The Making of an Editorial

[Scene: the Jerkson Intensive Care Wing of Phantomhwk Memorial Hospital. A largish room with a single hospital bed, surrounded by blinking light monitors, ominously beeping probes, IV stands with multiple catheters and a single, forlorn African violet plant on the window ledge with a card: “Speedy Recovery. Your Staff.” A 60-year-old man, graying with a push-broom mustache, is propped up in bed connected to a web of EKG wires, catheters and sensors. He is reading a newspaper.]

J. Jonah Jerkson, serial stroke victim and choleric editor/publisher: Harrumph. More lily-livered pussy-footing in the Parodiopolis Times again. Wallace Wentling IV, only you could simultaneously condemn the Chain Knight and say he had a valid critique of society.

Cardiac monitor: Beep, beep, beep!

J. Jonah Jerkson, etc.: All right, all right, I know what to do. [Stretches his arms out, closes his eyes, and attmpts a meditative pose] Ohmmmmm, ohmmmm.

[A matronly woman of a certain age enters, somewhat reminiscent of Lovey Howell on Gilligan’s Island. She is dressed in silks, wearing a pearl necklace, diamond earrings, and a sapphire tennis bracelet.]

Mrs. Adele Jerkson: That’s good, Jonah, let all that tension out. Considering the Chain Knight closed off most of your cardiac implants, it’s a miracle you’re alive.

JJJ [ignoring his wife]: OHMMMM, OHMMMM
.
Adele Jerkson: And if you’d only listened to me instead of running down to that hopeless newspaper of yours, you would have been safe at home with me. Face it, Jonah, the Daily Trombone is doomed. Half your Slopp-Burger profits go to make up its losses. Do you realize we had to put off sponsoring the Newport Jazz Festival because you needed the money to pay your so-called investigative reporting team? I have never been so humiliated. Agnes Wooster actually refused to return my calls.

Cardiac monitor: Buh-deep! Buh-deep!

JJJ: As if I’m interested in associating with that sour-ass bit . . . .

AJ: Well, YOU can associate with that crew of yes-men and tradespeople at your toy paper, but I’m the one who maintains our social position, and you make it harder and harder for me. At this rate I’ll have to crawl in front of Lucretia Slaughter and Greta Fokker to keep my chair position for the Junior League house tour.

JJJ: I do good for humanity, Adele. I inform the public. I warn against the dangers of metahumans. I publish a pretty good sports page that 76% of all males over 16 in this market read.

AJ: And that’s about the only part of your paper that anyone reads. Your news section is mostly wire service after your latest cuts, and your editorials are only seen when they make fun of them on the late shows.

Cardiac monitor: Beep, Beeep, BEEEP!

AJ: And another thing. For once in your life you make a good staffing decision by hiring Baron Otto Zemo as your culture critic, but Norbert tells me that he’s gone and vanished and is off the masthead. I don’t know what Agnes sees in him, Jonah, but unless you get him back to the paper, she’s going to be impossible with us. She’ll probably demand we take on that lack-wit son of hers, Michael.

JJJ: Groan.

AJ: Get better soon, Jonah, so I can take you out of here and get some sense into you without all those monitors yammering at me. If you have another heart attack, give me a call in Palm Beach. I need to air out the cottage.

[Mrs. Adele Jerkson leaves. JJJ waits a moment, then fumbles under the bedclothes and extracts a small, silvery flask. He eagerly twists off the cap, raises the flask to his lips, and . . . ]

AJ [re-entering swiftly, despite her high heels]: I knew it! You’re deliberately sabotaging your recovery! Why don’t you want to go home? [She snatches the flask from his hands, spilling several ounces of whiskey over the bedclothes.] Nurse! Nurse!

Cardiac monitor: Beep-hic-beep!

[Two nurses hurry in to convey the contraband away and shut off the dis-calibrated monitor. An orderly arrives to strip the wet sheets from the bed, but is impeded by JJJ, who desperately brings a soaked sheet to his lips to try to suck out a few drops of succor. AJ with a sweep of her hand detaches her husband from the 86-proof linen.]

AJ: Jonah, we’re all on to your pathetic little tricks. Now, be a good boy, get better, and come home. Or Palm Beach. Even with all the rain this year, it’s nicer than grey old Parodiopolis.

JJJ: Parodiopolis is quite good enough for me.

[Ms. Adele Jerkson leaves again, followed by the nurses and orderly. The room quietens for a moment, and then Norbert Krum, JJJ’s chief flunky, tiptoes in.]

Norbert [almost whispering]: Chief? [JJJ beckons him closer]

Norbert: Chief? [JJJ indicates Norbert should place his ear almost on JJJ’s lips]

Norbert: Chief?

JJJ [bellowing]: I’ve got perfect hearing, you ninny! Now what are you disturbing me about?

Norbert [unfazed, quite used to JJJ’s dominance displays]: Tomorrow’s editorial, chief.

JJJ [sitting straighter in bed, clearly puffing himself up]: Of course, Norbert. Have there been any recent events?

Norbert: Not really.

JJJ: Then get your pad out, and I’ll begin.

Happy cardiac monitor: Beepedy, beepedy, beepedy, chirp.

JJJ: Let’s begin:

An Editorial, By J. Jonah Jerkson, Editor and Publisher

Title: Her Blood Cries Out for Justice!

As Parodiopolis and our neighbors in GMY once again rebuild from yet another super-being assault on our lives and property, with hundreds if not thousands of deaths here in the Sound area alone, the nefarious and depraved actions of our supposed superheroic saviours again are coming to light. In particular, one of the most despicable episodes was perpetrated by the Lair Legionnaires themselves against two of their number. As our exclusive, page 1 story reveals today, the Lair Legion was complicit in the hypnotic hijacking of Elizabeth Shellett, the missing elementary school teacher and acknowledged daughter of Police Commissioner Graham and her sordid use as cannon fodder for the Lair Legion (in the guise of one “Citizen Z” in both the recent Parody War and last week’s battles against the Chain Knight and his followers.

What moves this from a lurid story of exploitation to a harrowing tale of evil is the fact that with the apparent encouragement of Goldeneyed, her reputed lover, the tormented Citizen Z is reported to have effected the demise of Laurie “Lisette” Leyton, a former lover of that same Goldeneyed, on the premises of the recently re-named Herringcarp Facility for the Improvement of Mental Health. While only the judicial process can finally determine the guilt of Goldeneyed, this recidivist plague on our safety and security, his furtive, belligerent news conference yesterday provided ample evidence that he has much to be guilty for.

Cardiac monitor: BEEP, BEEEP, BEEEP!

The blood of Laurie Leyton, as well as that of the many other victims of Goldeneyed’s depraved excesses under the shelter of the Lair Legion’s “heroics,” cries out for the immediate trial of Goldeneyed and his Legion accomplices, and for their permanent incarceration in the Safe, or more appropriately, Herringcarp FIMH. This newspaper will hold state and federal authorities accountable for any failures or delays in redeeming the lost lives that Goldeneyed and his cohorts have squandered.

J. JONAH JERKSON
Voice of the People

Cardiac monitor: BEEEP, BEEEP, BEEEEEP!!

This is good. Very good.

Adele is wonderful for him.

I almost feel sorry for JJJ. Almost.

I'm starting to suspect he has a mole on the inside. Or someone at Herringcarp is feeding him tidbits. Or it's just Flapjack calling him direct and it's no secret.

Heh... I quite enjoyed this one! Jerkson's wife is a treasure... I really can't see why he would risk setting back his recovery when he could be at her side 24/7.

I'd argue with the content of his latest diatribe, but putting a positive spin on recent events would be way above my pay grade.

We'll definitely have to send him a get-well card asap.