TALES OF THE YUKON NEWS. riginal.
As a 3O-year-old-reporter for the 'Yukon Daily' back in the war years, i was pressed for news.
i often had to make my own. A miniature version of today's world news with a bit more 'stretch' of the truth allowable on our stretch of God's ice flow simply by the nature of our local readership. Twenty...plus the sled dogs which bred like sex crazed sled dogs because there was simply nothing else going on in this ten igloo one horse town to do! Sorry, as a reporter i must try to stick to the truth. Ten dog sled pullers. Sex crazed on their weekends off- doggone town. Despite only the one phone call as a result of our first ad placed by bogged German ex tank commander, Helmut Ig, in lieu of him needing a horse. Only a retired police horse from downtown New York,slightly tipsy, rang. It declined an interview when the giant Ig, an honest man, told 'Giddy up' (not the aged horse's real name so as not to offend the locals who were a bit more civilized than Ig. Most were against eating dark brown retired horses. Or more to the point,any colored horses. In effect 'greenies' with moralistic eating vegetarian habits) that he ate horses four courses.
Now hear me out before you judge me or don't read on about how the 'Yukon News' was established. I'm so sorry for taking up your valuable time. Perhaps you have run out of sleeping pills? Read on..."you are getting sleepy....your eyes are heavy..." How in the Dickens can your eyes be heavy with sleep? I mean they come supplied with remote controlled lids see. Socket to me eye say. How the hell can you take a 'weight' of your mind? Mind you, you may not agree with eye? Let's push on, You are thinking,eyes heavy with sleep, what fool reporter would be sitting in a rotund manually operated printing office with three doors, a roof made of left over negative- charged steel purchased off a Panzer tank gone astray from the negative positive Battle of the disinterested two 'cold thaw' Battlers left over from 'bottle battle of the Bulge'- both bogged. Purchased cheap bent steel turned to roof indeed by a positive- charged 'can do' high- flying 90-year- old recently retired newspaper Magnet, James Yukon, from the lost tank commander Helmut Ig who couldn't be bothered firing frozen shells at the lone freezing advancing harmless Yukon reporter cyclist with the frozen yogurt recorder. That's how the German lost the thaw you know. He got cold feet. Our first headline. "German retreat...got cold feet." Plus Helmut's prepaid ad. "German commander turned tale, Hoarse. Would like to meat for a snack, prefer retired horse." Our first phone call to Helmut from the NYPD horse "can't do can do as i'd rather not be canned. I just want to roam round paddocks all day eating hay.But hey! Thanks for the offer. If you ever come to New York and want to be trampled by an indignant horse be my guest...at least you would be able to supply your own riding Helmet Helmut?
The newspaper office being rounded off with three doors? Simple roundabout explanation. Forgot to mention the Polar Bear Motel next door. 'PB overnight Bare with us' That was their shingle. Polar bears in Yukon as you can imagine, travel in threes. Father bear, mother bear and father bear's mistress. Look fur goodness sake It's chilli at night! Fish for breakfast. Afternoon hibernation, cheaper rate for blocks of 6 mnths. Females at night trying to scratch each other to bits over who gets two flake on the bear bed. Special overnight opening special"three bear bed and breakfast, two flake thrown in or on bed. Will take four at a scratch. No extra fish. Enter simultaneously,or charge through three doors of News office separately at full trot to place ad for more fish friendly service. Bear with the simultaneous bit, headbutt each other, knock yourselves out."
That's how we got started. Nothing unusual was happening. No phone calls. Barely any ads. The boss said to me, "our readership is down, create some news. Lie even."
Yukon pushed me out into the snow. It was below freezing below and round my nipples as well. Even though i had a new bear fur coat on. She was the fourth bear in the motel overnight offer but the motel was booked out so she came yelling through the door about false advertising,wanting free fish. To get her off Yukon's back he threw her on mine. So there we were. In the snow. I was freezing her bear ass off. Suddenly i had a light bulb moment. You get that sometimes when you're lying under an irate 700lb antagonistic near tonne of bear with a fishy breath and long painted nails, bitching about how cold she was. Lucky through exercise and attention to diet (she was down to eating only one small Eskimo a weak...and he was...with fear) i could bear the weight of Lucille on my shoulders.
I said to Lucille," why don't we do an ice knock on the igloos telling the Eskimos that an avalanche is coming tomorrow, then i can rush back in to the warmth and write up the thoughts of the people and what they are going to do. You know how people love to read other peoples thoughts just prior to them being covered in mountains of snow." "What's in it for me" grumbled the hungry white rug." I lied. "a very small Eskimo with herring sauce." "ALRIGHTY!" came the enthused reply.
So we did the knock. Trouble was people thought it was a 'dog in the manger' type spiel."Avalanche! Avalanche! tomorrow...come meet at the news office tell us your thoughts! Come! come out! Jack Frost is about...AND, Lucille...don't you do her body's will!" That's precisely why they didn't come out. Plus Lucille was drooling after looking through the window at one small weak Eskimo who absolutely refused to answer his front ice block. Even though Lucille promised a bear hug.
We turned to go. Not content to leave sleeping oversexed sled dogs sleep Ms hungry guts lets out this almighty roar which woke the dogs...they started to yell...precipitating an avalanche one day early at 11.30 pm. We were trapped, the whole darn town under a gigantic coat of rock, snow, ice, empty coke cans, empty promises from left over elections blown in from the White House. They float thousands of miles you know.
At least i got the monkey, umm...the bear, off my back. Wouldn't you know it. Lucille and i freed ourselves, rushed back to the news office. Set the press. It was out of ink.
Didn't really matter that much when i come to think about it. No one in town could barely read except Lucille and for some reason she was never invited in for a reading. I was going to do a story on Helmut Ig about how to jack up the back of his partly dismantled tank to change the spare wheel but like this post i don't think many of the buried still townsfolk would have the time too barely read or even look at the photo of Lucille holding the tank up.
Horses for courses i guess. Have a snow free weekend. Chill out. No news is.. well, barely acceptable. Nothing to moan about?