How Does A Local Blogger Stand Such Times and Live?
As our country spirals down the economic porcelain bowl and we face the most devastating financial crises since The Great Depression, I’m left to wonder how I’ll be able to maintain my blog.
Unlike many bloggers you may be familiar with, I strive to bring you only the highest grade online reading experience money can buy. Now, without money, it looks like I’ll have to cut back on the quality you’ve become accustomed to. We’re going to have to make some concessions to these New Hard Times. I’m afraid I’m going to be forced to can my writing staff… yes, Mr. Jinks will have to go.
Sorry to burst your bubble but you don’t think one guy with an IQ that barely exceeds his shoe size could come up with all the hilarious wordplay you see on my blog do you? No way, Ho-say. I’ve been churning out this stuff with the help of an assistant, Mr. Jinks, The Typewriting Chimp.
I know you’ve all heard the theory that if you give a roomful of monkeys a few Smith-Coronas eventually they will string together “Hamlet.” Well, I didn’t want to write “Hamlet,” I just wanted to maintain a blog, so I hired just one monkey. I armed him not with a typewriter, but with a Windows 98 version of Microsoft Office. You’ve been reading the results here on Food for Thought: A News Café.
Pretty good stuff, huh?
Well, I’m afraid the laughs are over. Without enough simoleans to pay the simian I’m afraid I’m going to have to take over sole responsibility for writing this column. Boy, does that ever suck for you, the blog reader.
Mr. Jinks, meanwhile, will have to head back to the Head Writer job he held at The Asbestos Playhouse down south in Tapioca Park, California. That’s where I found him, toiling away writing cheap, dinner theater yucks for Salmonella Valley house fraus with delusions of Broadway grandeur. He had just gotten fired for getting drunk and hurling his own feces toward the stage and hitting the wife of a wealthy cowboy — who happened to own a used car dealership, and the adjacent theater. She was playing Trixie, in a particularly histrionic fashion, in the musical adaptation of Orpheus he had written — and he got her right in the kisser. I admired his writing, and his aim, and we struck a deal while sitting on our stools (before we flung them) in the Guadalcanal Room at the King Fester Hotel on the old Blistering Highway near Barstow.
But, it’s a deal done gone bad…no money, no funny. I’m on my own now and so is Mr. Jinks. Right about this time he’s got that hairy opposable thumb stuck out into the slow lane, hitchin’ a ride back to where the primate suits his clothes, with that funny, bow-legged stance and a big load in his pants.
My goodness, the above passage (and this one too) was a very poorly constructed bit o’ prose, wasn’t it? A real Stinkaroonie.
I miss Jinks already. I’ll bet you do too.
