Vol. 1, Issue 22, October 14, 2003
Alas, Poor Ephram, You've Gone Too Far
There are Few Things a News-Paper Man minds more than the ever-present Deadline. Cheerful though our small Webamagraph publication is during the Week, when time comes for a fresh Issue to roll off our Difference Engines, the clock ticks loudly and all must Pull their Weight! It is Then that I double-stuff my Pipe and pace the Room with walking stick in Hand - exhorting the Lads to their Utmost, that we may bring forth Journalistic Gold as usual. Ah, the Scent of Journalism! - it is Unparalleled.
But this week something was not Right; for Ephram was not manning his Difference Engine. In Fact, he has not been his usual astute Self of late - rolling off the Couch an hour Later than usual; spending suspicious amounts of Time in the Employee Lounge instead of the Newsroom. It is hard to tell, as he is usually in his Cups, but he seems off his bacchanalian Game lately.
And then, my keen sleuthing instincts took Over! - I dashed into the Lounge when Ephram was answering a call of Nature - the Lounge is sacrosanct Territory for my lads, much as my Study is to Me. But this was an Emergency, so forth I strode, a steely Glint in my Spectacles and a Spark in my Beard. (Which I put out momentarily, good readers!)
There before my eyes was a Still; an entire bootleg Whisky-Machine, built from our spare Difference-engines, and doubtless Manned while Ephram was to be scouring the Street for Stories. This, then, explained that story on Cheese-Steak Sandwiches, and all the other Half-Hearted Efforts from my wayward Nephew cobbled together at the last Minute. And, worst of All, what he was producing in that Lounge was an Offense to the very Name of Whisky. Zounds!
Now, what to do with the boy? Replacing him seemed Harsh, for he is Family - regrettably - and his manifold Experiences are Indispensable to our News-paper. But this Betrayal of Trust; Watley Review difference engines being put to Illicit Use, abuse of Company Time: I am Appalled.
The wayward machinery has been Restored to its rightful Place, my nephew properly Chastised for running his Abomination of a Still on Company Time - but I shall be keeping my Eye on this young fellow. The mantle of Editorial Duty weighs Heavily on me to-day, and my troubled Nephew has posed me quite the three-pipe problem. But I have at least addressed his poor Taste in Drink: for I have instituted a mandatory Twelve-Year Minimum for his Scotch. Yet, dear Nephew, never shall I look upon you in quite the same Way; at least not until I get these Spectacles fixed.