Oh, jesus tap-dancing christ . . . if you really don't know what the Enquirer is, there's no hope for you.1)2)
Nevertheless, it's high time we start giving out some facts about it!
The Enquirer's Headquarters is actually a large, rancid, urine soaked tent, cleverly in an undisclosed location. Sorry if that doesn't seem very glamorous, but you should've thought about that before you became an English Major, eh?
An elderly editor who doesn't allow "naughty words" into his "precious paper" lest they "sully its dignity" and "tarnish its reputation".
Regardless, he seems to have little idea of how to do the important thing of catching typos.3)
He is responsible for the title of the page The Watcher's *Ahem*, as well as its content, or lack there-of.
He also regularly edited Ask Full Metal Loin, though eyewitnesses claim he usually inebriated himself before doing so.
"Hello... Mitchal? Mitchel? Mitchaeel? How do you pronounce your name, boy?"
"... 'Mitch', sir."
-- Gerald and Mitcheal, during Mitcheal's job interview.
Mitchael is the yin to Gerald's yang. The up to his down. The anachronism to his finely-crafted novel set in 18th century France. Mitchael is the cliched, young, idealistic kid4) on the Enquirer's staff. Well, he was. Eventually, he became, through Gerald's... Geraldness... a cynical bucket of resentment.5) The two are a comedy duo6), Michael is the decent-guy straight man Gerald bothers, and Gerald is the stupid one with the power. Despite this, Mitchael sticks with the paper out of some misguided ideals about "the value of information" and possibly "loyalty".
A reporter! Suspected communist. Might be Mitchael's tortured soul manifesting as a person. Has written one thing for us.
A class of particularly expendable sub-human creatures, closely related to the "Undergraduates" of legend, but willing to work for much less money. In fact, they don't get paid at all! A few of them are rumored to have names, but that's just ridiculous.
The last line of defense between lies and the Imprima-- erm... the printing press, and, eventually, the impressionable readership. Not known to hang around Ask Full Metal Loin. Or really, most pages. One day hopes to be an investigative journalist who rides around on a motorcycle.
Rumours about a group of thugs that suppresses other, non-Enquirer sources of printed news are vehemently denied. In reality, the thugs just bake the rest of the staff pies. Tiny, tiny, pies.7)8)