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Real Men Don't Get Published
By
John Alejandro King
The following manuscript was reportedly written by a CIA officer named
John Alejandro King (a.k.a. the 'Covert Comic').
Little is known about King, though reliable sources confirm that
he is a male intelligence official who may recently have been the
subject of disciplinary action by the CIA as a result of incidents
surrounding efforts by one or more publishing companies to disseminate
King's writing without his permission.
The manuscript consists of entries in diary form containing King's
accounts of events and his musings on topics ranging from CIA covert
operations, to the meaning of life and the universe, to the real nature
of the book publishing industry. As for how this document was obtained,
that information must for the moment remain classified.
Literary agents wishing to inquire about publishing King's manuscript
are advised not to bother contacting the author via his website, or
through any other channels.
*
Monday
It's not the illusion of reality that need persist, only the illusion of
persistence.
A major literary press offered to publish my writing today. As
happens frequently, I was in my cubicle attending to a national security
matter when I got a call from an agent in New York (I can't divulge the
agent's name – if I told you, you'd have to kill me).
They made the usual promises: advances, royalties, a long-term
commitment.
… And as I always do, I politely deflected the discussion. You
know, so as to decline without making them feel rejected.
See, here's the thing: I'm a CIA officer. More to the point, I'm a
vital, life-affirming, heterosexual male CIA officer. I'm in good
physical shape, I'm considered acceptable in appearance, I'm friendly
and a fun conversationalist, I'm an honorable person … and I also happen
to write. And for whatever reason, when publishing companies see
my writing on the Internet and learn about me, they get interested.
Really interested. In fact, it's frankly amazing how
forward these companies can be when conveying their interest in
publishing your humble writer and spook.
But I turn them all down. It isn't that I'm not flattered, and
even to a certain extent tempted. It's just that I can't in good
faith and conscience agree to their proposals – because the fact of the
matter is that I consider myself a true, authentic man and … real men
don't get published.
Tuesday
Secret 1.4. The question
isn't whether you're cleared for top secret, it's whether you're cleared
for unclassified.
An unauthorized person attempted to enter CIA Headquarters this morning.
Security immediately determined that he was an impostor, because
he resembled his badge photo.
Wednesday
I watch TV, but only to make sure no one turns it on.
It's OK to frequently quote the saying 'Insanity is doing the same thing
over and over again and expecting a different result,' as long as you
don't expect anything to change as a result of doing this.
Thursday
Always keep drugs out of the reach of children. And for maximum
entertainment, keep them
just out of reach.
SpookSpeak.
For Your Eyes Only phr. (Intelligence
Community) For Your Ass Mostly.
Friday
All policy is foreign.
I got your manuscript right here ...
*
Monday
It's easier to fake an orgasm than to fake not having one.
This morning my boss called me into her office. As happens fairly
frequently, she was dissatisfied with one of the characteristic modes in
which my DNA expresses itself.
"What’s wrong, boss?" I asked. "Is
it the particular manner in which my cytoplasm surrounds the vacuoles of
my cell walls?"
"No," she said, "I think you've fixed that problem.
… For now, anyway."
"Actually," she continued, "I wanted to raise to your attention that
you're indenting the columns in your status reporting too far to the
right."
… Oh sure. Like I have some kind of choice in the way my genetic
base pairs are ordered.
Tuesday
Typical themes in CIA operations include money, sex, personal betrayal,
and lust for power.
And that's just to requisition a new laptop.
SpookSpeak.
Conscience n. (From
con +
science). The
set of principles and practices
used to create and perpetuate scams.
Wednesday Can a dog still have its day after it's been spayed or neutered? Or does being spayed or neutered count as its day? A literary agent told me my manuscript had bestseller written all over it. I said I had no idea who could have done that.
Thursday
So many have paved the way before me, there's now nothing before me but
pavement. Got an e-mail from another publishing firm today. The company is called Varon Publishers Inc., and they're located right here in the DC area. Apparently they specialize in works on intelligence and paramilitary-related subject matter. They think my writing is "highly appealing," and that I’m "just perfect for their needs" (where have I heard that before …). They also claim to have worked movie deals with influential production companies – their e-mail said they've turned several books by current and former CIA officers into multi-million dollar action films.
I wrote back and told the people at Varon Publishers that I was honored
by their kind words, but couldn't meet with them any time soon owing to
my work schedule. I resisted the urge to respond to their rather machista overture by letting them in on the secret, the secret
that … real men don't get published.
Friday
If I don't love something, is it still OK to set it free?
*
Monday
Secret 0.881219. If all the world's a stage, America is the shiny
vertical pole in the middle.
Best-selling authors don't care if you read their book, as long as you
buy it.
Worst-selling authors don't care if you buy their book, as long as you
read it.
Real male authors are pretty sure they know what a book is, and they're
pretty sure their book is in their pants.
Tuesday
In 'The Elements of Style,' William Strunk wrote 'A sentence should
contain no unnecessary words.' There are 23 additional words in
that sentence, but this is Strunk's essential idea.
Yet another offer of publication today. This one, however, was a
little different: a Gay publishing company.
Actually, you might be surprised how often this kind of thing happens to
us guys who are committed to keeping it real. I mean, on one hand
you'd think a Gay or Lesbian publisher would be the last one to take an
interest in my writing – you know, given that I'm most decidedly
heterosexual, work at CIA, etc. Yet take an interest they do.
I suspect it's the ruggedly virile, yet simultaneously humorous and
self-effacing (and in its own way passionate) character of my writing
that attracts publishing agents of multiple genres. Again, not
saying my writing is great or even special – but there are publishers
out there who do like it. And the fact is that some of these
publishers happen to be Gay.
As for the company in question, I saw no need to respond rudely to their
proposal. I simply told them I wasn't seeking publication at this
time, but that I appreciated being considered.
And I wasn't lying, either. True, if I was looking to get
published, writing for a Gay or Lesbian readership probably wouldn't be
my first choice, but it's not like I have anything in particular against
this or that literary market.
No, it isn't a matter of not wanting to be published by one or another
kind of company.
It's about not wanting to be published at all. Because being real
isn't about being published. And for the most part, being
published isn't about being real.
Wednesday
Irony has been replaced by titaniumy.
The opposite of information warfare is not information peace.
Thursday
The thought of machines becoming self-aware is frightening – because it
means I might have to become self-aware too.
Freedom's
just another word for nothin’ left to lose.
Which is why I prefer the word 'freedom' – it saves time and
effort!
Friday
God does not play dice with the universe.
He plays Russian roulette.
*
Monday
Secret 180. The fact that
what goes around comes around only comes around.
I knew a guy who got published.
Let's just say he won't have to worry about his condom breaking any time
soon.
Hey, I'm as willing to have my manuscript scrutinized as the next
fellow. It's just that, by the time a writer's work has been
edited for proper style, voice, pacing, and 'internal conflicts,' he can
hardly be surprised if there's no manuscript left at all.
Tuesday
Memory isn't a painter - memory is a minimum wage department store
employee with a price tag gun.
Then again, if your right hand did know what your left hand was
doing, wouldn't that be kind of creepy?
Wednesday
The high road has too many potholes.
Never fish for compliments. Lob dynamite in the water.
Thursday
If knowledge is but sorrow's spy, it proves a double agent by and by.
Every time a key breaks off inside a lock, a locksmith's wife conceives.
Friday
'None
of us is as smart as all of us?' Isn't that the whole problem???
*
Monday
The Spook's Toast: May your intelligence estimates always surpass the
estimates of your intelligence.
SpookSpeak.
Data n.
Acronym for digital asymmetric threat agent.
Tuesday
It says right there in the U.S Constitution: E=mc².
For a while I thought I was bisexual, but only because I tend to get
'bi-' and 'semi-' mixed up.
Wednesday
Kurt Vonnegut was a great writer.
He greated on everyone’s nerves.
Challenge: If we had to pay for our stupidity, many would go
bankrupt.
Password: If we had to pay for our stupidity, declaring bankruptcy
wouldn't be stupid.
Thursday
There's no substitute for hard work, but there's plenty of work for a
hard substitute.
According to government studies, alcohol is more socially damaging than
heroin or crack, though not as socially damaging as government studies.
Friday
How about a compromise: everybody leave the toilet seat at 45 degrees.
Did someone say "film rights?"
*
Monday
Placo diem – appease the day.
Around a month after I first launched my web site and started getting
several million hits per hour on it, a publishing agent contacted me to
introduce herself and invite me to 'query about being represented.'
She claimed to be head over heels in love with my literary concept, my
writing style, my entire body of work. No doubt about it, she
said, my writing was a keeper, a once in a lifetime thing.
I resolved to go slowly. In a polite yet friendly way I let her
know that I was flattered by her positive review and wanted to get to
know more about her, to see what kind of author-agent relationship we
might develop.
Her response was to turn up the heat big time; every day she sent new e-mails about wanting to 'proof my manuscript, word for word' and 'scan every inch of my back matter.' I remember her remarking that she could 'write me a blurb I'd never forget.'
Finally, after several weeks of correspondence, I decided to take her up
on her offer. I dutifully wrote her a formal inquiry, referring to
her original e-mail and asking what steps would be needed for her to
become my literary agent.
The same day she wrote back with the following message: "Sorry, but I'm
not accepting clients at this time."
I never heard from her again.
Had she suddenly found another writer she preferred over me?
Or did my submitting a formal inquiry scare her off?
… Or then again, did she simply exercise every literary agent's
prerogative to change her mind?
Whatever her motivation, that literary agent helped me appreciate, in
about as visceral a way as possible, that … real men don't get
published.
Tuesday
Do Not Attempt Resuscitation.
Resuscitate, or resuscitate not, there is no attempt.
If you giggle when you wiggle And you
jiggle when you giggle And you
wiggle when you jiggle
You can giggle all the time!
Wednesday
Better to be asked what drug you're on, than what drug you're off.
SpookSpeak.
Causable denial n. (Intelligence
Community) A truthful denial of a notional event or situation that
subsequently causes that event or situation to occur.
Thursday
Secret 1930. All gratification is instant.
How am I supposed to feel motivated to attend the empowerment seminar,
unless I feel empowered to attend the motivational seminar???
Friday
You made your bed, now hide under it.
*
Monday
The op is the blowback, and the blowback is the op.
At CIA we've been shaken by reports of alcoholism in the Intelligence
Community.
... Though fortunately we haven't been stirred.
Tuesday
I've never had a problem
with rejection. On the contrary, I've always been able to reject
stuff any time I want.
Some change their party for the sake of lofty principles. Last
weekend I changed my principles for the sake of a loft party.
Wednesday
When there's rioting in the streets, use the sidewalk.
Show me a culture with no word for awe, and I'll show you a people
who've never had their tonsils examined.
Thursday
The statement 'You don't get what you deserve, you get what you
negotiate' is just an opening position.
Please be careful, I bruise easily.
In fact, it's not uncommon for me to break people's bones.
Friday
Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around
inebriated.
*
Monday
If I trip and fall in a CIA conference room while giving a top secret
intelligence briefing, and everybody in the room is under State
Department cover, do I make a sound?
A literary agent contacted me today to ask if I was interested in
working as a ghost writer for a client of hers.
Talk about your unmixed metaphor.
I politely declined, pointing out that, as a CIA spook, my own
writing is itself ghosted by definition.
Tuesday
I'm all for banning the N-word from literature, assuming by 'N-word' you
mean 'novel.'
I threw my cup away when I saw a child drinking from his hands at the
trough.
… I mean, who the hell wants to drink from a trough after some filthy
kid sticks his grubby little hands in it???
Wednesday
Saving Your Soul:
Helpful Tips
1. Assess.
Calculate how much of your soul you spend each week.
Your bank and credit card statements can be helpful in this
regard.
2. Make a plan.
Create a budget for saving some of your soul each month – and
stick to it!
3. Learn.
Find out how many checks you can write against your soul.
Never write more than the limit, since this may result in
significant fees.
4. Invest.
Consider investing your soul in a retirement account or deferred
annuity. Make sure the
investment offers sufficient return for growth, without exposing your
soul to excessive risk.
5. Live a little!
Once your plan for saving your soul starts showing results,
reward yourself by splurging now and then!
Thursday
The Internet has made book burning irrelevant and redundant at the same
time.
When Thoreau wrote "Our lives are frittered away by detail,” I hope he
wasn’t talking about potato fritters, because I love those things.
Friday
Secret 618190.1. As long as you're already bowing, is there any
reason not to scrape?
*
Monday
If you die while waging jihad, you shall be rewarded with 72 virgins in
the afterlife.
… That's you, plus six dozen adolescent girls, for the rest of eternity.
Truly, the justice of Allah is great.
What is it about being published that renders an author, otherwise
possessing the usual compliment of male physiology, tendencies, and
outlook, something other than a real man?
Is it the inevitable chopping up of his manuscript, nay, even the
complete emasculation of his central concept by an editor?
Or is it the way the writer submits to having his body of work reviewed
by critics … not unlike a fashion model sashaying down a catwalk?
One thing I can neither confirm nor deny: I've never been ashamed to
admit that I self-post my writings on my web site; in fact, I'll confess
right here and now that I like to fantasize that I'm getting published
in New Yorker when I'm 'doing it.'
Tuesday
I want to take a course to learn how to stop juggling.
A motivational speaker was stabbed by one of his students. This
either officially qualifies him as the worst motivational speaker ever,
or the best.
Wednesday
'Contradiction in terms' is a redundancy. Joel Siegel said "William Shakespeare wrote 39 plays and did not use the word 'suck' in any of them."
Sorry Joel: Titus Andronicus Act 4. Scene 2. Line 179
Thursday
To be as wise as the Zen master, be as foolish.
Secret 0.102721.0.
Tormented authors who don't want their picture taken need extra time to
get their hair wrong for the publicity photo.
Friday
The real F-word is
'future.'
*
Monday
Secret 36915052.
What goes TDY comes TDY.
There's a time and a place for everything – and I say we send everything
there as soon as possible.
Tuesday
Let's be honest: only God can create jobs.
I never met a man who never met a man he didn't like I liked.
Wednesday
If it ain't broke, can we please stop talking about it?
The
objectification of women is unfair to women, and even more unfair to
objects.
Thursday
If
you're a zombie, it's not an apocalypse, it's a renaissance.
They say the reputation of a thousand years may be determined by the
conduct of a single hour.
I say: Who the hell can do something for a whole hour?!
Friday
Not only can you fall off the floor, you can land face first on the
ceiling.
*
Monday
Secret 47.81925. Never judge a cover by its sleeve.
Oh what the hell, why not admit it: sometimes I wish to God I was
published.
Not only that, but I can both confirm and not not not deny that every
now and then I feel a deep yearning to see my writing made into
commercially successful feature length films.
... And honestly, when you think about it, why wouldn't a real
man want these things? I mean, to be loved by like-minded readers,
to leave an enduring legacy to the literary world: no doubt writers who
are vain and unmanly harbor such desires – but is harboring such desires
necessarily vain and unmanly?
In my opinion, for an authentic, upright kind of guy to frankly
acknowledge these sorts of inner wants, far from being unmasculine, is
actually a big part of true manhood, and as such constitutes an
important factor in assuring that guy has no chance of getting published
ever.
Tuesday
A thesaurus is a dictionary on drugs.
If you're lucky, you may capture the spirit of creative genius for a
brief moment, maybe two. If
not, you'll have to be content with possessing it twenty-four hours a
day.
Wednesday
Secret 21.91721. In order to make zoos more like jungles, it's necessary
to make jungles even more like zoos.
I assume the phrase 'If you can't say something nice, don't say
anything' is a nice thing to say.
Thursday
If A loves B, and B loves C, how can it be a love triangle unless
C also loves A?
You can't make this stuff up.
Making this stuff up is a violation of Title 18, Section 1001 of
US federal law.
Friday
Failure to understand reality is not reality's fault? How do you
figure???
Author! Author!
*
Monday
'Safeword' is a contradiction in terms.
A woman from Varon Publishers – that company near DC – contacted me
today. Her name is Eva. I read her bio on Varon's web site; talk
about some impressive references. Let's just say I wouldn't mind
writing her back story, if you get the undercurrent to my
narrative here.
She invited me to dinner next week. She said she has a unique
proposal that she's sure will meet with my approval, but she wants to
present it personally. I'm not sure why, but I decided to accept
her invitation.
Got an e-mail this evening from another agent – some guy who says he
thinks my work might be suitable for 'short run' publishing.
Hey, speak for yourself, pal.
Tuesday
Once
you read between the first couple of lines, everything between the lines
after that is basically redundant.
I wrote myself a motivational e-mail challenging myself to be more
authentic. It got sent to my spam folder.
Wednesday
Secret 17810181. Plaintext
is in the eye of the beholder.
If everyone else gives 110% effort, and you give 120%, you're really
only giving a little over 109%.
Thursday
When breathing in life and breathing out poetry, remember that 80% of
halitosis comes from the tongue.
The
difference between concrete and abstract: if you slip and fall on
abstract, it hurts a lot more.
Friday
The strategy is the exit.
*
Monday
To go from the sublime to the ridiculous is less ridiculous than going
from the ridiculous to the sublime.
For every innuendo, there's an innubeginningo. Tuesday
I know why the caged monkey throws feces.
If the ointment's any good, what does it matter if there's a fly in it?
Wednesday
Gods of thunder make me wet. My
conscience is not for sale.
I'm waiting for the market to pick up.
Thursday
As an intelligence officer, you start off your career assuming every
claim is either true or false.
The years go by, and you begin to suspect it's not that simple.
When at long last you obtain your full clearances, you realize it's not
even that complicated.
Had dinner with Eva, the literary agent from Varon Publishers. Talk
about attractive – and she was definitely letting her 'front matter'
show, if you get my publishing industry reference here.
I don't mind telling you, the above factors (plus more than a little red
wine) had your humble intelligence officer seriously questioning my
policy of not seeking to disseminate my writing.
As we drove from the restaurant back to my townhouse in Eva's car, I
felt somewhat disoriented. At one point I remember her talking
about helping me write my final draft. The next thing I knew we
were parked in my driveway; I recall her softly whispering literary
terms like 'hardcopy' and 'trim' in my ear. That was my last
memory before losing consciousness.
It happens to the best of us ...
* Friday
The answer is unclassified.
The question is top secret codeword.
Woke up this morning with my head pounding and my eyes swiveling around
like a pair of rusty turrets.
Swung myself out of bed, straggled into the bathroom, looked down
and …
Oh my God.
Instantly I knew what had happened.
After enduring the humiliation of having to urinate sitting down, I
carefully and thoroughly wiped, then in a single, enraged motion leapt
from the toilet and grabbed my handheld voice and data unit resting by
the headstand of my bed. I quickly looked up the street address of
Varon Publishers, then heaved the handset against the wall, scarcely
noticing as it exploded into several dozen pieces. Storming over to my closet, I proceeded to outfit myself in camo and sunglasses. Then I stomped down to my basement to get guns. Lots of guns. Scooping up handfuls of nine-millimeter rounds and stuffing shotgun shells into various pockets, I strode silently but deliberately out of my townhouse, bounded into my jeep, and burst out of my driveway in a grey-white cloud of vaporized rubber.
In twelve minutes and thirty-two seconds I was in the parking lot of
Varon Publishers, Inc. As my jeep
neared the front of the building I jumped the small speed bump and
floored the gas pedal, plowing straight across the manicured lawn. A
couple of stunned onlookers scattered as I slammed my vehicle headlong
into the main lobby, broken glass cascading down around me like a
Niagara Falls honeymoon.
A pudgy little security guard stared at me for a split second, then dove
for cover underneath the reception desk. I had no quarrel with
security. The sound of muffled shouts and gasps wafted from unseen
rooms as I climbed out of my jeep, sauntered over to the elevator,
pointed my silver riot gun at the elevator door, and blew it open.
Then I stepped in and pressed the double star signifying the executive
penthouse.
Emerging from the elevator and pausing outside the large glass doors of
the CEO's office, I grabbed the stock of a second riot gun from its
holster behind my back, and in the same motion swung it over and cocked
it. The pretty admin took one look at me and immediately bolted
for destinations unseen; I obliterated the two glass doors with a shell
from each semi-legal sawed-off, walked into the CEO's lobby, made a
deliberate right turn toward his office, and started taking large wood
chips from of his $90,000 oak doors with alternating blasts from each
hand. I have to give that CEO credit – he heard me coming and went straight for his canister of pepper spray. I casually pointed one shotgun and blew it out of his hands, a couple of his fingertips going with it.
The CEO sat upright in his chair, holding his bleeding hand and panting
softly; maybe he was in shock, or maybe he had known this moment was
coming. Maybe both. "You
published me." "We had every right under the Freedom of Information Act, Mr. King" he said, obviously recognizing me from my web site portrait. "Your writing is the property of the US Government, and it’s not classified." "My writing is my own. You didn't read the disclaimer on the site." "Our
legal counsel believes they can make a judge think differently; if
nothing else, we can keep this matter tied up in litigation for years.
Meanwhile, your books will all be bestsellers." I stepped forward a couple of paces, re-cocked and pointed a riot gun six inches from the CEO's face. "Look, Mr. King," he said, "Let's be realistic about this. Varon Publishers will pay you top dollar for your work. This stuff is brilliant. Maybe we pushed the envelope a little by taking the steps we did, but we had to publish your writing before someone else got to it."
Inwardly I had to admire the guy's guts. Even if it did ultimately
prove necessary for me to splatter them all over that $50,000 hardwood
desk of his. "Where are the books?" "Film
rights, Mr. King – the film rights alone are worth millions. As CEO of
Varon Publishers, I'm in a position to personally guarantee you at least
20%."
I stuck the barrel of my riot gun into his mouth. "Where
are the books?" "Mmff frml grp lubbub."
I pulled out my gun without firing, turned around and walked out. He called behind me, "I advise you to put down your guns and go home, Mr. King. There's still time to resolve this situation without involving the authorities." "You can't stop us from publishing your work and making you a universally famous author!" … "You can't hold back history and your own success as a writer!"
By the time I reached the downstairs lobby, I could hear sirens – I knew
special weapons and tactics units would be taking up positions outside
the building at any moment, if they hadn't already.
I ignored the sirens and took the stairs down to the basement warehouse.
I reached the thick metal doors, slung my riot guns back in their
holsters, and took out my 9mm. One bullet in the lock and I was in.
A man stood 10 feet inside the entrance with spilled coffee all over his
shirt, holding a section of a pallet like he was batting cleanup for the
Washington Nationals. For a split second the thought entered my mind:
was he really willing to die to protect a bunch of cat books and memoirs
by adult survivors of adult survivors? Another split second and I
had my answer. As he turned and dashed toward the rear exit I called after him in a relaxed voice: "Where are the Covert Comic books?" "… Comic books?" He called back, still running, "We don't make comic books at this facility." "The
new spy book," I called out louder, as he continued running. Then I
played a hunch as to what the cover might look like, and yelled toward
his rapidly receding form: "The one with the guy wearing sunglasses, who
has no mouth."
He reached a door at the far end of the warehouse and flung it open.
But for a moment, instead of running outside, he paused and gazed back
at me – a look of recognition on his face. "Back corner to the
right," he said; then he stepped through the doorway and disappeared. "Thanks," I whispered. "… Sorry about the hassle, fellow non-publishee."
I could hear the pounding of many boots on a floor somewhere
above me; then I heard muffled shouts. I casually walked over to
the corner and saw several huge pallets reaching all the way up to the
ceiling like a veritable Tower of Babel. The pallets had white labels
on them. The labels said "Varon Publishers: King: Real Men."
I replaced my 9mm in its holster and stepped back several meters.
From a vest pocket I carefully removed a WP (White Phosphorous)
incendiary grenade. I had acquired it during a covert op overseas
many years previously; I kept it at home in case America ever found
herself under attack by a hostile foreign government or a terrorist
organization (or possibly a book publisher). I looked to ascertain that the interior warehouse door was still accessible. Then I pulled the pin on the grenade, tossed it into the pallets, and, as they say, 'started booking.' Before I had even made the stairs, the room shook violently. By the time I hit the lobby on a dead sprint, the SWAT boys were dealing with fire exploding from windows all around the basement of Varon Publishers. They didn't even notice me at first. I leapt into my jeep, slammed on the gas and hurdled the three guys who had been left behind to secure the lobby area. Coming down in several rows of tulips, I bounced hard, hit the accelerator one more time, and shot out of the parking lot.
*
Monday
The oldest trick in the book is the book.
Boy, am I ever officially not in trouble at work.
Here's the situation as of this morning: the Agency's Office of General
Counsel, on learning that Varon Publishers Inc. was planning to send out
advance copies of my writing without CIA review, has obtained a court
order to prevent unauthorized publication of 'potentially classified US
Government information.' Meanwhile, it has become necessary to make Eva, the breathtakingly, life-changingly beautiful publishing agent from Varon, stop levitating in public (having read my works deeply and at length over the past several weeks, Eva has undergone a dramatic transformation and will now, along with Varon Publishers, have to be 'rewritten' – note that this in no way implies Eva and your humble author can't compose wonderful new chapters together in the future ... if you get my completely non-literary reference here).
It feels good to be a man, a
real man, again.
Sorry, can't write any more at the moment. Gotta get up and go
take a leak. ... Standing up, of course.
The Covert Comic.
Avoid publishing him ... if you can.
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