paper’s mythmaking prerogatives, and typing this bimonthly column to the people, whose thoughts I control, for the sake of their paper.
Now, there are those who say the paper once made impressive profits almost exclusively from ad revenues, and that today it is nothing but a loss-making PR media vehicle, but I, Lard, say, the paper’s readers, spoiled by a free news product over the last 20 years, must pay for outstanding journalism, “equaled only by the likes of The New York Times” – and that’s me quoting myself from an earlier column.
In that column, I go on: “And even compared to them, our democratic and open editorial and newsroom policy consistently demonstrates far greater flexibility, objectivity and press freedom. Compared to us, The Wall Street Journal is a prison-house of strictly policed coded subtexts understood by the Masonic few, cleverly engineered to leave you, that is, average-Joe reader, with a blank slate instead of an informed mind, the unwary dupes of the exclusive club of the rich and powerful who rule this world. That’s right, we’re better than them, and I’m mighty proud to say it.”
But now, for lo, it is that mountain we must still climb, but we are still clambering out of the ditch below the mountain, and the mountain is still a distant specter we haven’t even stepped to with our climbing boots slung on.
For, verily, I say unto you, I bear witness and attest, if you believe not my words, judge by my actions, we – that is, I – grew revenues while separately reining in expenses, one having nothing to do with the other, even though the book-entry amounts of both are virtually the same.
And yet, as one standing here below the mountain, crying in the wilderness like the voice of the only English-language newspaper in town, which is also its leading paper – again, one having nothing to do with the other – I bellow unto you that verily, verily, we remain humbled by how much we still got left to go to reach our break-even goal, the foot of that looming mountain – and the objective of a many-years’ pursuit – we hope not in vain, which is why we will keep on keeping on.
For, as truly as I sit here I tell you, there are hundreds of publications that look not to profits, but yet we, who make them not, do, and so I cry out unto you, pay for it, donate your money, send us your checks and your money orders, and you will not only be saving a newspaper, but a tradition, a legacy, and I, Lard, will make sure the paper provides space for your –
Knock, knock, knock…
Now, damn it, who the hell could that be?
Oh, hello, Lard.
Josh Davies! Well, well, well. Long time no see. Still alive, I gather.
Oh, very much alive and very much kicking.
And how’s that five-and-a-half inches doing.
Oh, I’ve got a little more than that.
No kidding?! Still getting it up?
Yes – that, and anything else that needs getting up.
Knock, knock, knock…
Yeah, who is it, damn it!
It’s me, Josh Davies. I’m looking for a job.
I bet you are. Still alive, I see.
Oh, with all the balls I’m juggling, there’s no time to die. There’s the beautiful long-legged archaeologist wife, and the kids I’ve got to pay for, the civic grassroots organizations I’m launching, the theater support brigades I’m trying to run, the writers’ club –
Now, hold it right there, Davies. Writers’ club?! So you consider yourself a –
I do, indeed.
Knock, knock, knock…
Damn it – who the hell can that be? Just when I was getting to the best part of my lofty peroration – the one-off Kyiv Poster publicity for money deal! Come in!
Oh, hello, Lard.
Josh Davies! What the hell are you doing in my office; and who let you up?
Oh, I have my ways.
Well, I’m sure you do. So what do you want?
Oh, I thought maybe you might want a fellow writer on the paper to help get you through these tough times. Help you write your bimonthly sales pitches and pleas disguised as highly knowledgeable, erudite and balanced commentaries. I can add more than the usual oomph and zing to your –
Ah, so you’re looking for a job, eh? Aren’t you a little too old to still be stubbornly insisting on entering the job market, as if you could ever possibly add any value to anything?
Well, Lard, you’re no spring chicken yourself.
Knock, knock, knock…
Damn it, who the hell is it? The worst thing for a writer, and especially a seasoned one like me, is to be interrupted in his work just as he’s getting to the best part! I mean, they show scenes like this in movies with Jack Nicholson. Come in!
Oh, hello, Lard.
Josh Davies! You’re not looking for a job, by any chance? And if you are, it’s not as a writer, is it?
Your mind, Lard, is as clear as the sun rising on a baby’s bottom.
Yes, but I doubt there’s anything up with your bottom.
With that rapier wit as always, I see. No, I can’t say the old buttock muscles are what they used to be, but –
No, don’t tell me – but you’ve got those jean overalls on, which you dared come up to my office in, somehow, and they not only refuse to wear out after all these years, saving you lots of money on clothes, but they also conform to the changing shape of your, er, body, as it ages over time.
Still sharp as a tack, I see.
And the thing is, you still don’t know when to shut up, even when you’re in a subordinate position, which you’ve been all your life, and you insist on having the last word, even though you’re the one, here before me, asking for a charitable handout.
What goes around, comes around.
That doesn’t even make sense!
Knock, knock, knock…
Ah, hell, who is it?
It’s me, Josh Davies. Remember?
Oh, Davies! Well, well, well. So, you’re not looking for a job by any chance – as a writer?
Lard, you’re as farsighted and incisive as ever.
And what are your credentials? No, no, don’t answer, I got them right here at the tip of my fingers clicking adroitly across the keys of my state-of-the-art laptop. Hmm… your profiles on Facebook and LinkedIn describe you as not only a writer, and – well, this is a surprise – a publisher, but also as an editor!
Oh, you can nix the editor. I’m not –
But, no, Davies – why? It’s all right here. And it just so happens, following a recent high-level firing at the paper, we’ve got an editor post open – and who knows… you might just fit the bill.
Well, I’m a writer and publisher –
Yes, aren’t we all…
Um, as I was saying, I’m a writer and publisher, and while I could theoretically work as an editor, that’s not really my gig. I just put that there to beef up the credentials.
So, are you saying you’re a liar, Davies? Hmm… Let’s go back to the past, when you did work as an editor… for this very paper. That time hadn’t been very good to you, had it?
Well, I, I don’t know, it depends how you look, I mean, I did the work I was required –
Oh, did you now, did you? And how many times were you fired?
A number of times. But it still wasn’t as many as that Stephan guy.
Well, Davies, that’s nothing to brag about.
But I tried helping him out back when he was just –
Davies, I don’t want to hear about it. You’re wasting my time. And if you’re such a writer – and publisher – what have you ever actually written… and published?
Well, that’s neither here nor there. It’s –
That’s exactly right, Davies! It’s neither here nor there, because it’s EVERYWHERE! I, Lard, for example, have several books I’ve self-published and sold through Amazon Kindle. Three, four, both fiction and non-fiction – so many, in fact, I can’t even count them anymore. And you?
I, I, I –
You know, Davies, to be writer, you also have to read – a lot. And what have you read, recently.
Well, I –
I, for example, have recently finished some Ian Fleming and John le Carre. Now I’m moving on to James Ellroy. Do you even know what any of them wrote?
Um, “Mary Poppins”, “Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates”, “Lassie Come Home”, “Little Women”, “Black Beauty” –
I always knew you were a closet racist! You know, Davies, it’s you and ilk like you I’ve fired many time over in my long career that give the people in this country the impression that we’ve got a little coterie that’s come over here and invaded this town and has been creating an alternative fantasy world through our PR machinery now greatly aided in unjustified windfall-like fashion by this newspaper that we’re forcing everyone to swallow, while we call the shots of the interpretation of what’s going on around here in a version that’s convenient for us, instead of presenting facts objectively within the democratic framework of press freedom – and that’s not good for business!
But I was only –
Knock, knock, knock…
Who is it this time?
It’s me, Welsh!
What is it, boy? Who let you out of the PR firm I run, that you came all the way over here to bug me? Did my wife see you leave?
Well, sir, I…
Knock, knock, knock…
Who is it!
It’s me, Welsh Losser.
What are you doing here? Who let you out of my PR firm?
But Boss Lard! This is a matter of life and death! I think somebody’s trying to kill me!
Filed by Jack Step, February 27, 2013