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Last updated on August 8th, 2017 at 10:30 am
The Sunday Age reports:
Terry Lane is on leave.
What with his chronology problems, Terry may be on leave longer than expected.
- Uh oh. I could be wrong, but it sounds like the dreaded kiss of death to me.Posted by RebeccaH on 2007 01 28 at 10:57 AM • permalink
- Poor darling – it’s stress leave for surePosted by aussiemagpie on 2007 01 28 at 11:29 AM • permalink
- Damn you Blair! You’re suppressing his dissent!
Hell, what else are you capable of? Next thing you know you’ll be dissing Phillip Adams’ <s>welfare checks</s> government grants and the art collection he bought with the taxpayers’ money…
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 01 28 at 11:38 AM • permalink
- Did his chronostomy bag burst?Posted by andycanuck on 2007 01 28 at 12:11 PM • permalink
- In Terry Lane there is a liar showing photographs
Of green helmets we’ve the pleasure to have known
And all the terrorists that come and go
Stop and say helloOn the corner are jihadis in an ambulance
And little children getting blown to smithereens
And Terry only seems to see
Arab casualties, very strangeTerry Lane is in my paper and my radio
Moonbat rants to tell us what to think and know
I spit, and meanwhile back
In Terry Lane there is thug with a Kalashnikov
And in his pocket is a nicely primed grenade
He likes his islamist opinions ready made
RetrogradeTerry Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
A hack who peddles Fisk-like lies
In Pravda, meanwhile back
Behind the shelter of the anti-Israel multitudes
Hezbollah is digging in and shelling jews
And they know it won’t make the news
And if it does they’ve got a good excuse
Zionist abuseIn Terry Lane his chair sits empty of its occupant
The sub wonders what to run today
And then Doyley has his say
On the cabbies ways, very strangeTerry Lane’s away on leave – I hope his column dies
Here beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit and curse the hack
Terry Lane’s away with all his lies
Long may he not opinionize
Terry Lane
- KK, ROTFL.Posted by andycanuck on 2007 01 28 at 01:21 PM • permalink
- Oh KK, I hope you do realize that you’ve set a rather high standard for all of your future lyricizing!Posted by Harry Bergeron on 2007 01 28 at 02:11 PM • permalink
- Is that going to be Lane’s new publication schedule?
Embarrass the companyWrite a column, hide for two weeks, write a column…?Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 01 28 at 02:48 PM • permalink
- He is holidaying in the Grand Canyon?Posted by surfmaster on 2007 01 28 at 04:26 PM • permalink
- Sheila brought me some joe from Java Jim’s Coffee Shop. It was a cold, winter day, and she was dressed fetchingly in a dark brown woolen skirt, beige turtleneck sweater, woolen hose, and fur-lined ankle boots. The whole rig was topped off with a little green Scottish bonnet and a tartan shawl. She looked like she ought to be frisking in the heather, running alongside a rushing trout stream, pursued by a troop of horny bagpipe players.
“What’s up, Sheila? Judging by that outfit, I’d say it looks like the rising of the clans.”
She pursed her lips and gave me a little squint: it was her non-verbal way of communicating the editorial opinion, “Smart ass!”
“I don’t know about that”, she said. “But apparently there’s been a rising of the clowns. You’ve got one sitting in the waiting room; an odd bird in a dirty raincoat and the saddest excuse for a hat I’ve ever seen. He says he wants to work with you.”
“What’s he want me to do?”
“Oh no, sweets; you’ve got it backwards. He asks not what Paco can do for him, but what he can do for Paco. He’s looking for a job.”
I popped the lid on the coffee cup, added a smidgen of gin, and sipped. The breakfast of champions.
“Ok, send him in.”
A moment later, a bespectacled fellow shuffled into my office. He removed a moth-eaten lid from his head, came over to me, and extended his paw.
“How do you do, Mr. Paco. My name’s Terry Lane, late of the Age.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Lane. What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s like this. I’m a journalist, and my paper has offered me a chance to, er, take something of a sabbatical, and I thought, with my background in investigative reporting, I might make a good detective.”
“Uh huh. You were fired, right?”
He bridled a bit. “No, certainly not. It’s just that my employers and I thought it would be a good idea if I tried something else for awhile. You see, my paper has some old-fashioned ideas about facts and evidence and proof and so forth; what they don’t seem to appreciate is the fact that I am a man of vision. Using my superior skills of cognitive perception, I work out the truth using iron-clad theories. Facts only get in the way. I believe this makes me uniquely qualified to be a detective. I mean, all it takes is intelligence, courage and a fedora, and I’ve got the fedora” – he picked his hat up off his lap by the pinch in the front and waggled it at me. “The rest will come in time.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Lane, but it sounds to me like building a house by starting with the roof.”
“Exactly, Mr. Paco! Now, how about that job?”
I frowned and nodded my head slowly, to give him the idea that I was seriously mulling his proposal over. Actually, I was trying to figure a way to get him out of the office without opening the window; it was starting to snow.
“Tell you what, Mr. Lane. I’ve got a client, name of Wronwright. He’s been pestering me for months to recover his collection of antique weaponry. I’ve restored most of it to him, but he’s not going to be happy until every last halberd and cross bow is hanging on his wall again. Now, I have reason to believe that his gear was pinched by an extremely crafty and unscrupulous collector by the name of Harris. She’s keeping the rest of Wronwright’s stuff under lock and key at her home in Orlando. Why don’t you go down there, find some way to get into her house, recover the junk, and bring it back? If you can do that, I’ll take you on full time.”
He brightened at the prospect of carrying out the assignment. “Certainly, Mr. Paco. I think I can do that. But how would you suggest that I obtain entry?”
“Hmmmm. Ah, here’s an idea. Pretend to be a door-to-door honey salesman. I hear she loves the stuff. In fact, you might try smearing a little on your hat and kind of wafting the smell around a little when she answers the door.”
We sealed the bargain with a handshake, and he ran along. I called Sheila on the intercom.
“Listen, my bonnie lass. Did you get Lane’s address? Good. Send him a bottle of calamine lotion and some benadryl. I’ve got a feeling he’s going to need it.”
- #19 – I think that’s it. He’s gone to the Grand Canyon to ask park rangers for himself and to make his own estimation of the age of the place.Posted by Jack Lacton on 2007 01 28 at 06:05 PM • permalink
- The book is open. Starting prices for how long it takes for Lane to be first portrayed as the victim of the “malicious, implacable, mendacious and dangerous Zionist lobby”:
24 hours 5-1
1-3 days 3-1
4-7 days 2-1
Over 7 days 4-1Betting terms
“Silenced”, “in fear”, “in hiding”, “driven from the public forum”, “impossible to discuss openly without …”, and references to “nasty threatening correspondence” that is anonymous and will not be made available, “dark and/or powerful forces” and so on will be accepted as a claim of victimhood for the purposes of the bet.
- My own money is on Lane just quietly slipping back into his spot. After all, an op-ed column in the Sunday Age is normally the kind of place you exile a journo to, not from. Lane – and his masters – are the kind of people who, the first time they’re caught picking your pocket, they make a sheepish apology: the second time they’re caught they get all indignant – “Well whaddya want?! I said sorry last time!!”
(Great lyrics, KK!)
- Bravo KK!Posted by Hank Reardon on 2007 01 28 at 09:34 PM • permalink
- No, he’s recuperating at a North Coast sunshine home for baby boomers suffering terminal irrelevance.
However, old troopers never die and his physician, Dr Feelgood, assures me Terry is heartened by the return to the world stage of Jane Fonda. Terry figures that if a 67-year-old, has-been like Jane can get star treatment in the media, prattling on about a war nobody under 55 knows anything about, then The Age should accept his advanced Alzheimaic condition.
- He seems to have gone on holiday with Adele Horin. Mind you, with Adele you can always re-read an old column and it’s like she never left.Posted by Margos Maid on 2007 01 28 at 10:49 PM • permalink
- Is this The Ages version of Jeffrey Bernard is unwell?
- Having trouble keeping count of your posts, especially on a “word average” basis? Working on the greatest blog noir genre novel of its time, and just can’t keep track of it all? Try the new Posts Averaging Count Organiser. With PACO you can save your time for real work, and leave the numbers stuff to us. If it’s a PACO, you can count on it.Posted by andycanuck on 2007 01 29 at 07:43 PM • permalink
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