The Editor

There are some days when I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. This is one of them. I’m not a proud man, God knows, but even I never thought I’d sink this low.
Another sip of coffee, another intake of breath and another… and of course the phone rings.
“Heeeeeeeeeeeey,” he says. Of course it’s him. His is the kind of nasal whine that can be heard a whole block away. Of course it had to be him on a day like today.
“Hi,” I say with as much cheer as I can muster, “what’s up?”
As I say these words, pure black hatred surges through my veins: directed at him? Directed at me? I don’t even think it matters any more.
“Well, I’ve got an idea for a strip. I just wanted to – gnnnnnuuuurr,” an intake of breath, all nose, I could swear he hasn’t got a mouth, “run it by you.”
“Shoot,” I say. More coffee. More cold coffee.
“Well, ok - gnnuur -

Panel 1: Fumbles says to Ninjarina, 'I’m writing a screenplay', and ah-hur-ha-hur-ha
Panel 2: Fumbles says 'It’s going to be called “No words in Star Wars” there’s going to be no words in Star Wars in it'.”

Sweet Jesus. I caress my temples and rub my scalp.

“Panel 3: Ninjarina says, “Go on”.
Panel 4: Fumbles reading from his script says, get this, 'Act one, scene 1 on the forest moon of Enderon Chewbacca is waking', and Ninjarina says 'woah, woah woah, I’m going to have to stop you there'”

I breathe in. Count to three.
“Sounds great, send it through, we’ll run it on Monday.”
I hang up.
Jesus.