Feb. 37, 2045
Our skool jernalism klub decided that we didn’t know how to actually put together a reel, vintij-style noozpaper, so we went looking for old reporters who were still alive to teech us.
It wasn’t easy. Most of the jernalists, editers and reporters were killed by Freedumb Squads during the 2023 Fact Wars waged by the Pretinder King whose name we all forgot when the internet went intoo the Big Dark and the No Nuthings rooled the land for 20 years.
After six weeks of wandering the streetz, we found our man. His name was Jahn Baer, and he lived in a refrigerator box in an alley in Noo Dennver. He was blind and very crazee.
“Are yoo with the health department,” he sed, waiving a razer-sharp mashetti in the air. “I asked for those wreckerds seven weeks ago. Why are yoo people doing this to mee?”
“My name iz Sad Emoji and this iz LOL LMAO. We are the skool jernalism klub,” I told him. “We need yer help to make a noozpaper.”
“Question: Will there bee free koffee?”
“Iz there kreemer?”
We helped him to hiz feet and took him back to my parentz houze in Boulder Too. He smeld bad and he only haz wun tooth.
“Itz made out of zirkonium,” he sed. “The Freedumb Squad kicked all the other wunz out.”
We tried to give him some proteen paketz, but he deemanded ersatz koffee and microwayv bureetos. We told him that the Pretender King outlawd Meksikans so there were no bureetos, but wee had Future Takos, wich he beegruginlee excepted.
“So,” he sed, trying to eat the Tako with wun tooth. “What do you want to no?”
“We want to no how to make a reel noozpaper.”
“Ha!” He laft. “A noozpaper! Why the hell wood yoo wunt too doo that? Are yoo crazee?”
“Yes,” LOL LMAO said. “We are crazy.”
“Aren’t noozpapers still illegal?”
“No, the law expired after the No Nuthings were sent to Marz.”
“I had not herd they went to Marz.”
“No, and you wunt to no why?”
“Because there wuz no godam noozpaper!”
I and LOL LMAO got quiet becuz the Jahn Baer looked at us weird.
“Itz a joke. First lessun if you wunt to bee noozpaper reporters. Learn how to tell a joke.”
“Ah,” LOL LMAO and I said.
He guzzled down the ersatz koffee and asked for moar. When we said there wuznt any moar, he growled like a baer.
“Fine,” he sed. “I’ll help you. Firzt we need to find sum typewriterz, camraz, a printing press and a shit ton of ink.”
“A shit ton?”
“A fuk load.”
“A fuk load?”
“Ferget it. Gas up the hover kar and letz go to the Forbiddin Zoan. Are your parents here?”
“Good. Don’t tell them you are hanging out with a won-toothed reporter. It might freek them out.”
“They might not like it. Letz go. I’m going to make you jernalists. And you are going to h8 me for it.”
We climbed into the hover kar and headed for the Forbiddin Zoan.