Well, I must say, this is a surprise! My darling son N. Aeschylus has gently lifted me out of my death-bed and is carrying me down-stairs and across the main foyer. This is the season of the Yule-tide, is it not? Perhaps he is taking me to the parlor so that we may open our gifts. I do hope I finally got the shawl I always ask for but never seem to get…
N. Aeschylus, is it just me, or is the mansion in flames? And why did you just incinerate Nurse Pin-head with your eye-balls? My goodness, I haven’t seen so many dead bodies since the Galveston Hurricane. Did you do this, N. Aeschylus? Far be it from me to put a damper on a young boy’s spirited antics, but the laws of our Republic tend to frown upon arson and the murder of human beings, even if they are just servants.
You are taking me into the woods? Look how the snow-flakes are swirling! The whole estate has been blanketed in a peaceful white. Everything is still as a tomb. Well, if you don’t count the shrieks emanating from the burning mansion.
What is this? We have reached a clearing in the woods where a giant metal obelisk points its needle-nose to the heavens. This must be the device N. Aeschylus has been working on in the nursery recently. Very impressive, dear boy! Is this your coy way of telling me you wish to join the Masons? You only needed to ask! I’m sure I can secure you a summer internship.
Thank you for setting me down on this stone slab, boy. I must admit, I feel a bit tuckered-out from our constitutional. But are the leather straps really necessary? And what is that whirling metal wheel extruding from your arm? N. Aeschylus? N. Aeschylus?
What’s this? An army of black-clad, sword-wielding men are springing from the trees! It’s… I can’t believe it… The Society Of 800 Avenging Fists! They are the Chinee assassins dispatched by Li Ming, my rival for the title of World’s Oldest Man, to avenge my own attempt on his life! Help! Police! Murder! Poison! Save me, N. Aeschylus, save me! Train your fiery eye-beams on them! Slice them limb from limb! Oh, dear: They’re swarming all over him! Courage, N. Aeschylus!
Standish! What are you doing here? Quick, untie me from this slab! There’s no time to lose! What? You say there’s an opening to the metal obelisk? Let’s hide in there before the sinister yellow-men see us! Oh, this is terrible! I’m quite sure I just shat out my rib-cage from fear!
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.
