Perhaps next week Hoopi, Perhaps Next week...

We here at the Apathetic Gazette realize that there is no such thing as bad publicity, so I appreciate the mention. It should be noted that of the seven papers we sold, one was purchased by me, and my mother sent six other people to get copies for herself.

Mystery sat on a park bench in the middle of the night, smoking a cigar. It was so peaceful. Drunk off his ass, he made a show of how far he could flick his cigar butts when he was done with them. He had been sitting there for quite some time, unable to sleep, unable to walk.

A hobo walked by, carrying a presumably stolen newspaper. Mystery asked politely if he could borrow it for a moment, just long enough to read it. The hobo grunted and sat down next to him, bumming a cigarette from him.

Reading the magazine at a painstakingly slow pace, Mystery chuckled here and there. Gwarble sure did know how to barble. Handing back the newspaper to the hobo, Mystery lit up another cigar. Commenting out loud to himself, he said with a drunken slur,

"I hope Barble continues to Gwarble..." Or something like that, Mystery shrugged.

Daemon settles down with a copy of the Gwarble Barble and a piping hot cup of coffee.