Ace Reporter – Trip Hunter

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In a cramped, musty office on the ground floor of The Daily Star building– a lone worker steadily taps at the keys of his typewriter, their clickity-clack syncopating with the beat of a leaky ceiling and an empty can, the two forming a beautiful symphony that could perhaps be the very rhythm of the universe itself… or maybe that’s the combination of caffeine, psychotropics, copious amounts of marijuana, cheap beer, and bootlegged whiskey. Either way, ONE thing can be certain: no matter how queer the case, how dire the straights, Ace reporter Trip Hunter will be there, in the thick of it, to bring the truth to YOU!

illustrated series by WildEr

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Rain, Down the Drain, Jussayin’…

I’m singin’ in the rain, but raindrops keep fallin’ on me head.

Perchance its empathy for an increasingly anxious puppy, perched on his windowsill, unwilling to brave the storm even as the big business builds up from this morning’s bowl.

Could be its the excess macca-smoothie-energy, the art production frenzy, or the spring cleaning much too soon for Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction.

Mayhaps, the soft pattering, the gusting howling of mother nature’s song, as dry banks flood to play along.

However the rhyme, whichever the reason… some drought we’re having!

Its a bittersweet feeling– thankful for the roof over my head, and the panda bear to snuggle warm and fuzzy in my bed… but still, it comes over me, this sense of dread.

There’s a chill to this winter that can’t be all in my head.

When George R.R. Martin says “Winter is Here” I am filled with giddy butterflies awaiting the fate of angst-ridden fan-fic-fans world-wide as they come to realize that their hero is no hero.

But as the solstice ushered in this reporter’s twenty-third year of life in human form, the last leaves of autumn fell… and we seemingly expected it all to end there.

Alas, its over a week into 2017, and the world hasn’t ended yet. Some thank their Nightly Stars, while others…

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Illustration by WildEr

BRAKING NEWS headlines the front page, by-lined to somebody that knows a lot about the subject, your go to source on new developments in speed reduction. You come to a screeching halt.

Another two cents down the drain… but you must know: what about that THING that we have?

As you scrounge in your pocket to pay the dispenser– picking out the lint and the Cheetos dust to tuck safely back in your belly button– a gust of wind blows a wadded up ball of newsprint smack into your face.

~~~uurmph! You fall back, flat on your patootie, pennies flying like hail to a stripper’s donkey. They land with a cling and a splash in the clogged up gutters of your mind.

You can just make out the header: THE DAILY STAR

Intrigued, and moderately dizzied, you delve into the genius wordcraft of reporter Zu-Zu Lee with the scoop of the day.

Your two cents still remain, fighting back the current of social media sewage.

In the distance, clouds part, a beam of light shines through illuminating the comments section below, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow–

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The Daily Star

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Get me pictures of the supers! No, Lee, I want pictures… sufferin’ succotash, what’s a lowly reporter to do? Twelve-thousand words on the average airspeed velocity of unladen African swallows as compared to that of unladen European swallows, but the Daily Star only has eyes for one thing– what is this, the CW? This week on “Dating… with Super Heroes:” people die, civilizations perish, the world as we know it— hold up, what about that thing that we have? You know, that thing?

I don’t know that thing. What thing? All I know, is they better clean it up before mom and dad get home. So unless I was about to cut up some old shower curtains and stitch together a remarkably regenerative spandex jumpsuit, I had better think of something quick. Up next: The Real Reels of Chico! Maybe I should get a reel job.

Turns out, the Daily Star didn’t think that pun was clever, and no, dijon mayonnaise is not a super hero… shucks deluxe, where does one find a hero in this day and age? What does it mean to be super in 2017?  Down on my luck, I kicked a stray can. It kicked me back, threw my shoes over the telephone wire, and insulted my mother. That “S” used to mean something, now it’s just a shape for children’s spaghetti dinner, a label on a can accidentally taken off the shelf before the expiration date.

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