Jack was working as a reporter at a gossip magazine, not exactly his dream job, but he knew how to write gossip, and he knew how to tell it too.
He'd just written an article about the latest gay couple (this century with its labels. Who cared about sexual preferences?) and how Gary, one of them, was putting on weight and might be pregnant.
Jack felt sorry for the guy: pregnancy was one of the worst things imaginable, 'specially for a guy, and Jack was right, he knew from experience.
Now, Jack was going to be told what was wrong with the article, and something must be wrong, otherwise he wouldn't have been called to the Boss's office.
"Harkness, Harkness. Not really sure what to say," the Boss said, and Jack fought against the instinct to roll his eyes at what the Boss had said. The Earth would stop spinning if the Boss didn't know what to say. "This is great, it is, but, men can't get pregnant, and we would be sued if this was published. We'd have to fire you, and you don't want that. Turn this into something else."
Jack felt stupid. Men getting pregnant this century wasn't possible in this century. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Eh. He could always write something about anorexia and bulimia. Or reveal some celebrity as gay, though, no, that was too this century. He'd have to come up with something else, though he was sure that he was going to succeed.
