It’s the day before production night in the Kyiv Poster newsroom, so Brent Boner figures he can take it easy…
… and there he is, behind his desk, masturbating to half-naked Fem Girls protest photos with a huge smile of relief stretched from side to side of his thumb-shaped head – a head he incidentally believes to be quite handsome in a star-quality sort of way.
Duh, I’m really glad I allow myself to do this. I’m the chief editor here and I’ve got a lot of pressure on me.
As he jerks off, he thinks of his thumb head and how the typically tiny-titted Fem Girls in the photos would get turned on by it if he just had the chance to give them a view of it turned just so, at that suave, deep-thinking angle, one eyebrow arched, crinkling his mature forehead, to show profound understanding and concern for their cause and plight.
Dyuh, I should turn up at one of their protests and get myself in front of them so they can see it, but, dyua, they never send invitations.
Meanwhile, the newsroom is peaceful, with journalists, other editors and sundry staff doing much of nothing, nodding off to sleep, listening to music, playing card games, reading trash, or just waiting for the time to pass until tomorrow, when they finally and reluctantly throw some pictures and texts together for the print version of the Kyiv Poster, the pay-for Internet version now being the far more important edition of the paper.
Boner is reaching orgasm, groaning in a rising staccato with every increasingly vigorous stroke of his master hand, Oh, I-just-love-their-naked-freedom-of-speech-thing – he sucks in air with a hissing sound through his teeth – Oh, I-just-love-those-crazy-liberated-fem-chicks, oh, those-fem-chicks, I-just-love-I-just-love-I-just-love-love-love…
When suddenly, the magical spell is broken…
And…
DRAMATIS NON PERSONAE:
Brent Boner (Boner)
Little lookalike monster (Thing)
Journalist Lemurov (Lemurov)
The doors into the newsroom burst open and an unseen force is heard rumbling and thundering from desk to desk from an ominous energy field somewhere near ground level, sending paraphernalia crashing to the floor, until the force gets to a swivel chair behind an unoccupied computer – the one Boner had been saving for a very special personal assistant, not yet hired.
Thing: Hey, hey, you, over there, you’re not getting paid to sit on your ass and pick your nose – get to work! I want two stories from you by tomorrow, or you’re fired! Hey, and the same goes for you, girlie! You think just because you have big tits you can come here to catch up on your sleep?! That’s two stories. Or you’re fired! And that goes for you, too! And you, too!!! And you over there! And you! Now give me some copy; I’ve got work to do!
Boner: Haay, dhoh, what is this, what’s the meaning –
Thing: You – yeah, you, Pinky Boy, over there with your dick in your hand – shut up, and don’t bother me – Pinky Boy!
Lemurov: Ooooo, Brehhhnt, eet ees absolutely unbelievable! He looks just like you, except he ees much, much smaller…!!!
Thing: Hey, hey, what’s your name? Lemurov? I’m writing you down in my book for slacking off on the penultimate night before production. It’s going on your permanent record, and I’m going to use it against you come review time, which is in front of Boss Lard tomorrow. Be sure to watch for the cut salary in your pay envelope the next time, if you’re not out on your ass altogether. Ha! Haaaaa! Now GET to work!!!
Boner: But I’M!!! the chief editor around here, dyuuu… and…
Thing: Hey, hey!!! Pinky Boy!!! I thought I told you to stay out of my way. There’s no end to the work that needs to be done in this two-bit hack parlor before I get this paper back into shape again – a la the old days!!!
Boner: But, duh, this is an outrage! Who are YOU to just come storming in here and, and… and another thing, dyo, what do you mean by getting the paper back into shape?
Lemurov: Ooooo, that ees rrright, Brrrent, do not allow eet to underrrmine your legacy at the Kyiv Poster…
Boner: Du, that’s right! I’ve been blazing a trail, leading this paper into a new era –
Thing: Ha-ha! You must mean new error, Pinky Boy! So I’m just going to tell you this one more time, and if you don’t dematerialize the hell out of here, the way I’ll make you go will be far more painful. So listen, Pinky Boy!!! There’s been a change of plan, see. Boss Lard finally realized the only way for this paper to make money is the old-fashioned way, through local business ads in the print edition of the Kyiv Poster and good-faith relations with the community. Otherwise, my publisher, Moe Zohair, will shut this rag down faster than you can stroke your own, ah, ego. Now get out of my way!
Suddenly completely oblivious to the two, the Thing works furiously at the computer, throwing his tiny fingers at the keys, breaking a drenching stinking sweat editing copy.
Lemurov: But Brrrent, maybe if you just ignorrre eet, eet will go away.
Boner: Yeah, dyah, I think so (sits back behind his desk for some editing). Hey, what’s this?!
Lemurov: What ees eet, Brehhhnt…???
Boner: I’m being systematically locked out of every document I had opened on my desktop while being exposed to the nightmare of seeing the documents being edited, at lightning speed, as though by an invisible hand, duh! And the changes being made are frightening, frightening – duuuhh!!!
Thing: That’s right, Pinky Boy! The jig’s up! I’m using a special program signed out to chief editors only that allows me to find any document I want, whether it’s opened or closed, in any computer, and edit it – out of the control of the presumed authority over that document.
The Thing goes back to furious editing, devouring copy at will before Boner’s eyes, looking on helplessly.
Lemurov: Ooooo, Brehhhnt, don’t let him push you arrround; you arrre the chief here and you MUST be the strrronger.
Boner: Yeah, that’s right! This is MY newsroom, and I give the commands around here!
Boner comes at the Thing, thinking to make short work out of lifting it out of the chair and booting it out the room – maybe working it over for a while with the backs of his hands before sending it by the scruff of the neck and the back of its pants flying out the door. Instead, Boner is met with a terrible inhuman strength that wrenches his arm painfully behind his back.
Thing: Hey, Pinky Boy!!! I thought I told you to vamoose! Or do you want me to really hurt you?! You should have worked on those arms years ago, when you still had some quality youth.
Thing goes back to furious editing.
Boner: (embarrassed and in tears) This might happen to B. Boner, duuu, but there ain’t no way it’s gonna happen to – DA-DE-DOOOOON!!! MEEE-DIII-AAA MAAAAAN…!!!
Lemurov: Ooooo, Brrrehhhnt…
Boner sprints out the newsroom doors and is back in a flash, now dressed as Media Man. He approaches the Thing and grabs it around the neck with both arms from behind, but is sent flying across the room, head crashing into a filing cabinet.
Thing: Hey, Pinky Boy! I thought I told you to scram. Okay, if that’s the way you want it. So as soon as I’m done editing this story, I’ll deal with you once and for all!
Goes back to furious editing.
Boner: No, no, this is not going to happen to Media Man!
He runs out of the newsroom and back in again with a huge knife.
Lemurov: Ooooo, nooooo, Brrrehhhnt, nooooo…!!!
Boner strikes at the Thing’s chest over and over again, newsroom staff screaming, aghast at the horror, blood streaming up into his face and all over his costume, until the Thing slumps over in the chair, dead. With head lowered and hair disheveled, Boner breathes hard and stares at his deed with crazed eyes, like a raging maniac now somewhat calmed.
Lemurov: But Breeehhht, that ees called mooorrrdooorrr…!!!
Boner: No it’s not, Lemurov, that… that… Thing… wasn’t human. Now get me that industrial tape over there and help me wrap its body into this chair, and we’ll carry it down and heave it into the dumpster.
Which is what they do.
Minutes later, peace reigns in the Kyiv Poster newsroom, as if nothing had ever happened.
And then suddenly, an exact, thumb-headed replica of Boner, except much, much smaller, bursts into the newsroom.
Thing: Heeeeeyyy…!!!
Lemurov: You know something, Brrrent, his big thumb-shaped head makes a lot more sense for his size than it does for yours.
Filed by Jack Step, March 20, 2013