yustyoking

            Ha ha ha! Those bozos at The National Herald are holding an Anecdote Contest. Write a funny story, max 500 words, win $500. That’s the whole megilla.

            A nationwide publication, they have no business running competitive events. They’ll get 15,000 entries. No newspaper can process 15,000 entries. It’s inane.

            The contest, such as it is, all comes down to one man, the publication’s humor writer. A fat, maudlin, middle-aged Jew, with as many— if not more— insecurities as the rest of us Members of the Tribe, he entered the business in the 1970’s. When newspapers “had a license to print money,” in the memorable words of David Halberstam. With fucking hard times upon us, Mr. HaHa’s weekly humor piece don’t cut it. The company has him, in addition, running the Weekly Word Game, doing Special Events, and any other such errands as may arise. Fielding phone inquiries. Emptying wastebaskets. Sharpening pencils.

            It’s hard times, guys!

           Watching now, it is difficult to envision that The National Herald was the newspaper who, in the 1960’s, led the way in defining the difference between a “shiftless Negro” and sickle cell anemia. Death by a thousand budget cuts has left the rag a mere shadow of its former glory.

            Ayn Rand could point and say, “I told you what creeping Socialism would do!” Wrong, Ayn! How about globalization and free trade? When all the manufacturing jobs get shipped overseas, because it’s cheaper, we are left in a post-industrial Hell. Changing the name from “outsourcing” to “offshoring” hasn’t helped at all. Ugh!

            Amidst so much spiraling entropy, how can Mr. HaHa maintain his self-esteem? Fortunately for him, the 150 regular contributors to the Weekly Word Game worship the very ground upon which he walks.

            This makes entering the Weekly Word Game— or now, the Anecdote Contest— something of a disappointment. The regulars of the W.W.G. have their own Facebook account. They e-mail, text and tweet one another. They meet for yearly dinners. They go fishing together on weekends. These are HaHa’s friends! So when three entries to a word puzzle arrive from three corners of the region, and are strikingly similar, our mighty HaHa chooses the one from Carlo Ponzi of Annapolis, Maryland. After all, Mr. HaHa knows Carlo. Nary a contest goes by, but Carlo sends in some clever contribution, some bon mot. Only human, HaHa succumbs to this temptation.

            Everybody likes Carlo!

            Meaning the other two entrants— not personally known to HaHa— get left out in the cold.

            Aware of this tendency, HaHa & Co. make a big fuss whenever they actually print a newcomer’s creation. “Novice Champ!” trumpets The National Herald. The staff feel so proud of themselves! Until next week.

            The latest deal is to print a lot of entries from Australia and New Zealand. Favoritism? Ridiculous! Cronyism? No way! Nepotism? Well, I never…! Look here! We print Aussies and Kiwis. They live on the other side of the world! Never broke bread with ‘em for a minute! Never flown Qantas. Christchurch is but a mystery.

            Say what?

            Because, being located in Washington, D.C. only complicates this latest “Anecdote Contest.” This is a company town. The name of the company is The U.S. Government. An entry from the vice president’s wife or the president’s daughter, the wife of a Supreme Court justice or the darling child of a senator— 250 words, high school level— calls for a clearing of desks and a major editorial conference! The bosses’ circle has spoken! Ignore it at your peril! Insecure, the newspaper worries over Senate briefings, Supreme Court deliberations and access to the White House.

             You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, your family, your creditors and the bank holding your mortgage. This makes the true purpose of the contest to reward those in power and demonstrate the newspaper’s good intentions.

             The deck is totally stacked. Woe unto the poor schlubs who send in their written compositions with the naïve conviction that their creative talent will be judged on a level playing field with everyone else’s.

             Ha ha ha! That, my friend, ain’t gonna happen!                                          

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