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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1846900-A-Journalists-Tale-A-Satirical-Serial
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Comedy · #1846900
A five part serial story written for The 30 Day Blog Challenge. Humor.
Notice: I have recently rediscovered this serial story and I am in the process of editing it. Reviews, comments, and suggestions for improvement would be greatly appreciated.


Today's Prompt:
We have been challenged to fill in the remaining days of our 30 Day Blog Challenge blogs with a Serial Story.
January 27 - 31


A Journalist's Tale, A Satirical Serial by: Brother Nature.


"Jeez Crise, It mus be fordy below out ere," Jean Dough thought as he stomped through the frozen tundra headed towards the office.

Jean Dough..(pronounced: Shzon Doe) was right. It was nearly 40 below. It was actually 57 below Celsius when the wind chill was factored in.
This is why Jean Dough was unable to get his car started, and now had to walk the three blocks through the snow and against the wind to the office where he worked.
Jean lived in Beausejour, Manitoba a town of 2772 inhabitants, all huddled on the Canadian Prairie. There is a sign on the edge of town that says:

WELCOME TO BEAUSEJOUR
POPULATION 2772
HOME OF THE BEAVER
and the
CANADIAN POWER TOBOGGAN CHAMPIONSHIPS


If you were to take a closer look at the sign you would find a (frozen) dry/erase marker hanging on a string, and a note that says, You are required to update the population figure as you move into or out of town. thank you for your co-operation.

Jean Dough doesn't normally go into the office. He normally works from his home. He's is a writer and he writes a popular humor column which is published in several weekly rural newspapers across Western Canada. Jean was happily working from home and keeping warm, when his phone rang, then evrything changed.

Jean Dough stomped in his winter boots ever closer to the office, he muttered as he walked, "Get your ass in ere right now, E sez, I'm gonna fix im dats fur sure. An then! E angs up on me!! I will get my ass in to the off his, I can't wait to get to the off his. I will fix im. E will see!" With that, Jean arrived at the office.

Sandy was at her desk, head down, working. She looked up when Jean crashed through the door, then immediately put her head back down and resumed working.

Jean Dough stomped his way towards Ben's office. Ben was editor of the Beausejour Bugle, and now the target of Jean Doughs rage.

Jean Dough planned on storming into Ben's office and giving him a piece of his mind and remind him of what side of his bread his butter was on, or something like that.
What actually happened was... Jean Dough's glasses fogged up from the sudden change in temperature,  which rendered him blind. He hit the door earlier than he anticipated and stumbled in his oversized snow boots more falling into the office than storming it. As he slid across the floor in his snow-covered boots struggling to stay on his feet he waved a finger at Ben and shouted at approximately where he thought Ben was sitting, "Ow dare you call and say get your ass in ere."

"Sit down and shut up for a minute, I have an assignment to give you."

Jean Dough forgot completely about what he was saying and sat down. " an assignment? For me?

"Yes, an assignment, for you. I'm sending you out of town to cover a story."

"Oh no! I don't cover stor ees, I'm a ume - mur columnist"

"You're the nephew of the newspaper's owner. Have you ever heard of a weekly rural newspaper, having a humor columnist? Besides your uncle called and told me to tell you to get off your lazy ass and get out there and do some work."

"Okay den! Hif you put it dat way, den okay. What do you want me to do?"

I'm sending you to cover the First Annual International Order of Psychics Convention.

"Psychics! Jeez Crise! Why not send Sandy, she's a witch!"

Both men threw their heads back and laughed hysterically at Jean Dough's little joke.

" Okay enough, Ben interrupted, I can't send Sandy. She's the only one that does any work around here. You're going. End of story."

"I can't cover dat, I don't know en-ee things about psychic, an besides dat...

"I got it, Ben interrupted, I'll give you a little test to see if you have any psychic abilities. Okay close your eyes. Good. Now try and picture where it is I'm sending you."

Jean Dough, with his eyes closed, pictured nothing. Suddenly he opened his eyes and leaning forward said, "I ope the ell it's somewheres warm for Crise sake."

"That's good Jean, okay here's another clue. It's located near a desert."

"Sierra?"

"No. Think, North America."

"Reno? Lost Vegas? I'm going to Vegas?"

"No, no. Try this. It's near Miami."

"Miami Florida? A desert?" Jean mused.

"Oh never mind. It's not Miami Florida. It's Miami Manitoba. You're going to Glenboro, Manitoba. It's in Manitoba's desert. You're a terrible psychic! Now, go out there and cover that convention. It's four days long and I want a story back everyday. Got that? Get out of here, and go get your car started. I booked you a room in Glenboro. Check-in time is tomorrow at 9:00 am for the convention guests. Get there early so you can start working on your story"

"Jeez Crise, why's always me?"


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A Journalist's Tale, A Satirical Serial by: Brother Nature.


Chapter two



Overnight the temperature had risen to a balmy -9 degrees Celsius. Jean Dough had no troubles getting his car started and began his trip to Glenboro at 6:30am.
Getting to Glenboro from Beausejour is not an easy task. The distance between the two is about 260km or 3 hours of driving. The best route, and the one Jean planned on taking is...Right on hwy 215 from Park Ave. Turn left at hwy 12.
Exit at hwy 44. Merge with hwy 59. Right at hwy 100. Right at hwy 2. Then proceed south on hwy2 until you see a seventeen foot tall camel named Sara standing at the side of the road.

Jean Dough enjoyed extended trips behind the wheel. It gave him time to think. He would think, and dream. Mine his brain for story ideas and what ever poems may be kicking about.He wondered about stuff, like, why are there no direct routes between all these small towns. Why would they make all these places so inaccessible to each other. Why not, one road? To and from. Easy. Maybe if they did that towns would wage war on neighboring towns. Maybe they make this maze of hi-ways to discourage war. As Jean drove he would reminisce in his mind, events from his past. For no apparent reason today he thought of SISTER MARY MOFFETT his elementary school teacher at Holy Sacrament Academy, back in Sherbrooke, Qeubec. "HIf hit were not for SISTER MARY MOFFETT I would not be ha writer", thought Jean. He thought about all he had learned about writing from her, and how her lessons included quick smack on the hand with a wooden pointer, which she carried with her as she patrolled the aisles of her classroom. You learned not to make the same mistake twice that way. too bad there was always something new to learn.

"Whaaak" watch your spelling."Whaaak" dot your "I"s. "Whaaak" cross your "T"s. "Whaaak" don't write, "Whaaak" run on "Whaaak" sentences "Whaaak" "Whaaak" "Whaaak" You repeat the same word or phrase too often "Whaaak" "Whaaak" Oh crap, CAMEL!!!!! Were here! Wasn't that a pleasant trip?

A light snow began to fall and the air smelled of cinnamon buns as Jean Dough half parked half slid his car into a parking stall and stumbled towards the hotel entrance.

The small reception area was empty except for the front desk clerk, who looked a bit like Mary Tyler Moore. Jean Dough approached the desk, and as the young lady appeared unoccupied, felt confident enough to announce, " Ello, I'm Jean Dou....

"Shhhhhh I'm serving another guest", the clerk snapped.

Jean looked all around himself. He was the only person in the room, besides her. The clerk then typed some commands on a keyboard, then turned and tossed a set of keys into a small pile of keys in front of sign on the desk. The sign said, you know the room number, take your keys and enjoy your ...yeah we know
When Jean looked back to the clerk she was now engaging him. "Hello Mr. Dough, Welcome to Glenboro. Here is your room key and the non psychic convention schedule."

"May I ave a psychic's schedule as well, I'm with the press."

"There isn't one."

"Why not?"

"They don't need one. They're psychics."

"Ow did you know I am not a psychic?"

"If you were a psychic, you wouldn't have asked."

"asked what?"

"Try not to think about it Mr. dough. The rooms are to your right, and the restaurant is to your left. Enjoy your stay."

Jean Dough went to his room and got settled in. He tossed his bag on the bed and set his laptop up on the desk. The hotel room was typical, two queen beds, TV, desk, Gideon in the drawer. You have to be careful about what you might pull out of a drawer in a hotel room, and Jean Dough was. He wasn't about to start pulling things out of drawers, not yet anyways. He was happy he was able to get his laptop on-line, and began to write some ideas for his reports. After a while Jean felt weary, he had an early rise and a long drive, so he decided to lay down and have a short nap.

The snow out side steadily fell in steadily increasing amounts. The guests arriving began to have stories of barely being able to see the road due to the snow.

Jean Dough's short nap stretched out to four hours and may have gone longer had he not had to use the bathroom. While standing in front of the toilet Jean felt something touch his leg, just below the knee. He looked down and to his horror saw a human hand limply hanging over the edge of the tub. Jean Dough threw back the shower curtain and there in the tub was the body of a.............

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A Journalist's Tale, A Satirical Serial by: Brother Nature.


Chapter Three

Jean Dough awoke with a start.
"what a orrible dream, I ope Ben is appy, sending me to dis nightmares, so I can ave nightmares on top of nightmares, for crise!!!, I ave to pee", Jean Dough spoke out loud just to take some comfort in not being alone. Which he was.
Jean did a scan of the entire bathroom including the tub, His scan confirmed he was only dreaming, there was no dead body. Just a dream....but a very vivid dream indeed.
"I can picture is face, has hif E were right dere in front huv my yeyes. Jus a dreams, but it was like E was right dere........ gone," Jean thought.

When Jean Dough exited the bathroom he noted the time was 4:37 pm. He had slept more than four hours. Jean checked the convention schedule. Convention Registration and Welcome Reception 4:00pm - 10:00pm Dinner and drinks will be served in the hotel restaurant. "Perfect! Jean announced to nobody, I can go check hin, heat, and get somethings to write for my stor ee."

Our French Canadian Journalist made his way down the hall towards the restaurant. As he passed through the lobby he noticed immediately the double glass doors of the hotel entrance had the bottom four or five feet of exterior view blocked by a blanket of snow. The new line of the horizon was now at eye level with, Jean, and was set flush against the hotel's doors. Out the top three feet of the door the sky can be seen above a landscape of white. "Ho My God, Whoah", there wasn't much more that could be said. Glenboro was hit with a blizzard. A Colorado low, an Eastern clipper. Call it what you want. Nature's version of a prank, and a damn good one at that. Jean Dough stood and looked out in wonderment and awe of what was left of the view of the outside world. He was just getting his head wrapped around the idea of exactly how F%@&ed he actually was, when the solemness and silence of the moment was fractured by a voice. A familiar, female, fracturing voice.

"Jean!! I was hoping you would show up."

"H'aunt Milly, What har you doing ere?"

"I'm hosting the convention. Didn't you know that? Why do you think your uncle is sending someone to report on this?"

"Well I'm so appy to see you h'auntie. I ad no idea you were psychic."

"There are a lot of ideas you don't have Jean Dough, but there's no time for that now. I'm in a terrible fix, and this blizzard sure doesn't make anything easier."

"I ave to be ere , to write some report. What can I do to elp h'aunt Milly?"

"Oh thank you dear. I need to restructure everything, Everyone who is here is here, but the storm has prevented  mostly everyone else including my keynote speaker from getting here. Luckily the hotel staff are snowed in with us. The dinner and drinks are well in hand, but I need a keynote speaker to open the convention tomorrow morning. I think you would do good at that. You have to give a speech. You could tell one of your little stories. Jean dough looked towards the front doors, just to confirm how F%@&ed he was.

"Hi can't give ha speech. Hi don't know hanythings about psychic"

'Oh nonsense Jean! You'll be fine. Here read Bob Loblaws'es brochure."

Aunt Milly turned to the registration table and handed Jean Dough a neatly designed tri folded brochure. On the front it said: Bob Loblaws: psychic, then a picture of Mr. Loblaws. When Jean Dough saw the picture he took a step back and clutched his heart. "Hoh My God!! At's Im, ats im. I dreamed E was in my tub.....Dead!"

Aunt Milly ran to the restaurant entrance and yelled inside to the conventioneers, "It's happened everyone,it's happened. There's been a murder. My nephew Jean Dough had it, and he's going to be our keynote speaker too. Milly ran back to Jean who was still transfixed on the picture on the brochure. "You saved the day Jean Dough, You're incredible! You'll have to tell everyone, every, little, detail about your dream,so they can expose the murderer, using their psychic abilities."

"Hit was jus a dream I ad. I can't say fur sure E was even murdered, What hif E jus slip an fall. What hif E jus die huf ole age, E doesn't exactly look likes a spring chickens."

"your so silly dear nephew, come and let me get you registered, then we can both go have a drink and get some food."

On the registration table Milly had rows of blank name tags. She directed Jean to look at all the tags for people who would not be attending. She picked up a blank tag and said, " here's your tag, but you'll be needing a new one seeing as how you're now the keynote speaker and the dream bearer. Milly picked up another blank tag from a different area of the table and said, " here's your tag, step forward and I'll pin it on you.

"Why his the tag blank," Jean asked?

"My my Jean Dough, will you ever learn"...

Just then! There was a loud bang coming from the direction of the front doors. Jean Dough, Aunt Milly and a couple people from the restaurant ran to the doors to see what was going on. There was a second third and more bangs at the front door. You could see the blade of a plastic snow shovel emerging from the solid mass of snow built up against the hotel doors. The shovel crashed harder and harder into the door as the invisible entity behind the shovel moved closer and closer to the hotel entrance.
Jean dough stepped forward and pulled the doors open allowing the shoveler entry with out having to break the glass doors. Suddenly a figure emerged out of the snow and into the hotel lobby. It was obvious there was somebody entombed with-in the shell of the robotic looking snow shoveler. The shoveler was covered head to toe. Dressed for the elements. Snowmobile boots, snowmobile suit, and gloves. most likely more layers of clothing under that, a snowmobile helmet, with a pair of pantyhose pulled down over it, as if it were going to rob a gas bar. Encasing the entire being was a  three to six inch coating of ice. The being was unable to see, and continued to swing the shovel and stepped further, and further, forward into the hotel lobby. People looked on in stunned amazement. Jean Dough again went into action. He timed the swings of the shovel and when the time was right pulled the shovel quickly from the shoveler's hands. Jean dough then stood in front of the shoveler and like he was teeing off on a par five at pebble beach, swung and struck the figure squarely on the side of it's head with the shovel. The ice coating on the shoveler shattered and fell to the floor like in a looney tunes cartoon. The figure made the realization it was stopped and began to speak. A faint mumble was heard from inside the suit. Was it male, or female? No one knew.

The group in the lobby moved closer to the figure, they could hardly make it out, but they heard the figure ask from with-in it's protective cocoon, "Is this the psychic convention?'

"Yes yes", they all shouted.

Then the figure stretched out it's arms and gave them a shake. The remaining ice fell to the floor. The group in the lobby took a step back and watched as the figure brushed the last of the ice from it's head, body and legs. The figure removed it's gloves then in one fluid motion unzipped and stepped out of the snowmobile suit, boots and all. Everyone watched with anticipation as the figure struggled momentarily to remove the pantyhose over the snowmobile helmet, Finally the figure pulled the helmet off.

Jean Doughs face lit up with excitement....SISTER MARY MOFFETT!!!

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A Journalist's Tale, A Satirical Serial by: Brother Nature.


Chapter Four

Jean Dough was awake early. he laid in his bed re examining the events of the previous evening. What an unbelievable and unexpected surprise it was for SISTER MARY MOFFETT to make an appearance, and with such an incredible entrance.

"W'ho would ave ever imagined hit would be SISTER MARY MOFFETT  under all dose snowmobile suits, un! be! leave! able! You can't writes stuffs like that", Jean thought.

Jean, was looking forward to an opportunity to visit with Sr.MARY. He had kept in touch with her all these years, through an on-line friendship, but now they were getting the chance to visit in person. Face to face with "LIL_MISS_MOFFETT" as she was known by in the chat rooms. Once Aunt Milly took Sr. MARY to her room to get settled in for the night, Jean finally got some very delicious food in the restaurant, and was able to meet some of the other convention attendees. There was even a group from Beausejour in attendance. Constable Ed Hill from the R.C.M.P detachment in town, and Fr. Miles Deucharmes, as well as Linda and Julie from the library. Linda is also on town council and took the opportunity to bring Jean Dough up to date with the current political pulse of the entire municipality. Jean Dough didn't get a chance to mingle with the others before he had to excuse himself to go write his report for Ben. Our dedicated journalist reluctantly retired. As he was leaving the restaurant he noticed that Julie was getting awfully friendly with Constable Ed. Did she undo the top two buttons of her blouse?

Jean Dough hopped out of bed, fired up his laptop, checked the bathroom for dead bodies, because there were none, he made use of the bathroom, and after that, he sat down to check his email on the laptop, before heading down the hall foe some coffee. He did have an email message. It was from Ben. Jean Dough read it out loud. "Thank you for your report. Don't bother with the rest of em. Your huncle called and said, E would rather ave one of your funny little stor ees instead. You ave until next week to write it."

"Hiff dat don't beat all, Whys always me for Crise."

Just then there was a knock at the door, before Jean could get up, Aunt Milly walked in his room. "Don't get up, I have the master key", she said.

"Well thanks Chrise for dat, I was beginning to worry."

"Good! Your working on your speech I see."

"I was jus reading email, and oping to get some coffee"

"Sounds like a plan, come on, I'll explain your schedule on the way to the restaurant."

Jean Dough had a few minutes to enjoy a cup of coffee while he looked over the revised schedule. It said:

10:00am - 12:00pm Presentation by renowned psychic and writer Jean Dough.
12:00 - 2:00pm Lunch (help yourself in the kitchen, the hotel staff are having a drinking party in the office.)
2:00pm - 4:00pm The dream bearer (Jean Dough) will reveal all and answer any questions.
4:00pm - psychic time
Due to the snow storm we will be ending the convention as soon as the roads are made passable


"Reeee NOWed, Jeez chrise, why always me?"

Aunt Milly and SISTER MARY MOFFETT arrived together at the restaurant. Jean Dough and Sr.MARY shared a warm embrace. It was interrupted by the applause of the conventioneers. Milly tapped Jean on the shoulder and said, "they know your about to start."  With out  hesitation Jean Dough approached the microphone and waited for the ovation to peter out. He wondered why they called it Peter and not Paul or Harry. Jean Dough, had no prepared speech, no notes, nothing. He felt the spirit of Creeeee - A - Tivity Maaaaan!!!! fill his very being. Jean Dough created a little joke about psychics. He planned to open with the joke then make-up the rest.

"Deez tree psychics walk into a bar, when one turns to da udder two an sez", Jean started....

Just then the audience erupts in laughter. Jean Dough, being the quick witted whip he is, realizes immediately that the psychics channeled his punch line. They laughed even before he voiced it.

"Speech giving just got heasier," thought Jean.

When the laughter petered out Jean cleared his voice and said, "Hon a more serious note"....

Then Jean moved closer towards the microphone as if to speak and said......nothing.

He didn't make a sound. He just stood there, and looked at everyone. The audience hung on every word he didn't say. Jean noted that there seemed to be a lot more people in the room than he anticipated. Every chair was filled. Julie even had to take up a seat on Constable Ed's lap. Jean scanned the room for some familiar  faces Linda and Fr. Miles were seated up front. Jean Dough shared a smile with Sr. MARY, he noticed his Aunt Milly wore a worrisome expression. Jean Dough stood silent and motionless at the podium for a reasonable amount of time. Then he continued on for several more minutes. Then just when the audience members began to squirm in their seats, some more offensively than others, the entire audience breaks out in an enthusiastic round of applause. Jean Dough said "Thank you", into the mic and walked away.

Milly stepped up to the mic and made an announcement. She said, " If you all don't mind we'll start with the psychic challenge to solve the dream meaning, If we could get Mr.Dough back up to the podium, we'll get started."

Jeez chrise, why always me?"

Back at the podium Jean Dough begins, "Hokay everybody, I'm Shzon Doe, I'll be honest wit you, I'm no psychic. I had dis dream, ats all. I was aving a pee, when dis hand touches my leg. Den when I look I see a dead guy. well E looked dead in my dream anyhow. After I woke up, I saw this brochures for Bob Loblaws"

"For who?" SISTER MARY MOFFETT, asks.

"Bob Loblaws"

"Oh no you Don't" SISTER MARY MOFFETT hollers. "You have to change that name."

"Hi can't just change is name. It's is name!"

"No it's not. That's a name some lame writer would give a character just to get a cheap laugh, Bob Loblaws, blah blah blah ...ha ha ha... NOT FUNNY, It's dumb and totally un original. Change it! Don't make me go get my pointer."

"Robert LeBlause, Jean restated, Hi discover, bears ha strong likeness to da body in my dream. Har dare henny questions?"

A voice from the back rises, "I think you're a psychic." Another one asks, was he shot or anything like that, did you see blood?"

"No E was just dead, no bloods"

What can only be described as a zone came over the room. there was a buzz of communication going on, yet, not a word was spoken. Time did what ever time does when it's just moving the story along.

Jean felt cheesy when he woke up in his room. Aunt Milly and SISTER MARY MOFFETT were there with him. Milly and MARY were sharing a bottle of wine.

"There you are" Sr. MARY said, when she notice Jean stir, and open his eyes. "You must have passed out."

"Oh, I mus ave passed hout. Ave I? Good one!"

Aunt Milly interjected, "Oh Jean Dear, don't be upset. I'm so worried about, well, you know, that guy, who's picture is on the brochure. I'm so worried that something bad may have happened to him. You must tell me everything you can about your dream."

Jean Dough took a deep breath and started, "Hanty, Hi promise you Robert LeBlause, is fine. Hit was jus a dreams, Now that I get a good look at is picture. maybe ats not even im. Now lets get some sleep."
   
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A Journalist's Tale, A Satirical Serial by: Brother Nature.


Chapter five (The Conclusion)

When Jean Dough awoke, SISTER MARY MOFFETT was asleep in the next bed over. Her hand was still gripping the stem of her wine glass. Jean Dough snapped a quick picture for his myspace page. Then, after the bathroom met security standards, he went about performing the three S's. When he returned to the outer room SISTER MARY MOFFETT was sitting up on one of the beds. She startled Jean when she said, "So, Monsieur Dough, we have not had a chance to visit, talk."

Jean Dough took a seat on the other bed and said, "Deres no time like da presence.I ad no idea I would see you here. I never knew you were psychic."

"It's always been an interest of mine, what with the holy spirit and everything, there is always that connection to explore. That is why Fr. Miles was in attendance, you know , explore an interest. That R.C.M.P fella as well,          interested in how psychics may help to solve crimes."

"Da whole bloody town his psychic sept for me"

"I don't think you know just how strong a psychic ability you have, Monsieur Dough. Weren't you just thinking about me on the very day I arrived."

"I think habout you almosts every days. You whacked me with a stick for four years."

SISTER MARY MOFFETT threw her head back and laughed, "yeah    ahhh,  I sure miss teaching. But, Jean, you learned from that, and you became a great writer."

"I can't say so much about be hing a great writer, always dere is one thing more to learn."

"What do you need to learn Jean? I'm your teacher. Ask your question."

"Hokay, lets say, hime writing a stor ee, and hime making it up, as I go along. Den I come to a point where I can't think of a fitting ending. What should hi do?"

"Well, what I would suggest you do is, write even the lamest possible ending you can come up with. Write anything! Even if it makes no sense. After you have three or more endings written, use them all. That way your story will have multiple endings, and someone is bound to like at least one of them.... Lets go see if we can find a cup of coffee. I'm buying."

"Hime with you SISTER."

On their way past the front desk, they noticed the entire group of conventioneers standing at the front doors. "There's a snowplough making it's way to the hotel," someone called out. "We can get home once he clears the road and parking lot," someone else said. Then, yet another person turned to Jean Dough and said to him, "we wouldn't have to wait for the plow, if you would just send us home the same way we got here."

"An whats dat got to do with me, ow you got ere?"

"You're a renowned psychic, you channeled us all here,  you can channel us back just as easily."

Jean Dough took a step back and looked at the group, Aunt Milly was still wearing that worried look. SISTER MARY MOFFETT stood with her arms folded across her chest, smiling and nodding her head in approval. Others looked on expectantly.

"Hits not like hi won't see em again," thought Jean.

He nodded his head towards the bunch and blinked his eyes and in that instant, they were gone.

Jean Dough was the last one to leave the convention. As he approached the idling snowplough he notice a hand painted sign on the door of the cab: Mike's metal, monster. A handsome, tall, muscular man in company over-alls jumped down from the rig. His voice boomed in the silence, "G'day mate. Got er all cleaned up for yay! Hiways are pretty fair for driving on."

Jean Dough hollered back, "Good to know! Hime edded to Beausejour. henny chance you can plow me a direct route? One road leading straight dere."

"Not a chance mate, ya tryin ta start a war or something?"

When Jean Dough finally arrived back at the office in Beausejour, Ben was waiting for him, as he stood by Sandy's desk. Sandy never looked up from her steady typing when Jean Dough entered the office.

"Hi came straight ere Ben, what did you need me to see?"

You sure got scooped this time Mr. Psychic, "Check out Sandy's story on the front page of The Bugle."

Newspaper Owner Charged with Murder.
by: Sandy Beaches
Peter Sout, the owner of a chain of small town weekly newspapers
was charged with murder today.
The charges stem from allegations that he shot and killed
Mr. Bob Loblaws famed psychic. Mr. Sout
was suspicious that his wife, Mildred Sout (Milly)
was having an affair with Mr. Loblaws, so he shot
him before he was able to rendezvous with Milly in Glenboro.
Mr. Sout planned to go to Glenboro
after he committed the murder, and to use
that meeting as his alibi. Mr. Sout was prevented from
getting to Glenboro due to a severe winter storm and indirect routes.


The End


Joel aka Brother Nature
Made in Canada *FolderR**LeafR**FolderR*

"I am a Rising Star!" glass image.

Member of :The Showering acts of Joy Group

© Copyright 2012 Brother Nature (brothernature at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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