Peter Paul Pepperjack stifled a yawn as he took out the trash for the offices of the Horseradish Falls Herald. Peter Paul was very tired, having spent the day chasing down a lead, interviewing all the parties involved, taking photos, developing the photos, writing the story, editing that same story, and then setting the type and running the presses. (It had, overall, been a much slower day than usual.) As he lugged the two bulging sacks of garbage down to the curb, he tripped over something on the front steps and fell flat on his face. Both bags split and garbage flew in every direction.
Peter Paul stood up and brushed himself off and wearily dragged himself back up the steps to see what he had tripped on. It was a book. On the jacket were printed the words "MORE NEWS FROM HORSERADISH FALLS." He flipped through the pages but despite being the main and also secondary and tertiary writer on the paper, Peter Paul didn't actually know how to read, so he took it inside to show his boss.
Herbert Fupp was a squat dragon with gray scales and a permanent scowl etched across his face. He spent most nights sitting at his desk, blowing smoke rings angrily into the air, and tonight was no exception. Peter Paul threw the book on the desk, nearly knocking over a half-empty bottle of St. George's gin.
"Somebody left this on our doorstep and I tripped on it when I was taking out the garbage," Peter Paul whined. He didn't actually mean to whine, it was just his natural tone of voice.
"So what?" snarled Herb. He didn't mean to snarl, it was just his natural tone of voice. (Also, he was drunk.) "We don't do book reviews, you know that. Especially not unsolicited ones left by some anonymous hack on our doorstep. Speaking of which, remind me to have that doorstep removed, it causes nothing but trouble. This is a paper of the people, not some highfalutin' arts and culture rag! What do you think we are, the Skewered Pork Review of Books?"
"Maybe it's time we branched out," said Peter Paul Peppercorn, licking his lips as he thought about how nice some skewered pork would taste right about then. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. "You know, I've heard that people like to read other people's opinions of things so they don't have to form opinions of their own. Maybe we could..."
"Maybe you could finish taking out the garbage," snapped Herb, "and you might as well take this out while you're at it." He hurled the book at Peter Paul Peppercorn. It knocked his spectacles off, which was odd because Peter Paul Peppercorn never wore spectacles.
Peter Paul sighed and went back out to clean up the spilled trash (which consisted mainly of empty bottles of St. George's). and carry it down to the curb. Peppercorn took one last look at the book, then shrugged and dropped it into one of the sacks and trudged home to sleep for a few hours before he had to return to deliver the morning edition.
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