The coolest thing about writing a daily column for a big city newspaper--okay, boomer--was that nobody talked to me about what was in tomorrow's column, or today's, or yesterday's.
For years, running on a hamster wheel, I had no time to be anything but grateful. Let me run. Type on, fool.
I thought of myself as the golden goose. Don't mess with the eggs. Plop! Another golden morning. Good Goosey.
But now, in my dotage, I realize the root of this benevolence.
No editor, copy desk toughie or manager ever wanted to answer "Yes" if asked: Did you know about this Page Six thing?
The answer had to be "Of course not. He's nuts. Nobody knows what he's doing. He's worse than Rimstead."
I guess Page Six amused The King.
Who The King was seemed a mystery.
But any gatekeepeer who might have said "Hey Dunf, what BS is running tomorrow in your endless slagheap?" knew they were definitely not The King.
I didn't know who The King was either.
That was the beauty part.
I was always self-editing to please The King.
Be careful. Be funny.
Only Weeniegate prompted a crisis.
And such a small one.
Page Six had an item about a weenie roast, in which the tagline was a hope that nobody burned their weenie.
"It has to be weiner," a guy who was Not The King instructed.
"But when you cook hot dogs at a campfire, isn't it a weenie roast?" asked the Page Six typist, twin to the sad little man who hid behind the Wizard of Oz.
"You can't say burned their weenie."
"Who says weiner roast?" I asked.
"A weiner is a hot dog, Dunf. A weenie is the other thing."
"No, a weenie is both of them. That's the joke."
"It has to be weiner if it's hot dogs."
"But no kid calls them weiners."
"Weenies is not going in the paper. It's offensive."
I should have snarked: "What about Lubor Zink?"
I'm glad I didn't. Maybe The King liked him too.
The result: a two line item about a weiner roast, in which for no apparent reason, we hope nobody burns one. Whatever.
This was way before the Internet, boys and girls.
Long before revenge blogs, infinite clickable research and powerful fantasies.
So I submit the following to The King.
Google search ...
. Weeny is an adjective meaning tiny.
. Weenie is a frankfurter, or a man's penis, or a weak and socially inept person.
. Weiner is a frankfurter, or a man's penis, or a weak and socially inept person.
. Weener has only one meaning, a boy's penis.
So changing my weenie to weiner was just as smutty.
And a waste of all our time, My King!
Off with that meddler's head.
Vengeance is mine.
Plop!
A good goose just can't stop.
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