Dear Readers:

While waiting in a Greyhound Bus Station on the way home for Winter Break, one of our staff members was accosted by a pale, wiry old man with unruly hair and a scraggly white beard that apparently had once housed a number of birds (judging from the number of twigs entwined therein).  According to the staff member (whom we shall call Marla for the sake of anonymity) the man wore a mud-caked t-shirt on which were scrawled the words “ERIS IS MY HOMEGIRL” in nearly illegible script.  His shorts were equally caked with mud.  Well, one would hope it was mud.  He wobbled over, put a grimy hand on Marla’s shoulder and said in hurried speech:
“Hey, hey, hey…man, hey.  My name’s Torver Tater.  Got any quack?”
“Quack?” asked Marla
“Yeah, man, yeah.  Y’know, quack!  Mesclapine, Tallivum, Repcocet, whathaveyouz... ”
“Uh, not… on me.” replied Marla, hoping the man would go away.
“Cool, man.  Cool.  I’ve cronked a bit of LISID in my time, too.”
“Apparently.”
“What?”
“Nothing.  Listen, it’s been great talking to you and all, but I have an urgent appointment to wait for my bus… over there.” Marla pointed to an area closer to a police officer.  Much closer.  Before she was halfway there, Torver Tater walked up and stopped her.
“Holdya jib, my friend.  No need to scruvy off just yet.”  Before Marla could reply (or defend herself –she hadn’t decided which) Torver Tater said, “I’ve got a message for you.”  His eyes rolled back into his head, and as he spoke in a much clearer, calm, almost regal voice, his balance wavered, but he did not fall.  This is a word for word transcription of his message:

Being the First Decree from Emperor Norton I Since His Death

WHEREAS, not having sufficient warning of our death to name a suitable heir was a most regrettable occurrence;
WHEREAS it has taken us considerable time to devise a way to speak to our subjects from beyond the grave;
WHEREAS, these United States have been without a legitimate ruler for some one-hundred and twenty-five years;
NOW, THEREFORE, we do hereby bestow the Emperorship, with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities which this title entails upon each and every member of the publication known as Tabula Rasa, operating from the township of Salem, Virginia.  Details regarding a coronation ceremony will follow before long.

After the message was finished, the man seemed to loose interest in Marla, and ambled over to a man in a three piece suit.  “Hey, hey, hey…man, hey.  My name’s Torver Tater.  Got any quack?”
Upon returning to school, Marla told us of this encounter.  No one on the staff had ever heard of an Emperor Norton and certainly not one who reigned in the States.  We did a bit of research and found that indeed, and Emperor Norton I did reign in the U.S. (sort of).  Joshua Norton was a businessman living in San Francisco, CA in the mid to late 1800’s.  After attempting to corner the rice market and failing horribly, he proclaimed himself Emperor of “These United States” and “reigned” for 21 years before he died.  He even tried to dissolve Congress.  No shit.  Look it up.
We debated as a group and meditated separately on this for quite some time, and have decided only a legitimate Emperor could speak to his subjects from beyond the grave, especially through someone like Torver Tater.  We see no other course of action than to take this decree as genuine (not whimsical ramblings from a crackpot at a Greyhound station) and begin our reign following the coronation ceremonies.  Details have yet to arrive… Hey, no need to scruvy off just yet.

Enjoy the new issue, faithful subjects!