The Scumbag Press Editor
Once upon a time there was a Scumbag Press Editor, whose sense of tact and honour was exceeded only by his good manners at the luncheon-trough. When a disaster occurred in which ninety-six people were killed through official incompetence, the Scumbag Press Editor published pictures of the dying, and accused those who had been present of a variety of unsavoury and criminal acts. He did not accuse them of tapping telephones, but that was only because the march of technology had not yet caught up with the Scumbag Press Editor's powers of moral indignation.
Quite soon afterwards, it transpired that the Scumbag Press Editor had not been telling "THE TRUTH", as advertised in 96-point Witchfinder Sans-serif above his screed - his original choice, "YOU SCUM", having been vetoed on the grounds that his stupider readers, viz. his readers, might feel personally and non-profitably affronted. In fact, the Scumbag Press Editor had been perpetrating a lurid smear campaign. Fortunately, the Scumbag Press Editor's sense of tact and honour ensured that he continued squealing vociferously and to his own considerable profit for the next twenty-seven years, during which the wheels of British justice ground on with their accustomed celerity.
When at last it all came out, and the victims were found to have been unlawfully killed, the Scumbag Press Editor declined to comment, even for his accustomed purposes of libelling the dead and/or blaming someone else. Concerned that the Scumbag Press Editor's sense of tact and honour might finally have got out of hand, a Fellow Journalist hastened to phone him.
After many attempts the Fellow Journalist succeeded in getting through, and gurgles of rage and horror splattered his innocent eardrums. "Well, if that's your attitude," said the angel of mercy, and rang righteously off; much to the despair of the Scumbag Press Editor, who lay pinned to the floor of his second-best pigsty while ninety-six dark and terrible shapes took turns hosing copious quantities of ectoplasmic urine down his morally indignant throat.
Quite soon afterwards, it transpired that the Scumbag Press Editor had not been telling "THE TRUTH", as advertised in 96-point Witchfinder Sans-serif above his screed - his original choice, "YOU SCUM", having been vetoed on the grounds that his stupider readers, viz. his readers, might feel personally and non-profitably affronted. In fact, the Scumbag Press Editor had been perpetrating a lurid smear campaign. Fortunately, the Scumbag Press Editor's sense of tact and honour ensured that he continued squealing vociferously and to his own considerable profit for the next twenty-seven years, during which the wheels of British justice ground on with their accustomed celerity.
When at last it all came out, and the victims were found to have been unlawfully killed, the Scumbag Press Editor declined to comment, even for his accustomed purposes of libelling the dead and/or blaming someone else. Concerned that the Scumbag Press Editor's sense of tact and honour might finally have got out of hand, a Fellow Journalist hastened to phone him.
After many attempts the Fellow Journalist succeeded in getting through, and gurgles of rage and horror splattered his innocent eardrums. "Well, if that's your attitude," said the angel of mercy, and rang righteously off; much to the despair of the Scumbag Press Editor, who lay pinned to the floor of his second-best pigsty while ninety-six dark and terrible shapes took turns hosing copious quantities of ectoplasmic urine down his morally indignant throat.
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