Quote:
Originally Posted by vivaldirules
...Something like an as-yet-to-be-published montsnmags enterprises novel but infinitely less understandable, less humorous, and less sane (and without the gibbons).
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He rolls back into the Oortwhale-skin Easyboy ("It's the office chair of champions!"), green smoke slithering upwards from where he'd be curling an upper lip if he had one, tongue twisting salaciously 'round the the lusty end of his hookah ("That's "hookah" with an "aych", child, and you'll do well to keep your mind out the gutter....for now, anyways"), and runs an eye over the "novelist" cringing 'fore him.
Adrian liked his job, screening "artists" for publishability. Oh, sure, on rare occasions he'd have to pass something half-decent through to Editing and Marketing, to give them something to eviscerate and repaint and masturbate over so that the three book chains still in existence (two owned by Montsnmags Enterprises, and the other merely a front for the mostly harmless Illuminati) would be able to fill the "New Release" cardboard towers of babble blocking the entrances to their stores. Mostly though, it was the rejection process - he just liked the jarfull-of-strawberry-jam noise they made when they hit the road from fifth floor, post-defenestration.
He sighed. The "artist" sat humbly (Adrian hated that) in front of him. He buzzed his assistant-laddy - "Lad, bring us some doughnuts...and a coupla Zanys". Slugs of green smoke leached towards his eyes, to be sucked backed by flaring nostrils.
He sighed again.
"So...VR...what would seem to be the problem?"
He liked VR. I mean, once you got past him being a dog and all, without any innate ability to swing from trees, he was not a bad fella.
"Well..."
Cutting him short, cutting him LOUD, "Did I ask you a question, VR?!"
"Well..."
"SHUT IT! I'll ask the questions!"
VR's tail was so far between his legs he was sneezing on its tickle.
"No gibbons...again, hey? I thought we had discussed this. Why are there no gibbons in it?"
"Well...", was shot down quicker than a pig flying over an efficiently run government building.
"VR, I've been in this business a long time. In that three years, I think I've come to know quite well what the people will want. The people will want gibbons. More gibbons. Everywhere gibbons. The High Gibbonate didn't subjugate this planet for its cocktail-mixing abilities, that's for sure..." and the tall glass of Zany Carter exploded in a diamante-glitter of exploding mauve against the departing assistant-laddy's head, "...because
they taste like someone crapped in a pan of vegemite-fried rollmops! He subjugated this planet to enable their undivided attention to see the truth of the Church of Gibbonacy! That truth is "Gibbonz REWL!"
He did like VR though. It didn't do for Adrian to scare the little puppy dog. The Old Gods knew that if you bit the dogs that fed you their hearts and souls, those dogs would remember their teeth soon enough. VR knew that. He knew to play the cowed little puppy dog too. He also knew the High Gibbonate personally. Adrian couldn't argue with that - once you'd sat at the Infinite Table at one of the High Gibbonate's parties...well, let's just say it was good to have the Gods on-side (most of them, anyway).
"Was that necessary, Adrian?" said VR, and, of course, it wasn't. The assistant-laddy had brought in another round, his frown framed by his still-dripping, scaled neck-frill, and Adrian threw him one of his froody towels.
"Yes, of course it was VR. A story requires a little action and I'm afraid to say its current author doesn't have a clue what he's doing at the moment. I needed to throw in some action, and, frankly, the whole defenestration thing...? It wouldn't have brought me back a couple more Zany Carters, would it?".
[Ed.:Also, there are llamas in this story somewhere - maybe just the one - and another Party described in intricate detail. There's a Fairy that you don't want to mess with; a queenly trapeze artist in green jetboots; a robot that won't let anyone else describe him, including the author; a pshrynk (who may or may not be real or may or may not be a figment from a different part of the author's imagination); Oortwhales...lovely, graceful, vacuum loving, sun-fearing, gargantuan, tasty Oortwhales; and gibbons. Lots and lots of gibbons. You can never have too many gibbons, VR]
Cheers
The Author Formerly Known As "Fnord"