Written by D. L. Hawkinson
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Thursday, 12 October 2017

image for Writer Refuses Spoof-ploitation, Quits, Plans March
It ain't free, people

Portland. Highly regarded yet little-known Spoof writer, LeRoy Ephers, has decided that enough is enough.

After 300 brilliantly written stories, and two so-so jokes, for both the U.S. and the U. K., he's going to hang up writing for The Spoof, despite outcries from his many fans and their cats. Some fans have considered starting a petition to keep him on the job. "Don't waste your ink," Ephers sulked. "Ink don't buy beer."

To get a comment, Spoof reporters tracked down Ephers in his camper on the edge of town. "Get the hell away from me, you vultures," he reportedly said, and added, "and take your damn cats with you! Who takes cats to an interview?"

Kicking away the beer cans surrounding his camper, reporters decided to wait him out at a nearby rest stop. Their cats wandered off in the nearby woods. One was eaten by a raccoon.

After several hours and streams of obscenities spewed in their general direction, several Spoof reporters gave up and went home. A few put up posters hoping to find their lost cats. "Who needs this?" one reporter commented to another reporter. "We're not getting paid, and I have Spanish homework to finish. And a big test tomorrow!"

By the end of the afternoon, only one reporter remained, and her name, Zooey Bithcombler, who, according to Spoof records, has yet to be published by the Web site that will publish anybody--literally anybody. "I've submitted several stories, some not even about Trump," she sighed, "and they just seem to disappear. I'm like, what's going on here?" She continued after dropping her gum: "One of my friends has a friend who's in ISIS and he even got something published. It wasn't funny in the least."

Bithcombler may be on to something.

"I'm like, how am I supposed to establish a writing portfolio for my dream to work for The New York Times, when I can't even get published on a site that publishes stories about farts and poo and naughty bits and other just pure nonsense, I mean really. And the stories about Trump--is the whole world obsessed with a guy who's already so obsessed with himself? I mean, there's something wrong with that . . ."

Ephers then exited his camper and sat down next to Bithcombler. He offered her one of two beers he was carrying, to which she refused because she's only twelve and doesn't like beer anyway. She's also watching her weight even if she did like beer. (Her older sister does like beer--a lot, enough for the both of them. It's given her a reputation. She'd like Ephers. But that's another story.)

"The New York Times," mused Ephers. "Now that's something to shoot for."

"Donald Trump calls it fa--"

"--Let's not let him stink up another story. He's already done that enough, what with the diapers and the daycare and the tantrums. It's getting pretty ridiculous."

"Agreed."

Ephers was already working on the second beer.

"So," Bithcombler started, in her reporter's voice, "why are you quitting The Spoof?"

Ephers held out his beer. "Does the talent that made this beer do it for free?"

"No."

"Does the dude who picks up cans and brings them to the recycling center do it for free?"

"No."

"Does the dude who cleans up the puke after I've had too many beers do it for free?"

"God, no."

"Do stand-up comedians do it for free?"

"I hope not."

"And does the custodian who cleans up the barf in the comedy club do it for free?"

"I'm seeing a pattern."

"And do I get beer for free?"

"Well, hell no!"

"There you go. That's your story. Now go and tell the world. Oh, and you can tell the world that Spoof's writer rankings are rigged. Big time."

But Bithcombler has yet to tell the story. Having wasted too much time on the Ephers story, she failed her Spanish test and, as a consequence, her mother took her computer and cell phone away for the next month. Now, all Bithcombler does is play with her cat Boop-Boop.

Ephers has since left town in his camper. Anxious fans await his next story . . .

Make D. L. Hawkinson's day - give this story five thumbs-up (there's no need to register, the thumbs are just down there!)

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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