For those who aren’t familiar with the historic relevancy of The Door, it is home to a collection of newspaper faux pas that have been pasted, glued, taped, licked-and-stuck, or otherwise adhered there by reporters at Siuslaw News since the 1970s. It is a shrine, of sorts, celebrating the kind of journalistic shame, blame and brilliance that can only arise through a well-timed typo, missplelled mispleled a word spelled wrong or, in some cases, chosen specifically for its double entendre.
That brings us to today’s historic addition to The Door, which I’m pretty sure was simply the result of unintentional double entendre thanks to poor word choice. Or possibly a drunken proof reader. Whatever the reason, we are thankful and happy to include it on The Door for posterity — which is especially fitting when you consider there is a commode on the other side.
Before continuing, we must first join hands and repeat the following phrase in a monotoned voice similar to Justin Bieber’s press agent:
The Door is a beacon, guiding us into the jagged rocks of journalism…
Ok, everyone can let go now. I’m sorry if my hands were a little sweaty.
Without further adieu — and quickly, before Joe gives a second curtesy flush — here is the latest addition to The Door…
Before jumping to any conclusions, I should clarify this is a serious medical feature about the connection between fatty weiners and strokes. If you thought differently, well… frankly I’m embarrassed.
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(Ned Hickson is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. His first book, Humor at the Speed of Life, is available from Port Hole Publications, Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble.)
Ned's Blog 
Hmmmm, I don’t have a “Frank” to hold – my husband’s name is something else.
Oh, wait …
How about Oscar?
Nope. Nice try, though.
The chief sub on my weekly paper once wrote, ‘Schizophrenic killed herself with two plastic bags’ and nobody noticed until it was published. Awful.
Lol! Yikes! Just be glad it was only two.
Be very embarrassed for me (and I always forget the 2 “r”‘s in that word)….
I think you have a problem with Ronald…he seems very into your hair. But I can understand that, it’s pretty awesome 🙂
Anything else and I would’ve been disappointed, Ann.
And thanks, I grew it myself 😉
I would hate to disappoint you, Ned. I suspect I have a reputation to uphold (such as it is).
I don’t think it’s anything you’ll ever need to worry about.
That makes me happy 🙂
I enjoy holding The Frank as much as the next guy. No, I don’t actually know the next guy, but I assume he enjoys it as much as I do.
I would assume the same goes for anyone named Oscar.
That’s a definite maybe.
In my experience, fatty franks have always been good, tasty and hard to hold. But I will try to hold them next time.
Sometimes it takes two hands.
But you’re looking so pensive in your photo, Ned. Do you need to go to the other side of that door? 😉
I regularly look irregular.
Much adieu? You know I hate goodbyes!
Ahem, I mean “further adieu.” Whatever. I’m making much adieu about nothing.
Aloha! (That about covers it)
That IS French, right?
As a fellow journalist, I can’t help laughing my ass off at these things. The double entrendres get me laughing the most, though the well-timed typo has been known to have me rolling.
These kinds of flubs get me laughing the hardest. I think it’s because journalism is supposed to be so serious most of the time. Unless it’s FOX News…
i think that holding the frank has been known to lead to all kinds of things.
You mean… like relish?
Now I know what I’ll be saying to the Mister tonight…
“Can I hold your frank?”
Don’t forget the beans 😉
If you’re holding the frank, you are already half way to the stroke.
I’m sure that phrase was uttered at least once by Tiger Woods in a single’s bar.
Always saw that as a stroke enhancement
For me, it’s more like a struck of luck.
At least a Frank hold will give one a good nap before they have a stroke..
Especially if his name is Nelson.
Well there you go, killing two birds with one umm..stone.
Hey, it’s better than a smackdown 😉
You can say that again!
Headline writer allowed to keep job; hotdog!
Only following a frank discussion about the merits of stroking the rim guy’s ego and asking for a second read.
Oh, Ned, the Door, the Door, long live the Door.
Hahaha! Thanks, Mark!
On the serious side, Ned, may your Door always stay swinging open. Yesterday I chose to remember my shop.
http://markbialczak.com/2015/03/10/photo-101-putting-big-in-a-new-daily-qscale/
I loved your piece, Mark, which captures bitter-sweet remembrances I could relate to in a way only journalists can. Thanks for sharing, and for reading.
If I hold my kitty will it prevent a stroke of the kitty?
I’m really hoping so, John…
First time I read the title, I read it the way it’s supposed to be read, and had no clue why the image was up…until you spoke of your double-entendre; you guys have a dirty mind.
Haha! I can’t speak for everyone, but a dirty mind is how I keep my sanity. It doesn’t hurt my marriage any, either… 😉
No, you’ve never gotten in any trouble with the wife, no-sir-ee…
The Door is a bourbon, numbing us to the jags of journalism.
You deserve an Oscar Mayer for this blog.
That would be swell. Or swollen.
Brilliant. The best part is that Dr. Fuhrman is going to be immortalized for this boner, and not the editor responsible. (Yes. Yes, I did.)
I was going to go there but decided to wait for you. Glad I did 😉