Our last hurrah, poster we did for Brisbane writers festival REJECTED! The organisers wanted a picture of a book. Queenslanders en masse HATE TREES!
Dear reader just in case you didn’t know we have been in detailed discussions with the Nine media group. Actually, they’ve gone further than that. We’ve been SOLD!
Our other poster design REJECTED! “The judges said BIG IDEAS were just too Kevin Rudd 20/20”.
You see, though we’ve valued up-to-date commentary, hard-hitting political analysis and scathing reviews of contemporary politics, society and everything, we’ve failed to improve our reader base. To be brutal. Our readership is flat. At last count we had confirmation that Doris Flogget,(former boilermaker) at the “Happy Dayze” Retirement home, Melvyn Pewkes, (typesetter)of no fixed address and Briony Barkingtool (home duties) were the only regular readers. And subscriptions have been a disgrace. Whence formerly we had at least 122.56c to cover rent, (our converted caravan at the back of Cecil’s mums place, the offset typewriter ribbon and dish washing liquid for the mugs we found at the end of the street), we’ve been going backwads. The kerosene heater’s element has gone, and the old PMG lamp we used for backup has rusted through.
Previous funds drives resulted in a parking fine, and good behaviour bond for Cecil caught stealing underwear, (to augment the uniform allowance) from Mrs Colttarts clothes line.
Since being taken over by noine this is our new look Investigative Journalism Vehicle. Staggeringly Popular.
Our growth is all down. Flatter than Tony Abbot’s flat-earth policy. And the worst of it is that our imcome derived through sales, advertising and endorsement has dropped to negative. It’s bleaker than the Coalition’s NEG, and could be like the National Broadband. A debt legacy the shareholders would have to carry for ever and ever.
That’s why Nine, took us on. Wheras once we were a quality independent news source. Now we’re a relic. A archaic construct. A bone from the ossary. A fossil.
WE also got to be in the studio audience of the Footy Show. Cecil got to hold the Sherrin after Eddie handpassed it to Sam. Sam is a real professional.
They’ve offered to help us out. With a bit of luck we can transfer the debt legacy, (with interest it’ll be stratospheric) onto the taxpayer. Nine are pretty cluey when it comes to turning rivers of gold into losses. Cleverer still about how Rupert and his cronies can get tax free, no questions asked subsidies from the feds for doing stuff that the national broadcaster, and “Rufus the dog” could do effortlessly. Cept their trick is to do it smartly. They drive fast cars, wear expensive suits, have straight teeth and when they grin, their teeth all shine like a polaroid in a crowd, on the carpet, on a wet day, at the Brownlow.
They ooze charisma. It’s not what they say. It aint Orwellian, a Wildean quip or a Bertie Russell analysis. We tried that and it’s about as popular as being caught getting a root in a special accomodation home. When the people from NINE say something, it sounds really credible. And as they do it, you can almost hear the chorus of cash registers, like angels quipping the international language, (in Mandarin) of “Cha-Ching Cha-Ching”. It’s the language of capital, designer labels and certainty. Who wouldn’t want a bit of that action?
So we sold out. So from now on this will no longer be called pcbcyp, but “NOINE”. That’s an acronym for a new era intellectual type journalism, “No one Intellectual Needs Employment”
We’ve been given a new headquarters in the swank four seasons resort at Coolum, and our front of house is now all shiny, with Zina, an ex-exotic dancer doing all enquiries. Cecil and I have never had it so good, we get invited to all the right parties, and I suspect, though he wont let on, it wasn’t Whiz Fizz he was snorting at bingo last night.
Our new look Current affairs programming looks at misogyny in the workplace.
Where once was flat we now have rivers of gold.
Sadly though, the caravan was sold off. Cecil had to hand in his false teeth, pacemaker, and colostomy bag, and sign a waver. The waver, states he will continue to recieve all the benefits provided he doesn’t say anything controversial. This entitles him a platinum pass to the Brisbane Writers Festival!
I suppose you could say we’re gagged. Still, it’s better than being broke. And now were the big end of town we’ll enjoy the tax cuts promised by Malcolm. Which just goes to say, “There’s more than beauty in the sounds of silence”. Cos it’s all painted Gold!