Catherine J. Cooter was infamous for her decades-long stint as the sensational and ever punctual Editor/Head-Journalist of The Cooter Times. When stacks of Catherine J. Cooter's papers landed in the hands of the newsies, they knew they would be going home with pockets full of change - enough for at least three days’ work. But today wasn't about the paper, well, it was, but not a new edition. 

The short-ish woman was hunched over at her desk with the telephone receiver pressed against her ear with the help of her shoulder. A low buzzing was heard from the receiver and as Catherine nodded, letting out quiet "mmmmmhmmms." and "uhhhm...yeahs" whilst scribbling down notes on her notepad, one could easily be tricked into thinking this was a top-notch interview happening in the moment. But the buzzing would grow louder, the tempo would change erratically, eventually as the conversation to an end, Catherine laid her pen down atop the notepad. 

"No, I understand completely. You want me to persist with the writing of the Cooter Times." she said, her voice soft, almost meek. With a final "Mmmmhmm," Catherine replaced the receiver in the cradle and then abruptly did the jacking-off motion with her hand at the phone. 
With her childish stress-relief out of the way, Catherine reached for her cigarettes and lighter to now indulge in some of her more adult-like vices. Once that was settled, Catherine pulled the notebook closer to her and started to read over her scribbles. 

“Stop, Cooter Times” was written, but then the comma was crossed off and a line drawn to the word “THE” implying that the entire conversation had been about destroying her empire. But it wasn’t the first time that people had rallied against her, oh no. She’d spent nearly twenty years mocking people for their failures, foibles, and fuck-ups. 

But this time the person on the phone had informed her that they knew about her secret. The one that she had spent at least a decade hiding away, if not longer. One that Catherine J. Cooter was certain if it got out, she’d never be able to show her face on the streets again, much less in any reputable newsroom. 

So now she had to decide, was she going to bend to the blackmail of one dastardly dullard, or would she risk her reputation and the life she had built. If only there was a way to beat the blackmailer to the chase, some way to get the news out before they could. To control the narrative, the reaction, the rebuttal. Some sort of issue that came out occasionally, perhaps monthly, or even weekly. Where could one even find something like that… Oh Catherine J. Cooter truly was a brilliant Jenius.  

Flipping her notebook over and picking the pencil up, she began to write. 

THE COOTER TIMES 
VOL ????

Ladies and Gentlemen, and lets not forget the Welsh Wives (Aka Sheep), 
Today is a special day and thus we deserve a special edition of the Cooter Times. This story is rife with intrigue, manipulation, seduction and even blackmail. So make sure you have your own copy as you’ll laugh, cry, perhaps even hug your ne…