The Living Newspaper

I bumped into my friend The Daily Bugle today.  I always thought it was strange that his parents called their son Thedailybugle, but kids accept these things.

Thedailybugle Murphy.

He started up a business as a living  newspaper, wandering into pubs and restaurants, telling people what they want to hear without the need to buy and read a paper.  Barber shops.  Bus stops. Operating theatres.  Reciting the news for a small fee.

How's it goin, DB? I greeted him.

Seven held in cartoon murder plot! he replied.

Dreadful, isn't it?

Dublin hospitals face strike action, he shouted.

Awful, I agreed.

Murphy holds place against Wales despite strong Kearney challenge.

Yeah, I said.  He played well in the England game, but you have to admit, Kearney is a hell of a footballer.  Very safe under the high ball.

Arsenal annihilate Porto 5-nil, he smirked.  Bayern sneak through on away-goal rule. Birmingham hammer Portsmouth.

Out of my comfort zone, I told him.  Soccer just isn't something I know about.

He adjusted his hat and looked me squarely in the eye.  NI assembly backs policing plan.

Great news, I agreed.  It's a bit strange to see the DUP behaving like the UUP used to and the other way round.

NI parties in role-swap shocker, he muttered, suddenly looking despondent.  Airline to impose redundancies.

Yeah, I said.  Aer Lingus.  What a crowd of bastards this government are.

DB nodded.  Government in ill-advised airline, telecoms sell-off.

Damn right, I agreed.  These idiots didn't realise what they had.  And now we have no broadband, thanks to the same bunch of morons.

Phone sellout to Johnny foreigner – government slammed, he shouted.

Ah let me alone, I said.  It's all too much for me these days.  Let's enjoy this unusually fine weather.

Met office promises sunny weekend, he grinned.  Takeaway drink sales set to soar.

Great, I said.  Maybe we'll have a good summmer this time.

Galway to host Volvo Ocean Race, he nodded.

Yeah, I said.  Some PR fool leaked that last week.

Dailybugle nodded.  Stopover worth €55 million to local economy.  Local traders gear up for bonanza.

That's good, I said.  Maybe I'll go to it this time.

Not fair to pick on us, says bishop.

Christ, I said, there you go bringing me down again. What are they saying now?

Church not really to blame, says prelate.  Parents the real culprits.

Bugle, I said.  This is starting to piss me off.

Try this delicious lemon curd recipe, he winked.  Why not book a four-day budget getaway to an Austrian ski resort? Win a trip for two to next year's Oscars. Lose 25 pounds in a week.  Get those abs you've always dreamed of.

Better, I told him.

Love rat, John Terry eaten by aliens.   Gettaload of those melons!!!  I'm not really an airhead, pleads heartbroken Jordan.

Bugle.  Please.

Saint Patrick's Day long ago.  The songs our fathers loved.  The history of turf.  Fascinating family facts.

Oh Jesus Christ, I'm out of here.

Skinflint Bock flees in unpaid Dailybugle shocker.

I flung him a few coins and ran.

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