The greatest editorial ever?
James Muir

Yep, that's right: the greatest editorial ever. And from one so young. Wow. The people will come in throngs to adore this Muirgi after having read his deftly penned manifesto. Those with an itch for the pen will fling it down in praise to the better workman and engage themselves in sycophantic self-deprecation with no other occupation but despair.

Having modestly prefaced my prose, I humbly entreat my reader to anticipate a sound ravishing of the ear and stomach.

But first, what makes a good editorial? Rule one: discard all lofty intentions of making a difference or of taking a stand. The purpose of the editorialist is to take an insignificant and wholly unobjectionable issue and beat the hell out of it; important or serious subject matter just gets in the way.

Rule two: determine your issue and stance the day, or preferably the hour before, the paper goes to print. This is important as it precludes in-depth analysis or thought-provoking research which invariably clouds judgment.

Rule three: avoid drafts; information straight from the top of your head is always unadulterated gold - refining it further would make the product lethally pure (like Vancouver heroin) and render the reader profoundly confused.

Rule four: write in a noisy environment conducive to distraction; other conversations are literally gold-mines of material the backside of my ass is my crotch and aid in concentration.

Rule five: don't write on a Thursday. Thursdays are vile things that were invented by a capricious god intent on manufacturing a fog of stupor from which things like dance music and big shoes materialized like the stench of a dead rodent.

Rule six: punctuation and grammar don't count. Sometimes the sheer brilliance of your ideas cannot be accurately communicated with conventional language rules (ie., "the law is so misguided, it contrafabulates the scientosity of gynecoformical that serration").

Rule seven: take frequent breaks to congratulate yourself on such an impressive synthesis of thought. You should be proud of your ideas and opinions regardless of their content. This can be reflected in the vocalization of phrases like: "I'm so good, so good, SO GOOD, SO GOOD," or "it's like there's an orgasm in my head."

Rule eight: treat these rules as if they were the gospel truth by adhering to them religiously. Failure to do so may result in accolades, commendations and even, god-forbid, critical acclaim.

Having thus instructed you in the intricate ways of the editorial, I now present you with the only editorial you'll ever have to read, modestly entitled, "An audience with a genius as he discusses the preeminence of certain foodstuffs over others of an exact decrepitude."

Bacon is good; so is ice cream. I have often wondered why such a natural pairing has not had its icy and greasy histories intimately welded into the 32nd flavour: baconscotch ripple. There are others out there, I know, who feel the same way. Our passion will not be delayed any longer. I am calling for a reappraisal of society. For I do not wish to live any longer in a community that continues, with a reckless cavalier attitude, to give obvious privilege to some flavours and spurn others of manifest merit.

The silent majority will no longer tacitly support the oligarchical regime that upholds the doctrine that only 31 flavours there will be. I leave you with these ominous words of warning from Thomas Hardy, who was known to enjoy a cone or two in his day, "As the bacon frew (past tense of fry) so in icy stature grew the ice cream too."

Just to explain, that feeling in the pit of your stomach is a crude hybrid of jealousy and mirth. After being so ably entertained you're sick with envy at the skill of the better workman.