Back from the Jungle, Straight into a Desert of Attention Spans
When I returned from my journey, sweaty, muddy, spiritually confused, and carrying a glowing typewriter ribbon of unknown origin, I expected applause. Or at least a muffin.
Instead, I returned to chaos, unpaid utility bills, and a newsroom that smelled like fermented bananas and existential dread. Professor Archibald von Whiskertuft had staged an intellectual coup, Diesel had started his own side hustle selling questionable smoothies, and Zippy had formed a kazoo militia.
But none of that worried me. What worried me, truly, was the silence. The analytics were flat. The newsletter stats were flatter. It was like yelling punchlines into a cave and hearing nothing back but your own sigh.
And now that I’m back…I don’t know if it matters.
I gathered the primates today for a staff meeting. They sat around the conference table, some wearing ties, some chewing them. I looked them in the eyes (except for Nigel, who insists on sunglasses) and told them the truth:
“If people stop reading satire, we’re all out of a job.”
Tilly dropped her pudding. Bob looked like he was going to vomit and cry at the same time. Diesel kept flexing.
They’re not just my employees. They’re misfits. Dreamers. Banana-fueled agents of chaos. And they’ve given everything for The Wink Report, even though one of them thought “SEO” stood for “Sasquatch Evacuation Order.”
But if we can’t get people to care…if we can’t reach beyond my circle of 20 loyal readers and that one Reddit guy who keeps calling us “weirdly accurate”…I don’t know how long we can hold on.
I didn’t come back to give up. But I also didn’t come back to babysit a newsroom built on hope and unpaid coffee tabs.
If you’re reading this, thank you. You are now 5% of our monthly traffic.
Please…tell a friend. Or a literate parrot. Anyone.
Because if this continues, we’re one bad click day away from becoming a banana farm with wi-fi.
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