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"The guy'z gonna tear up the streets an' make them hysterical, too," Mack later reported to us. "He gonna buy up ever thin. Boy's gonna make th' 'hole town hysterical." And, indeed, Mack was right. The mystery man (We called him Mr. Y because nobody knew how to spell "X") also planned to tear up our cobblestone streets and return them to their original condition; dirt. The "Sheet" was poised to report on late breaking developments in the crisis. The Editorial offices at the Halfmast Tavern were buzzing with activity. The "Sheet", is the only newspaper in the world published as a quilt and Publisher Aunt Ida Olnick, a life-long quilting addict, was off in a corner cutting 72 point type out of discarded clothing donated by the staff. Editor-in-grief West Sandusky Fred was whittling a new pool cue to replace the one Mayor Whitehead had destroyed while trying to maintain order at the emergency council meeting the night before. Fred's cue is invaluable at emergency staff meetings where emotions tend to run high and out of control. Junior Olson was out hanging from the roof of the tallest building in town. This was not originally part of his assignment. He was taking arial photos of the soon to be demolished parking lot and slipped, catching his belt buckle on a rusty old nail. Mr. Kent was last seen walking up the side of the same building in an attempt to get Olson down. Kent is weird, but handy to have around, especially when we need somebody to open a jar of peanut butter. Campfire reporter, Cujo Mike was in the asbestos room sharpening pencils with a blow torch. Cujo, a reformed pyromaniac, was also investigating the rumor that Mr. Y, was planning to burn the whole town down and start over from scratch. "If I find out the rumor is true, youse guys'll have exactly two seconds to start lookin' fer anuther reporter!" Miss Penny Hainey, part-time food editor and proprietor of the Code 4 Cafe and Pharmacy was passing out her gastronomic speciality, burnt toast. I took my piece and put it on the table in front of me, being very careful not to drop it on my foot. Miss Kitty Longbranch, owner of the Halfmast Tavern and education editor was handing out Nehis and keeping the bar clean. "Hey Grumps! Whatsa mattah witch yas? Getcher elbo offa th' bahr. Whatta ya want I should do sumpin ta yas? Getcher elbo outta th' way!" All I could do was stare into Miss Kitty's flashing green eyes, oblivious to what she was saying. I was always oblivious to what she was saying; mostly because of her eyes, but also because she spoke a dialect of English that was only understood on a one block long, dead-end street in Brooklyn. Lou L.N. MacTavish, accountant, security chief and girl named Lou was going over the books to see if we had enough quarters for the photocopy machine at the candy store down the street. We can't afford a printing press yet, so when Aunt Ida is finished quilting the latest edition of "The Sheet" we take it down and copy it. And what, I hear you asking, is yours truly doing during all of this? Well, duh! Who did you think was writing this stuff! Stay tuned for the next episode of the "Exclusive Online Grumpy"
when we hear our hero say, "Anybody got any ideas for the next episode
of the "Exclusive Online Grumpy" column?" Can't figure out what the Hell we're talking about? Well,
you are just going to have to go back and read the previous editions of
the Exclusive Online Grumpy Bachelor® columns.
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