Okay...you are a news reporter on the biggest scoop of the century! Can you write an amusing paragraph...?

Question

or two or more that includes these phrases?

1. A little gun. A little knife. A little murder in the night.
2. When I checked the Caller ID, it was HIM!!
3. I turned around...... my camera man was gone.
4. This is bigger than the BEATLES.
5. If this turns out to be Paris Hilton leaving a party, I'll kill you!
6. And I'm just talkin' about the vegetables, I haven't gotten to the fruits yet.

Answer 1

'What a boring week' I said to Jim Giles my cameraman 'nothing happening on our patch and not a single line worth sending to the Nationals. If things don't pick up soon, we will have to dig out some old stories from the archives and jazz them up a bit'. Jim, who has seen the good times and the bad times on our local paper, the Urban Gazette, did not seem to be in the least bit worried. I had always suspected that he was moonlighting as a Papparazzi under a false name and supplemented his average wage with some spicy photos of so-called celebrities.
With a circulation of 50,000 and local news being our main diet, I prayed for the day when I would get the 'Big One', the scoop that would propell me into one of the big National Dailies, such as the Mirror or the Sun. Now that was big money.
The phone on the desk rang and I casually picked it up. 'Joe Boyle, Urban Gazette, how can I help you?' I asked. There was a momentary silence on the line then the words I had been waiting for. 'A little gun. A little knife. A little murder in the night' the voice said. I knew it was him and his information was always first rate. For some unknown reason, he always used the same code and wanted to be known as 'Sore Throat' and had never in fact shown his face to me. I strongly suspected that he was either a high-ranking Police Officer, probably from Special Branch at the Yard or someone who had excellent contacts with the Houses of Parliament.
I turned around to give Jim the thumbs up, but no sign of him. My camera man was gone.
'Listen carefully Joe' the voice said 'get yourself down to the Piccadilly Hotel, put a few quid about with the staff and find out who is at this moment in Room 201. You won't be disappointed'. I repeated exactly what he had told me, then added 'Listen Sore' I whispered back down the line 'If this turns out to be Paris Hilton leaving a party, I'll kill you if I ever find out who you are'. We both laughed.
I called out for the cameraman but he was nowhere to be found. Mary, one of the general dogsbodies in the office suggested 'He left in a hurry with his camera after listening to you on the phone. He wasn't hanging about'. 'Darn it' I said aloud 'if he is up to his old tricks I'll make sure he never works in journalism again'.
As I passed Mary she asked 'What have you got Joe?'. 'Just a little musical tip Mary and this is bigger than the Beatles'. I returned to my desk as a thought had just occurred to me. I checked the Caller ID and it was him, I recognised the public call box he always used. I knew the location in Victoria but it did not help me any more than I already knew.
As I entered the Hotel all nonchalantly, noone took a blind bit of notice of me. I sat in one of the foyer armchairs and had a good look around me. For 10am on a Friday morning, I would have expected a bit of movement but the place looked deserted.
I saw a porter with whom I had dealings in the past and called him over. I handed him a twenty pound note and he looked at me. 'What can you tell me Dave' I asked in a low voice. 'Nothing new Mr. Boyle - nothing worthwhile at all today for you'. I looked at him and I knew that there was something he was not telling me. I folded over another twenty as he began to nervously move away and said 'Speak to me Dave - Room 201'. I waved the note for him to see. 'Do me a favour Mr. Boyle' Dave pleaded and I could see the fear in his eyes and he nervously looked around me 'It could cost me more than my job'.
I just knew it was something really big. I produced a fifty pound note and Dave's eyes really lit up. 'I've got him' I thought, then added 'it's yours Dave if you let me have the pass key and your coat for one minute and noone will ever know'. 'One minute and that's all, Mr. Boyle - promise' Dave pleaded. 'Done' I said as I handed him the fifty.
We made our way to the kitchen where I was going to change coats but were stopped on entry by a junior Chef. He put up his hand blocking our way. 'Westminster Council Health Inspection' I said with authority. I produced my wallet and flashed it. He did not even see it but looked around himself as if worried. 'My God' I exclaimed 'but the state of this place is a disgrace. Look at this. I pointed to some chickens hanging by the side. That's reportable'. The junior Chef was quaking in his boots. 'Look at these' I pointed to some cabbages and half peeled potatoes. 'It's disgusting and I'm just talking about the vegetables. I haven't gotten to the fruits yet. Right young man, I want you to run and get the Manager before we go a step further. Run along, that's a good man'.
As soon as he was out of sight, I swopped coats with Dave and took the electronic master pass key. We both disappeared within seconds.
I made my way to the fourth floor and saw Room 201. Without thinking twice, I ran the pass key and opened the door. I walked in not knowing what to expect. I continued straight into the bedroom and the sight that met my eyes shocked me to the core. It was a man whom I instantly recognised with one of the biggest women I have ever seen in my life. The stark naked man was lashed to the bed hands and feet whilst she stood over him dressed in the weirdest leather gear and mask brandishing a bull-whip.
Without warning, I has struck from behind on the head with a heavy object and fell to the floor. Before I passed out I made out the flashing of a camera and someone whom I was ninety-nine percent certain was Jim Giles. I vaguely remember being pulled and carried away by Dave the porter into a cupboard where we remained until all the hullabaloo died down.
When I returned to the Newspaper office and spoke to the editor and explained what I had seen all he said was 'Where is the photo Jim'. 'Sorry guvnor' I had to reply 'didn't have a cameraman'. 'In which case' the editor finished 'the story is not worth a light without it. Scrub it Jim. Better luck next time'.
I returned to my office totally dejected to be met by Jim Giles. 'You so-and-so' I said to him 'it was you, wasn't it'. All the cheapskate said as he lit a cigarette was 'A man has got to live Dave, a man has got to live'.
There I was a week later, looking at a German Magazine with photographs of one of the top politicians of the British Government, and I mean top, playing games with Miss Whiplash, stark naked and I could not even print a sentence about it. I must admit that a couple of days later I was not in the least bit surprised when Jim Giles arrived at work with a brand new Mercedes which must have cost at least fifty grand....................

Answer 2

It was two a.m. and I was more than comfortable in my huge four poster bed with the flannel sheets that were just perfect for a chilled January night. Dreams were invading and putting a smile on my face until a sharp, shrill ringing pierced the exciting vision of Orlando Bloom and Brad Pitt washing my car. With a groan, I turned over to try and ignore it but alas, the ringing wouldn't stop. When I checked the caller ID, it was Him. Him, the boss, the big man with another breaking story that would most likely end up being the fact that a senators cat had a litter of kittens and whatever should they name them?! Grumbling under my breath, I turned over once more to pick it up, muttering in that low 'you interrupted my sleep' growl that I have. "If this turns out to be Paris Hilton leaving a party, I'll kill you!" Oh yeah, I did it. Ran out at three a.m. to watch the queen of slutdom leave a party early. What a story. What a rush.

Stretching out on my back I looked up at the ceiling as I listened to him ramble on about a little gun, a little knife, a little murder in the night...? What was this, a bad dick tracy movie? This guy had was seriously a few potatoes short of a bushel, a few kernels short of an ear of corn, a carrot without it's stem...and I'm just talkin' about the vegetables, I haven't gotten to the fruits yet. He definitely wasn't eatin' his apple a day, if you know what I mean. "This is bigger than the beatles! Bigger than Nicole Richie!" No kidding, anything is bigger than Nicole Richie. Oh well. Sounds like I'll be taking off again to chase after a little knife...or was it a little gun?

Answer 3

Karma certainly did a great job... she deserves the 10 pts :) i'm only here to read the story and get my 2 pts worth... sorry... not feeling imaginative, that's why :) some other time, dear...