A Portentous Estate SaleCommentary • ISSUE 36•41 • Nov 15, 2000 By T. Herman Zweibel, Publisher Emeritus (photo circa 1911) Several months ago, I informed The Onion's Middle-western readers of their impending sale as part of an offering of this news-paper's mid-continental distribution district. This transaction was conceived as a way to shore-up the paper's dwindling cash reserves. I still believe my asking price of $20 million and the marriage-hand of Lillian Gish was more than fair, but to date I have received no letters of inquiry. God damn my fellow plutocrats for the weak-willed, lily-livered cheap-skates they are! So, in lieu of this transaction, I was forced to sift through my mansion to look for any salable items I might have laying about the place that would be suitable for the auction-block. I charged this important task to several servants, most of whom soon became unaccounted for, presumably either making mad-dashes for freedom or being consumed by the Mor-locks who reside in the base-ment. A few managed to crawl back to the main foyer with some objects, of which I was able to select a catalogue that I fully believe will bring a good price and keep me in disposable diaper-maids for another quarter. For sale on offer, certain items formerly attached to the Zweibel Estate: Busts of Mother Zweibel, lot of 44, some tear-staining. An oaken credenza, five feet high by four feet deep by 86 feet long. Suitable for royalty. Plenty of space for china and silver-ware. Was once HMS Redoubtable, now decommissioned. The Stone Of Scone. One fine German-made Zeppelin, confiscated for religious reasons by T. Herman Zweibel's Swiss Guard. Warranty expired. No guarantee expressed or implied. Sporting shade of grey. Smells somewhat of mildew. A medium-sized casque of bright and shining jewels roughly the size of hen's eggs. Several bright-eyed buck Irish-men. The Type-setter's Stone, a mystical tailing of basalt which transforms gold into the purest lead. Several absconded ballot-boxes from the election of 1912. 12,044 quarts of billionaire's urine, in jars. What a plethora of munificence! What glorious crap! I hate to part with it. But I have no doubt that it shall all be sold by the time you read this, and I shall be rolling in filthy lucre once more.