The Chicago Tribune and the Champaign Urbana News-Gazette had a conversation in the locker room. The Tribune took off its headline - CLINTON ACQUITTED, and toweled off the ink to get ready for tomorrow's news. The Gazette sat on the bench looking dejected, smoking. Its headline read SAD ERA COMES TO AN END.

The Tribune snapped its towel at the Gazette and said:

"Cheer up. A sad era has come to an end. Let's go get drunk to celebrate."

The Gazette sighed and turned to section D - "news." SOME SCHOLARS FEAR POLITICS NOW DAMAGED PERMANENTLY. "I can't go on."

The Tribune laughed. "POLITICS DAMAGED PERMANENTLY. That's great. No more politics as usual, eh? Maybe we'll have to resort to Democracy. Yeah, right. Politics is thriving more than ever. Where do your writers get that shit?"

"Knight-Ridder. Associated Press. The wire, the can, you know. I don't have writers." The Gazette peeled off its headline in disgust and tossed it into its locker. "I miss the Courier. Now that I'm the only paper in town I don't even feel like trying to interest readers." the Gazette admitted.

"Geez, you're taking this too hard. Come off it, you're made of newsprint. You can't even get a blowjob - you'd dissolve."

"I wish I were a romance novel."

"Quit it. Let's go out to the Billygoat, or how about the Courier Cafe, c'mon."

"You don't know what it's like to be a conservative paper."

"Are you kidding? Of course I do."

"To be an apparatus of a small and narrow-minded set of right-wing business interests."

"I am. The only difference between you and me is that I am better-written. As in: written at all."

"Yeah, yeah. BOTH PARTIES, IN THE END, TIRED OF WHOLE ORDEAL. Why did they do this to me. My reputation is ruined. My reputation both as a credible news-source and as a family-oriented paper."

"Don't worry, there'll be another war."

"Great. Are you trying to cheer me up. CENSURE LOSES STEAM AFTER ACQUITTAL. It's like the whole thing was a tedious episode that went on too long. Now the conservative-owned media, after fucking America for a year, now has finally shot its wad and fell asleep. America is lying there dissatisfied and a little horrified listening to the right wing snore, not sure whether she will ever read, or take an interest in events. God, I'm tired."

"Take off that news and lets go out. I'm starving. Can I get a smoke off you, man?"

"Yeah, okay. It's over. I hope it's finally over. No more pictures of Clinton looking apologetically at his feet, lower lip stuck out."

"Right. No more L-word, no more dissatisfying jokes, no more cigars and semen.... I just hope..."

"What?"

"Hillary doesn't run for president."

"Ugh. She'd do a fine job, but..."

"Yeah, imagine her retired hubby running around in that White House with no responsibilities. The trouble he'd get into, and we'd have to transmit the details to the public."

"Forget it."

"Like a disease."

"Stop. Enough."

"Okay. I've always wanted to ask you. You're a conservative downstate small-town paper. Why do you have a photo of the Chicago 8 in your locker?"

"They're my heroes."

"You dog. Does your boss Ms. Chinigo know?"

"She don't hang out in the locker room much."

The sergeant says, get ready boys. And fire.