Everyone says the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (what a stupid name for a newspaper) is about to go out of business. I am happy dancing on their grave, even if it isn’t filled quite yet.
My wife loves everything that is printed on paper. Even newspapers. When Kindle gets it right every book in my house is history, except for the thousands she will insist remain shelved.
Every morning, 5-am-ish, there’s a loud slap on my driveway, my security lights come on and an engine is gunned, simultaneously. 2 of 3 days, this wakes me up an hour before the alarm and ruins my last hour of sleep. Fucking newspaper.
7am, the newspaper is in the driveway as I’m leaving to drive to work. I pick it up and heave it at the porch. 95% of the time it’s a direct hit. My wife hates it that I heave her paper. She’s annoyed because 5% of the time I behead one of her flowers. Well, I think I did that once, but it might as well be 5%. The other 4% when I miss I have to go pick the goddamn thing up and put it on the porch. When I miss the porch it’s because the day’s paper is a flimsy little thing that handles heaving 20 feet about as well as a paper airplane. Because they have no ads and almost no news.
If I don’t heave the newspaper, she’ll drive out for the day without picking it up, and I get to have the fun of heaving it when I get home or heaving a few of them on Wednesday and Friday when I get sick of seeing them in the driveway inviting thieves.
My wife wants to read the newspaper with her coffee. I’ve seen her do that on the occasional Sunday, not even every Sunday. Never seen her do it on a weekday. Instead, weekdays, we watch the bimbos and himbos on Fox and make fun of them. Then I kiss her goodbye, and heave the paper on my way out. Maybe she takes the papers to work and reads them after I heave them. At least, when I heave them at the porch, she does clean them off. Left on the driveway, they tend to accumulate.
I like the Sunday paper. It’s easy to heave on Monday morning. It still has the heft to be accurately heaved.
We go away on vacation and she forgets to suspend the paper, and when we come back, there are several loose pink condoms filled with newsprint sitting on our driveway advertising, hey, nobody’s home!
Burn In Hell, Seattle PI.