Post by JeromeSqualor on Apr 3, 2004 0:40:42 GMT -5
Hello everybody... I tried PMing the paper to Tragedy, but there is more than 10,000 characters, so it would not go through, so I am posting it here for you all to view... I hope you like it...
The Saturday 667
Editorial Page
Dear Reader of The Saturday 667,
This is the first issue of the new weekly newspaper for 667 Dark Avenue. Allow me to introduce the writers of this paper to you.
Writing the Editorial Page will be me, JeromeSqualor
Writing the Interviews Page will be euromegamouth
Writing the Theory Page will be Nightmare Before Christmas
Writing the Fanfic and Fanart will be Marmite
And Writing the Games Page will be Sunny's Pacifier
Every Saturday we will be sending out The Saturday 667. You don’t have to read it, of course we hope you do, but if you do choose to read it, there will be an assortment of the articles mentioned above. Well, I hope you enjoy…
- Jerome
Some Fun Facts on Lemony Snicket:
1. His chauffer and he were once trapped on an island surrounded by man-eating crocodiles.
2. His pen’s name is Alphonse.
3. He sleeps with 40 flashlights.
Fanfics Page
By Marmite
Evil Meets
Esmé Squalor, Standing elegantly in her room, she began to do her hair for the masked ball. Going alone… That’s what was “in”… Or that’s what she said. For the masked ball, she was going dressed as a butterfly. That’s a lot more beautiful then what Beatrice was going as.
Beatrice. Esmé scowled as she thought of her. How could a woman with such small interest with things that were “in” have so many men?
Esmé didn’t like to think that she was jealous, but she kept thinking of that first afternoon tea with Beatrice. How Beatrice had bragged… How spiteful she was… And even then, she’d go to steal the sugar bowl. Esmé wanted that sugar bowl. She needed it. She attached her beautiful pink wings, ones that would make Beatrice look like she had swam out of a dumpster. Esmé snorted as she thought of Beatrice in pain, crawling out with her stupid wings of the gross dumpster. Finally, Esmé put on her purple and pink mask. She stood up from her “in” desk, and walked towards the door in her shimmering pink dress… which had varieties of beautiful colors morphed into it. She opened the door to her apartment, on 556 Dark Avenue, and made her way down the stairs. The taxi was there waiting. Esmé walked and sat on the comfy leather seats. “To the masked ball,” she insisted quickly, shutting her door tight, and the car began setting off. Esmé sat and thought. This was not something she did very often. She thought about Beatrice again. She seemed… so popular. And she didn’t even have to try. She could walk into a bar, and have men at her feet. Esmé didn’t get that. Not even one bit important was Esmé. But then again, if she befriend with the popular girl, she’d become popular herself. That would mean putting up with Beatrice though. Esmé sighed. It would be worth it. Esmé chuckled as she thought back more. Lemony Snicket, Beatrice’s old boyfriend…. How upset Beatrice had been when they split up. How happy Esmé had been to see Beatrice in so much woe. Lemony had apparently begun burning down things, rebelling against V.F.D. Beatrice was left no choice. In fact, Lemony seemed like Esmé’s type of guy, outgoing, mysterious. But of course, Beatrice had to get him.
Esmé cringed, stupid Beatrice. The car parked outside of a great hall with many trees around it. Esmé could hear the music from outside. It was peaceful. She scowled. It was Beatrice’s type of music. She got out of the car, forgetting to pay. Why should Esmé Squalor pay, after all? She opened the marble doors and walked into the elegant room. There were buffet tables around the four large walls. There were red carpets leading up the stairs to the veranda and the inside balconies, along with a huge stage for the band. There were people dressed up dancing together to the violins and saxophones playing, galore. Esmé frowned. Who would she dance with? She walked over to the buffet table, and with the supplied ladle, put some punch in a paper cup.
She sipped some. It seemed nice. She took a whole gulp. Something about it seemed different. It seemed, almost lumpy. Ugh… She turned and spat out the red liquid. It sprayed over a passing woman, who stopped back, and screamed slightly. “Sorry,” Esmé began, as she finished choking. She looked up, and smiled. Beatrice… “Oh,” she scowled,” Look what the cat dragged in.” She had forgotten the plan. Befriend the popular girl, and you’ll become popular yourself. Beatrice chuckled. “Oh, aren’t you good at insults,” she sneered. As Esmé walked towards her, Beatrice let out a bony hand and struck her across the face. “That’s for ruining my dress!” she cried. Esmé slapped back. “And that’s for wearing it in the first place!” she cried, “That thing was ruined when you put it on! Beatrice scowled. Besides “Esmé said “Shouldn’t you be having a line of men behind you? Or did they all realize what a disgusting tramp you are?” Beatrice said nothing. She got some punch, and walked away. Esmé muttered “magee…” She rubbed her cheek. Beatrice had the nerve. This is Esmé Squalor she’s talking to, not some random woman off the streets. Esmé looked around. All the men there were with Beatrice. No one seemed to realize what a waste of space she was. They were ignorant. Esmé wasn’t even going to go near ignorant people. She remained at the other side of the hall, swirling the ladle around in the punch. Was there ever going to be someone for her? She may be a financial adviser, someone who was in for work, someone who had money, but she was just like any other woman. She wanted someone to be there with her, but there was never going to be anyone! She cried in her thoughts. The door opened again, and some man with hooks for hands held it open for someone. Esmé watched as the man walked through. He was wearing a tail coat, and a small bow tie. His trousers were normal really, seemed quite dirty though. Esmé was uninterested. The hook handed man shut the door behind them. Esmé sighed. More fans for Beatrice, but they didn’t walk towards Beatrice, they walked towards her. “Hello,” the man said, smiling, showing his dirty teeth. Esmé was disgusted. His hair was graying. It stuck out at the backs, and Esmé admitted that the style was quite “in”. “Hello,” she said, and smiled back with her perfect white teeth, “I’m Esmé Squalor.” The man rolled his eyes.
“I remember that,” he said, and gasped, “You’re a financial advisor, right?” Esmé nodded, and smiled more. She was getting recognized! “Why, yes, I am,” she replied, “And…who are you?” “Me?” the man asked, “I am Count Olaf. Just call me Olaf. I don’t use my title when talking to wonderful people, just when I want to make myself sound important.” Esmé smiled. “You don’t have to have a title for that,” she smiled, “You look important as it is.” “Why thank you,” Olaf said in his hoarse voice, “And I must say the same to you. You look beautiful. Although Olaf was not dressed up, he still had a mask, a rather simple blue one. “May I see your face?” he asked.
Esmé blushed, and smiled more. “Of course, Olaf,” she said, and removed her small pink mask. Olaf gasped, and held a hand to her face. “More beautiful then I imagined,” he said. Esmé blushed more, and then put it on to hide it. “So,” she began,” Tell me more about you …” “Well… I’m an actor,” Olaf began, “Hooky, over there,” he pointed, “is one of my cast I use.” Esmé nodded. “But to be honest,” he said, “I’m evil. And I’m proud.” Esmé frowned slightly. “Evil? Seems… exciting, I guess.” “Of course, I’m skillful with my tactics, if I say so myself.” Olaf continued. Esmé thought more. Her life wasn’t going well at the moment… and Olaf seemed so nice, she loved him. So it seemed like the right thing to do. If the good won’t work, turn to the bad. That could be her new motto. She giggled inside. “Sounds great,” she admitted, “So, who else is in your troupe?” “Just people,” Olaf confessed, “None worth discussing.” “Well,” Esmé said, and tugged his tie, pulling him towards her, “Any room for one more?” She stared into his eyes,” But I could be more than just a member of your troupe.” She smiled. Olaf smiled. And they kissed. Beatrice broke them up. “Excuse me!” she snapped, “I’m trying to get some punch!” She shoved them both slightly, then got some punch, and went on her way.
“Beatrice,” Esmé snarled, “She’s always so horrible to me, but so nice to everyone else. She gets all the attention, all the men, not that I want any, now I have you.” Olaf shrugged, smiling. “But I’ve known her since we were little,” Esmé said, “And she’s always had that one thing more then me, she’d get the best bike, and when I got it, she would have the new best one. I was always just some random kid out there to pick on.” Olaf raised his one eyebrow above his mask. “So, you want to get rid of her?” he asked slyly. Esmé sighed. “Yes!” she insisted. Olaf chuckled. “That can be arranged, my dear Esmé.” he said, and held her hand. Esmé was confused, but she didn’t ask any questions, just stared into Olaf’s sparkling eyes. Then, he yanked her towards him, and they kissed once more.
The Saturday 667
Editorial Page
Dear Reader of The Saturday 667,
This is the first issue of the new weekly newspaper for 667 Dark Avenue. Allow me to introduce the writers of this paper to you.
Writing the Editorial Page will be me, JeromeSqualor
Writing the Interviews Page will be euromegamouth
Writing the Theory Page will be Nightmare Before Christmas
Writing the Fanfic and Fanart will be Marmite
And Writing the Games Page will be Sunny's Pacifier
Every Saturday we will be sending out The Saturday 667. You don’t have to read it, of course we hope you do, but if you do choose to read it, there will be an assortment of the articles mentioned above. Well, I hope you enjoy…
- Jerome
Some Fun Facts on Lemony Snicket:
1. His chauffer and he were once trapped on an island surrounded by man-eating crocodiles.
2. His pen’s name is Alphonse.
3. He sleeps with 40 flashlights.
Fanfics Page
By Marmite
Evil Meets
Esmé Squalor, Standing elegantly in her room, she began to do her hair for the masked ball. Going alone… That’s what was “in”… Or that’s what she said. For the masked ball, she was going dressed as a butterfly. That’s a lot more beautiful then what Beatrice was going as.
Beatrice. Esmé scowled as she thought of her. How could a woman with such small interest with things that were “in” have so many men?
Esmé didn’t like to think that she was jealous, but she kept thinking of that first afternoon tea with Beatrice. How Beatrice had bragged… How spiteful she was… And even then, she’d go to steal the sugar bowl. Esmé wanted that sugar bowl. She needed it. She attached her beautiful pink wings, ones that would make Beatrice look like she had swam out of a dumpster. Esmé snorted as she thought of Beatrice in pain, crawling out with her stupid wings of the gross dumpster. Finally, Esmé put on her purple and pink mask. She stood up from her “in” desk, and walked towards the door in her shimmering pink dress… which had varieties of beautiful colors morphed into it. She opened the door to her apartment, on 556 Dark Avenue, and made her way down the stairs. The taxi was there waiting. Esmé walked and sat on the comfy leather seats. “To the masked ball,” she insisted quickly, shutting her door tight, and the car began setting off. Esmé sat and thought. This was not something she did very often. She thought about Beatrice again. She seemed… so popular. And she didn’t even have to try. She could walk into a bar, and have men at her feet. Esmé didn’t get that. Not even one bit important was Esmé. But then again, if she befriend with the popular girl, she’d become popular herself. That would mean putting up with Beatrice though. Esmé sighed. It would be worth it. Esmé chuckled as she thought back more. Lemony Snicket, Beatrice’s old boyfriend…. How upset Beatrice had been when they split up. How happy Esmé had been to see Beatrice in so much woe. Lemony had apparently begun burning down things, rebelling against V.F.D. Beatrice was left no choice. In fact, Lemony seemed like Esmé’s type of guy, outgoing, mysterious. But of course, Beatrice had to get him.
Esmé cringed, stupid Beatrice. The car parked outside of a great hall with many trees around it. Esmé could hear the music from outside. It was peaceful. She scowled. It was Beatrice’s type of music. She got out of the car, forgetting to pay. Why should Esmé Squalor pay, after all? She opened the marble doors and walked into the elegant room. There were buffet tables around the four large walls. There were red carpets leading up the stairs to the veranda and the inside balconies, along with a huge stage for the band. There were people dressed up dancing together to the violins and saxophones playing, galore. Esmé frowned. Who would she dance with? She walked over to the buffet table, and with the supplied ladle, put some punch in a paper cup.
She sipped some. It seemed nice. She took a whole gulp. Something about it seemed different. It seemed, almost lumpy. Ugh… She turned and spat out the red liquid. It sprayed over a passing woman, who stopped back, and screamed slightly. “Sorry,” Esmé began, as she finished choking. She looked up, and smiled. Beatrice… “Oh,” she scowled,” Look what the cat dragged in.” She had forgotten the plan. Befriend the popular girl, and you’ll become popular yourself. Beatrice chuckled. “Oh, aren’t you good at insults,” she sneered. As Esmé walked towards her, Beatrice let out a bony hand and struck her across the face. “That’s for ruining my dress!” she cried. Esmé slapped back. “And that’s for wearing it in the first place!” she cried, “That thing was ruined when you put it on! Beatrice scowled. Besides “Esmé said “Shouldn’t you be having a line of men behind you? Or did they all realize what a disgusting tramp you are?” Beatrice said nothing. She got some punch, and walked away. Esmé muttered “magee…” She rubbed her cheek. Beatrice had the nerve. This is Esmé Squalor she’s talking to, not some random woman off the streets. Esmé looked around. All the men there were with Beatrice. No one seemed to realize what a waste of space she was. They were ignorant. Esmé wasn’t even going to go near ignorant people. She remained at the other side of the hall, swirling the ladle around in the punch. Was there ever going to be someone for her? She may be a financial adviser, someone who was in for work, someone who had money, but she was just like any other woman. She wanted someone to be there with her, but there was never going to be anyone! She cried in her thoughts. The door opened again, and some man with hooks for hands held it open for someone. Esmé watched as the man walked through. He was wearing a tail coat, and a small bow tie. His trousers were normal really, seemed quite dirty though. Esmé was uninterested. The hook handed man shut the door behind them. Esmé sighed. More fans for Beatrice, but they didn’t walk towards Beatrice, they walked towards her. “Hello,” the man said, smiling, showing his dirty teeth. Esmé was disgusted. His hair was graying. It stuck out at the backs, and Esmé admitted that the style was quite “in”. “Hello,” she said, and smiled back with her perfect white teeth, “I’m Esmé Squalor.” The man rolled his eyes.
“I remember that,” he said, and gasped, “You’re a financial advisor, right?” Esmé nodded, and smiled more. She was getting recognized! “Why, yes, I am,” she replied, “And…who are you?” “Me?” the man asked, “I am Count Olaf. Just call me Olaf. I don’t use my title when talking to wonderful people, just when I want to make myself sound important.” Esmé smiled. “You don’t have to have a title for that,” she smiled, “You look important as it is.” “Why thank you,” Olaf said in his hoarse voice, “And I must say the same to you. You look beautiful. Although Olaf was not dressed up, he still had a mask, a rather simple blue one. “May I see your face?” he asked.
Esmé blushed, and smiled more. “Of course, Olaf,” she said, and removed her small pink mask. Olaf gasped, and held a hand to her face. “More beautiful then I imagined,” he said. Esmé blushed more, and then put it on to hide it. “So,” she began,” Tell me more about you …” “Well… I’m an actor,” Olaf began, “Hooky, over there,” he pointed, “is one of my cast I use.” Esmé nodded. “But to be honest,” he said, “I’m evil. And I’m proud.” Esmé frowned slightly. “Evil? Seems… exciting, I guess.” “Of course, I’m skillful with my tactics, if I say so myself.” Olaf continued. Esmé thought more. Her life wasn’t going well at the moment… and Olaf seemed so nice, she loved him. So it seemed like the right thing to do. If the good won’t work, turn to the bad. That could be her new motto. She giggled inside. “Sounds great,” she admitted, “So, who else is in your troupe?” “Just people,” Olaf confessed, “None worth discussing.” “Well,” Esmé said, and tugged his tie, pulling him towards her, “Any room for one more?” She stared into his eyes,” But I could be more than just a member of your troupe.” She smiled. Olaf smiled. And they kissed. Beatrice broke them up. “Excuse me!” she snapped, “I’m trying to get some punch!” She shoved them both slightly, then got some punch, and went on her way.
“Beatrice,” Esmé snarled, “She’s always so horrible to me, but so nice to everyone else. She gets all the attention, all the men, not that I want any, now I have you.” Olaf shrugged, smiling. “But I’ve known her since we were little,” Esmé said, “And she’s always had that one thing more then me, she’d get the best bike, and when I got it, she would have the new best one. I was always just some random kid out there to pick on.” Olaf raised his one eyebrow above his mask. “So, you want to get rid of her?” he asked slyly. Esmé sighed. “Yes!” she insisted. Olaf chuckled. “That can be arranged, my dear Esmé.” he said, and held her hand. Esmé was confused, but she didn’t ask any questions, just stared into Olaf’s sparkling eyes. Then, he yanked her towards him, and they kissed once more.
