Over the course of my 115 years as a news-paper-man, I have come to realize the value of loyalty… It amounts to zilch!
Any bonds I have formed with my fellow man have been based upon a combination of fear and certain judiciously applied monies: My Swiss Guard are paid mercenaries; my physician, Doc McGillicuddy, will only plunge elbow-deep into my ancient viscera in exchange for lavish payments in smuggled Krugerrands; and the services of my pendulously gutted pin-head nurse are secured alternately with beatings and endowments of shiny gilded trinkets. Parasites, all! The closest thing I have had to a loyal companion over the years has been my man-servant Standish.
Yet I can no longer even count on him. As you may recall, while temporarily impecunious earlier this year, Standish and I enjoyed the brief succor of the Burger-King. Standish decided to put a portion of his share of the alms given to us by the celebrated Plenipotentiary Of Meat toward playing the numbers-lottery. In short order, Standish had won $187 million. Yet he offered me none of it!
Still infuriated at the flagrant cheek of this mere domestic, I recently requested the services of my solicitor, Beavers. As we sat together in my study, I endeavored to make the case that because Standish was still in my employ during our exodus, any monies incurred by him were essentially mine; there-fore, so were his lottery-winnings.
To this, Beavers merely chortled. “My dear Mr. Zweibel,” he said, “have you never heard of the Fourteenth Amendment?” I said of course I had, but I didn’t under-stand why that great and just measure banning women from wearing those immodest bloomer-trousers had any-thing to do with the matter at hand. But Beavers replied that the amendment actually entitled all native-born Americans to equal protection under the law.
Devious shyster! He is probably receiving a lucrative sum from Standish to mislead me. You see, Standish has learned a thing or two from my own back-stabbing acts of rapine ferocity, and doubtless he is applying it to his own affairs. I shall give him a fort-night to confess his treacherous intent, and if he doesn’t confess, I’ll order him to take his own life. If he refuses, I shall indulge in my own skullduggery to gain his bonanza. I would cackle wickedly right now, but I lost my laugh permanently during a bout of whooping-fever in 1907.
T. Herman Zweibel, the great grandson of Onion founder Friedrich Siegfried Zweibel, was born in 1868, became editor of The Onion at age 20, and persisted in various editorial posts until his launching into space in 2001. Zweibel’s name became synonymous with American business success in the 20th century. Many consider him the “Father Of American Journalism,” also the title of his well-known 1943 biography, written by Norman Rombauer.
