FW: Well, what is it?
MW: I'm afraid it would be imprudent of me to tell you at this point of time.
FM: (rendered speechless) But...but...why?
MW: Well, quite frankly, the point of this article is to generate intense interest that is all the more intense because it is not satiated, like that ad campaign for that car.
FM: Mmmmm.
MW: Lights cigarette, makes a kissy-face.
FM: Would you at least give us a hint?
MW: Hint: it's about the time in which we live.
FM: And what time is that?
MW: Time for you to stop asking me stupid questions.
FM: Could you divulge when this event will come to pass?
MW: Not until after Spring Break. But it gives you something to look forward to.
With that, Ms. Werner grasped us firmly by the ear and showed us the door. That evening, as we sipped our lonely pint in the neighborhood pub, we reflected that perhaps a career in journalism was not for us. On the other hand, we didn't know what was. How we envied the Ms. Werners of the world, who could jet off to Aruba whenever they felt sulky!
We sighed, and took another pull of our brew. Well, we thought, there's no shame in being an honest, hard-working chaps. And yet...and yet...
There had to be something more, something higher than the cesspools of misery we waded through every day on our way to work, something...1sublime.
What was that thing? Where would we find it? What if it eluded us forever, until we died, stinking of unrealized desires and compromised ideals?
Was love the answer, as the poets proclaimed? Riches? The pleasures of the flesh? We remembered what Prince had said: "Fancy something, and something something/ It'll save your face, but it won't save your soul."
Then it occurred to us that Ms. Werner must have the answer. Of course! It was perfect! We wanted to drop everything and rush over to her boudoir immediately, but we restrained ourselves. For we felt sure that the answer would be revealed in her next production.
"It's about the time in which we live," she had said. Yes...yes...
Suddenly, everything seemed bearable.