Old News

Edgar's picture
Old News

I have a friend who worked for a livestock newspaper for 40 years who has newspaper ink clogging up his veins. Recently he’s been involuntarily checked into cell block 314 of the Old Farts Senior Dying Center by his three ungrateful children who are getting tired of waiting for their inheritance. No sooner had he put away the contents of his single suitcase, what was left of a very full life, than his kids put his house up for sale and ripped up the carpet and tore the wallpaper off the walls looking for a safe filled with Krugerands that was no place to be found.

My friend is one of those people who has had a rough life but who has taken advantage of every bad break he ever had. He’s the proverbial person who, when handed lemons in life, made a delightful vodka/lemonade cocktail with the kick of a Missouri mule. So I wasn’t surprised to hear that he’s making the most of being relegated to Heaven’s Waiting Room.

In our last phone conversation my buddy actually seemed excited about his new surroundings. “Just think Lee, Is there a better niche left in the publishing business than a “weakly” newspaper in a resthome? I’ve got a captive audience, they have money to spend and there’s virtually no competition. My readers aren’t plugged into the Internet but they’re still desperate for news outside the walls of the convalescent prison. And since they have no short term memory, I can run and re-run the same copy every week and they’ll never catch on. I don’t even have to waste money on an editor.”

 

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