News Flash: Editorial Duo Decimates Bottom-Feeders

- Wayne Lutz


Point Lookout, New York - In what is sure to go down in local Fishing Lore as "The Day The Ocean Quaked," Stan Kid, Managing Editor of The Tocquevillian Magazine, and Wayne Lutz, Editor-In-Chief, struck fear into the little hearts of bottom-feeders everywhere in a stunning performance of manly arts during a fishing expedition off the coast of Long Island, N.Y..

Women swooned and strong men shriveled up in shame as the pair proved to all concerned that literary prowess is, after all, a result of the application of raw masculine power - one that is easily transferable from the production of pointed, powerful prose to the harvesting of fighting fish.

It was a foggy New York morning when the 'Lady J V' set out from the docks at Point Lookout marina, rounded the inlet and headed out to sea. Surrounded by Nassau County Cops and vats of Busweiser, the two stalwart editors went about their preparations for the battle to come silently, and with an air of steadfast determination and resolve.

Asked about his thoughts on the day ahead, Kid bit the end off of a cigar, spat into the foamy brine and turned his steady gaze out to the horizon for several moments before replying.

"Son, this is no picnic," he said, his low, gravely voice barely discernible over the noise of popping beer cans and rustling chip bags. "If you don't have the stomach for a fight, I suggest you go below right now."

"Damn right this ain't no picnic," added Lutz, who was smearing a bagel with cream cheese. "Say, what do you call this here thing, anyhow? Ain't this one of them beagle things? Funny, these here boys don't look Jewish."

The fog soon burned off to reveal crisp blue skies over the rolling four-foot swells, and when the Long Island coastline had dropped from sight over the horizon, the sturdy ship cut its engines and dropped anchor. Lutz's steel-blue eyes were cold and determined as he dropped his line into the deep and popped open a Bud. The fight was on, and the fish trembled.

It was eight hours later when the 'Lady J' chugged into the marina and tied up to the docks. The sinewy muscles of our editorial duo rippled and their bronzed skin glistened with sweat in the slanting rays of the late-day sun as they offloaded their cargo of fish, empty beer cans and several inert bodies. This reporter, struggling to keep up with the Powerful Pair, managed to get in one last question before they rode off into the sunset. Was the day a success? Did you do what you came to do?

"Son," growled Kid, "the bottom-feeders never had a chance. They've been decimated, because that's what we came to do, and what we came to do is what we did."

Lutz belched, then added, "You tell 'em, Stan. And since there ain't no more bottom-feeders in these waters with any fight left in 'em, we is now movin' on to other bottom-feeders, in other waters."

"Murkier waters," said Kid.

"Downright dirty waters," said Lutz. "They is a whole big sea of liberal bottom-feeders out there, just a-waitin' to be reeled in and gutted."

"Editorially speaking, of course," said Kid, over his shoulder, as they strutted away.

And liberals everywhere trembled.