The Red Menace Redux

Curve ball.

Sucker-punch.

New wrinkle.

Wrench in the gears.

After ten years of writing a weekly column for the local paper on whatever came to mind, and building -- if I may be allowed to brag a little -- a nice following of fans, I have been given a new demand, by a new editor, J. Dzhugashvili I think they said is his name.

Every column henceforth must have a specific, local focus.

What?

If I were the artistic type, I would throw up my hands angry-French-chef style and figuratively stomp out of the kitchen. But I need the money, and will cravenly, if sullenly, attempt to comply.

Damnable Soviet wannabees, demanding that my art serve the good of the state!

Perhaps I shall write my columns as always but throw in a gratuitous, awkward and obvious reference at the end that has no real connection to the rest of the column – like the porno mag editors who slide in a page about classic cars to avoid their work being classed as of no redeeming social value.

Perhaps I shall write a column about how stupid and leftist this new demand is.
No, I won’t. I need the damned money too much.

Speech writing

The one thing that I hate most about my job is writing speeches for other people.

It just feels so dishonest.

It ought to be illegal.

Presidents, especially, should be required to write their own speeches. I want to hear the thoughts of the guy or Woman that I voted for, not someone else, not some professional ghost.