In an unprecedented display of collective sorrow, the United Kingdom is set to hold a nationwide moment of reflection as its venerable newspapers prepare to print their final editions. With an air of defeat, citizens lament the impending extinction of ink-filled pages, clutching their steaming cups of tea while weeping into Sunday supplements. “What will we do without the rustling of newsprint under our fingers?” mourned one distraught reader, who insisted on being identified solely as Mrs. Prudence Tea-Drinkington, 87. “I can’t bear the thought of scrolling through articles on my ‘telephonically genius’ device. It’s not the same, you see!” As the clock ticks down to midnight, the final gusts of wind are anticipated to be filled with the sweet scent of printer’s ink, as delivery vans blaze one last path through dreary British neighborhoods. Residents are much too busy fight over the windswept remnants of a bygone era and strategizing ways to memorialize their favorite tabloid headlines in their homes, with one local artist announcing plans to erect a statue of a fallen newsprint tree, captioned “Here Lies the Ink That Once Was.” Once the epitome of Britain’s proud intellectualism and fantastical gossip, the region's newspapers have fallen victim to the cold grasp of the digital age, where articles are now delivered through glitchy notifications and pop-up ads that interrupt even the simplest of reading pleasures. Radio programs were heard debating the issue all week with the intensity of a political debate, leaving guests in despair as they recalled tales of reliable gossip columns, solemn obituaries, and the resplendent joy of finding a surprise crossword puzzle mixed in with serious civil unrest. As newspapers prepare their grand exit, Media Minister Wally Wodehouse announced today a glorious farewell party that will transform into the nation’s calendar landmark for decades to come. “Let us not pretend we aren’t all bereft. We have lost a friend,” Wodehouse said clutching a tattered broadsheet like an old flame. “This is worse than losing WiFi for the weekend!” To ensure no tears were shed in vain, the government is providing free tissues and chamomile tea to the grieving public, alongside “forget-me-not” pamphlets on how to navigate the treacherous terrain of social media commentary without succumbing to despair. “Lies and misinformation will be there to comfort you!” Wodehouse heartily added, before addressing swirling rumors that he had indeed just learned to text emojis. In an effort to adapt to a world without traditional journalism, newspapers are heavily investing in “Nostalgia Boxes,” which include curated editions of front pages from historic events, should families wish to bury something that does not exist beneath digital rubble. One resident storefront, Not Another Yard Sale, has already reported a queuing crisis as locals are determined to reclaim their latest collection of “truly good news.” With impending doom hanging over the final print, online comment sections swirled with heated debates, some daring to even propose solutions: “How about we just stop using technology and go back to quills?” chimed one passionate conservative. “This country once fought for paper—why stop now?” As the last issue goes to print, all we can do is brace for the aftermath. How, indeed, will the nation recover when only pixels and bytes remain? And should we now anticipate our local barista offering “extra shots” not just of espresso, but of “Que Sera, Sera” to make this heartache a tad more palatable? In the grand tradition of British comedy, we shall disguise our tears with terrible puns and overly awkward humor, until somehow, yet again, the ink runs dry.