SKIP: “Remember how I said that no one reads our newspaper? Even though it’s a sheet of A4, folded in half, so that you can only read the headline, so you don’t notice that the rest of it’s just one coupon for $5 off an oil change at Jiffy Lube, and then 39 coupons that say ‘BUY LISA’S STORY?!” (now shrieking) “I hope—NO ONE FINDS OUT! That SUBSCRIPTIONS NEED TO BE—SPIKED! SPIKED! SPIII—III-KED!” (brings out a big ol’ spike) (She does not react. As she is just a cardboard cutout. SKIP mumbles “Tomorrow, gonna get my money back from the Spike Depot”)
The small newsroom smelled faintly of old paper and ink, though the presses had long since gone quiet. Mr. Rawlings leaned back in his chair, his suspenders slack against his chest. He watched Emily as she scrawled in her notebook, her youthful determination sparking something inside him—something almost forgotten.
“You’re sharp,” he said. “That’s good. Sharp gets you in the door, but it’s curiosity and grit that keep you there. Journalism isn’t about clever headlines, Emily. It’s about the truth.”
He gestured around the room, his hand sweeping toward the few empty desks and the aging filing cabinets. “This place—this paper—wasn’t built on speed or spectacle. It was built on asking questions. Who, what, when, where, how, and why? People trusted us to tell them what was real, not what was loudest.”
Emily looked up from her notes. “But does it matter anymore? I mean, with everything online, everything so instant—does the truth even have a chance?”
Rawlings nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he were looking into a far-off storm. “That’s the fight, isn’t it? The paper doesn’t matter, Emily. The ink, the presses—they’re just tools. The truth is what matters. And the truth is under attack. It always has been. But now? It’s worse. People don’t want the truth—they want the story that makes them feel right, makes them feel comfortable. And there’s a lot of money in feeding them what they want.”
He leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “But here’s the thing: The truth doesn’t care what people want. It just is. And it’s our job—your job—to dig it up, hold it high, and make them see it. Even when they don’t want to.”
The room fell silent except for the faint hum of a fluorescent light. Emily felt the weight of his words, the responsibility they carried. She nodded, her pencil poised over her notebook, ready to carry forward the work of a world that still needed the truth, no matter where or how it was told.
Schnikes! Death by impalement on a spike? How medieval. That is just about the last thing I ever expected to read in Crankshaft. I don’t know which is worse. That Skippity-Do-Dah brought it up, or that this Emily doesn’t even bat an eye upon hearing about it.
Batty, did you miss a session with your therapist? Do you have some unresolved anger issues? Please, don’t skip your medications.
Bill Thompson about 10 hours ago
Skip it, Skippy, there’s nothing natural about this.
billsplut about 10 hours ago
SKIP: “Remember how I said that no one reads our newspaper? Even though it’s a sheet of A4, folded in half, so that you can only read the headline, so you don’t notice that the rest of it’s just one coupon for $5 off an oil change at Jiffy Lube, and then 39 coupons that say ‘BUY LISA’S STORY?!” (now shrieking) “I hope—NO ONE FINDS OUT! That SUBSCRIPTIONS NEED TO BE—SPIKED! SPIKED! SPIII—III-KED!” (brings out a big ol’ spike) (She does not react. As she is just a cardboard cutout. SKIP mumbles “Tomorrow, gonna get my money back from the Spike Depot”)
billsplut about 10 hours ago
“STICKS NIX HICK PIX”—Variety, July 17, 1935. TOM: Always on top of the latest trends!
Argythree about 9 hours ago
Where’s Cranky?
Lord Flatulence Premium Member about 9 hours ago
Hilarious.
J.J. O'Malley about 9 hours ago
Vlad Tepes wept.
Blu Bunny about 9 hours ago
So people are dying from spikes, now.
gammaguy about 7 hours ago
You should thank Sluggo for that.
cgale42 about 4 hours ago
Sounds like Shoe or Frank and Ernest to me.
sueb1863 about 4 hours ago
“Too bad that by the time you start looking for a real job, newspapers won’t exist any more!”
Gent about 4 hours ago
Yesterday Tresspassers W listed few creepy theengs in this story. This spiked theeng is just make it creepier.
Gent about 4 hours ago
Whoa whattapun! Whadya has for breakfast? Hot cross puns?
One a punny two a punny hot cross puns. If you no has daughters gives em to your sons. One a punny two a punny Hot cross puns!
Out of the Past about 3 hours ago
Skip Skip’s quip quick.
gammaguy about 3 hours ago
That “news” is gonna upset Milligans of folks.
gammaguy about 3 hours ago
“…there’s a rumor that deaths from being impaled by a spike are on the rise…”
Omigosh! I didn’t realize that volleyball was that dangerous.
gigagrouch about 3 hours ago
“Headless Body in Topless Bar” – NY Post
Cabbage Jack about 3 hours ago
I can see why this particular newspaper is dying.
ladykat about 3 hours ago
Good one!
Crandlemire about 2 hours ago
The small newsroom smelled faintly of old paper and ink, though the presses had long since gone quiet. Mr. Rawlings leaned back in his chair, his suspenders slack against his chest. He watched Emily as she scrawled in her notebook, her youthful determination sparking something inside him—something almost forgotten.
“You’re sharp,” he said. “That’s good. Sharp gets you in the door, but it’s curiosity and grit that keep you there. Journalism isn’t about clever headlines, Emily. It’s about the truth.”
He gestured around the room, his hand sweeping toward the few empty desks and the aging filing cabinets. “This place—this paper—wasn’t built on speed or spectacle. It was built on asking questions. Who, what, when, where, how, and why? People trusted us to tell them what was real, not what was loudest.”
Emily looked up from her notes. “But does it matter anymore? I mean, with everything online, everything so instant—does the truth even have a chance?”
Rawlings nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he were looking into a far-off storm. “That’s the fight, isn’t it? The paper doesn’t matter, Emily. The ink, the presses—they’re just tools. The truth is what matters. And the truth is under attack. It always has been. But now? It’s worse. People don’t want the truth—they want the story that makes them feel right, makes them feel comfortable. And there’s a lot of money in feeding them what they want.”
He leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “But here’s the thing: The truth doesn’t care what people want. It just is. And it’s our job—your job—to dig it up, hold it high, and make them see it. Even when they don’t want to.”
The room fell silent except for the faint hum of a fluorescent light. Emily felt the weight of his words, the responsibility they carried. She nodded, her pencil poised over her notebook, ready to carry forward the work of a world that still needed the truth, no matter where or how it was told.
dv1093 about 2 hours ago
Back home hanging from his gutter.
rockyridge1977 about 1 hour ago
Some one “spiked” her drink!!!!!!
lemonbaskt about 1 hour ago
skip and crankshaft just as stupid as rex morgans new patient
lemonbaskt about 1 hour ago
blonde is a dope too just go down to priceco and get a job handing out samples but dont give any to a couple wearing purple
[Unnamed Reader - 14b4ce] about 1 hour ago
Coca-Cola tycoon found guilty….
THE BOTTLER DID IT!!
tcayer 42 minutes ago
No. Just no.
mountainclimber 15 minutes ago
She’s much prettier than Perfesser Cosmo Fishhawk.
be ware of eve hill 4 minutes ago
Schnikes! Death by impalement on a spike? How medieval. That is just about the last thing I ever expected to read in Crankshaft. I don’t know which is worse. That Skippity-Do-Dah brought it up, or that this Emily doesn’t even bat an eye upon hearing about it.
Batty, did you miss a session with your therapist? Do you have some unresolved anger issues? Please, don’t skip your medications.