by BRENDA BRUNDTLAND-GOVANNI, Alternate Reality News Service Editrix-in-Chief
I remember my first death threat: it was written in red, white and blue pencil crayon. The young man who wrote it tried to sneak it into my mailbox in the dead of night, unaware that for me it was actually the vampire of night. When I caught him, I invited him in for tea. I corrected the spelling and grammar in the three page note until the sun came up. I finally had to let him go so he could get to his job (third human assembly line overseer at a car manufacturing plant - we had great unions back then!), but made him promise to keep in touch. And, buy a dictionary.
Good times.
On Earth Prime 5-8-3-7-2-4 dash theta, where the United States of Vesampucceri is the world's leading idiotocracy, death threats are so prevalent, they're like the water our journalists swim in. Industrial revolution-quality water, to be sure. Still, it contained twice as many hs as os. To get the attention of a target in such an environment, the threateners have to get creative.
I remember when Francis Grecoromacolluden, the Alternate Reality News Service's national politics writer, called me in Panic (a small town in Alaskizona), extremely upset that somebody had planted a pig's head on a stick (using the newspaper as a collar was a nice touch, very creative) outside the door of his hotel room. Okay, technically it was three doors down from his hotel room (haters - you gotta love their passion even as you're appalled by their lack of planning), but the retired opera singer who had taken that room kindly made Francis aware that the gift was for him.
Many high cs were exchanged that night.
When I heard that story, I thought, My little boy journalist is all grown up, now.
As with all the best coming of age stories (Francis was only 53 at the time), I had to go into the field and slap Francis to calm him down. Fortunately, my slapping gloves have several settings (including: pummel, pom pom and puree), so I was able to apply just the right pressure to help him see the humour in his situation (mainly, that he was still alive).
Then, there was the time our crime/court/justice writer Hal Mountsauerkrauten received an unmarked envelop in the mail containing a powdery white substance. I had to return to Earth Prime 5-8-3-7-2-4 dash theta to taste it. It was ricin, but it didn't taste like it had come from a lab - it definitely had the tang of chemical impurities. Amateurs!
I told Hal I would be willing to take the ricin off his hands - gotta have something to liven up a Saturday night! His hands shaking, Hal happily handed the envelop over to me. At least, I think he was shaking from happiness.
And, of course, I will never forget the weekend I spent with the white supremacists picketing the hotel room where medical reporter Laurie Neidergaarden was staying. Oddly enough, they didn't appreciate the way I corrected the spelling on their signs (honestly, we don't need 13 different ways to spell "fake!"). However, we bonded when I showed them that I was a better shot with a rifle than any of them were (traffic signs within a six block radius having to be replaced by the city of Washburningdington was a small price to pay to keep one of my journalists safe).
By the time we parted, the WSs (we had become that comfortable with each other) said that I was alright, and that they would tone down their protests (hey! They couldn't just stop the protest - what would the neighbours think?). Laurie didn't seem altogether relieved by this news, so I gave her a small amount of ricin and we spent the afternoon sharing a fever dream of treading on snakes and burning Confederate flags.
More good times.
In the past four years, I have travelled to Earth Prime 5-8-3-7-2-4 dash theta to put out fires more often than any other universe the Alternate Reality News Service reports from. It's not for the food (although Papa Ivan makes the best butter chicken tacos in the greater Washburningdington area in any universe; make sure you get the spicy jalapenos!). It's because our journalists in that dimension have come under more and greater threat. Why is that?
Two words. Vesampucceri President Ronald McDruhitmumpf. (Yes, I am aware that that is more than two words: how else would you know how much of a free spirit I am?)
Since he came into office, President McDruhitmumpf has denigrated the press like nobody's business. "Fake news. The fakest. The least newsliest." "Those journalists - I hate to call them journalists. I prefer to think of them as maggots of the press. They're horrible people, saying all those nasty things about me! Fake newsmongers!" "They shouldn't be able to get away with their fake news. Really, somebody should do something about those horrible, nasty people who lie so much about me! Somebody really needs to do something about them..."
The President's base may be deplorable, but they aren't stu - well, okay, they may not be that bright, but they aren't...I mean, they can tell thinly veiled instructions when they hear them. It's an instinctual thing.
Why does this happen? The first rule of becoming a successful dictator is: Never apologize! It makes you look weak! But, uhh, the second rule is: destroy all institutions that could challenge your rule. Like a free and independent press.
But, President McDruhitmumpf has picked on the wrong fake news organization to go after! My first rule is: No danger pay! But, uhh, my second rule is: When they go low, you go lower. It's amazing what slapping gloves can accomplish when applied to the right body part!