After much careful rumination, I have decided to make public a rather embarrassing matter about my-self. Although I very rarely disclose the particulars of my personal life, I realize that the information I am about to impart would doubt-less find it-self, in a scurrilous and distorted form, in the pages of The Police Gazette and other infamous publications which profit off the misfortune of others, particularly those of great wealth and stature. There-fore, I concluded, I had no choice but to announce the news my-self, so that the truth may be properly conveyed.
My sweet-heart, Miss Bernadette Fiske, is carrying my child.
When Miss Fiske wrote to inform me of her condition, I was utterly befuddled. After all, I have never laid eyes on her, and we have only communicated via the registered daily mails. Not only that, but even in my prime I was as impotent as a mule, and to-day my 132-year-old genitals uncannily resemble those of the long-deceased mummy of Ramses The Great. But apparently it is so, as Miss Fiske’s physician has confirmed that she is in the family way.
I recalled Doc McGillicuddy once telling me that the modern world is one of wonders, with such things as air-ships powered by the gasoline-fuel, electrically fired type-writers, and elixirs that can cure the croup. He also said that it was no longer a vital necessity to engage in a direct coital alliance in order to conceive a human life.
I can only surmise that that must be how Miss Fiske arrived at the condition in which she finds herself. After all, Miss Fiske, who possesses the highest degree of fidelity and integrity of any woman I have ever known, assures me that her heart belongs to one man and one man alone, and that man is none other than the Republic’s greatest living news-paper-man and author of the column you are presently reading.
But speculation is use-less. The only thing to be done now is to make an honest woman of this dear lady. Although she impulsively sacrificed her maiden-head before her nuptials, as her best swain and father of her child I must defend her honor and become her husband. I must admit, marriage will present some difficulty for me. I have grown accustomed to my care-free bachelor life-style. I get to lounge around in a loose-fitting night-dress at all times, and with its broken catheter tubes and brackish pools of urine on the floor, my bed-chamber distinctly lacks the feminine touch. Sadly, all this must come to an end. But I must do right by my wife and suckling-to-be.
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.
