Evil Editor's Blog, page 458

Super EE 10

“Aaaaiiiiieeeeee!” screamed a woman in distress. “My coffee is cold and there is a line for the break room microwave. What will I do?”

There came a sudden gust of wind through the usually stagnant office hallway. A short, gray-haired man stood before her. He was covered head-to-toe in bright red spandex, two shining E’s proudly sat across his chest. He was the picture of heroism, save for the bifocals and protruding stomach.

“Have no fear, ma’am,” he said with a crooked smile. “The Editor is

Super EE 9

“Jerry Aldinni with News 10, live downtown where an attempted bank heist has resulted in four armed men holed up in the Midtown Bank. Police have the building surrounded, and are negotiating for the release of bank employees who are being held hostage. Sources tell me the gunmen are threatening to shoot the hostages unless authorities comply with a list of their demands. It’s a complete circle jerk here. Tension is high and it looks like the police are in a jamb…a pickle…a real Mexican standoff.

Super EE 8

Hoist by his own cliche, he stood in front of the mirror.

And admired.

Sideburns firmly in place. Impeccably groomed, as ever. The soft jawline that spoke of daily doughnuts. After all, what is life without a few pleasures? Rewards, once the days work is done. Unpleasant work, for unpleasant masters.

His nostrils, not a hair out of place. Just forever plagued by the scent of smouldering.

Ears, folded back neatly agains the side of his head. As still as the room was now, inside his ears they were sti

Super EE 7

'I wonder,' said Mrs Varmighan, rolling her head on the pillow, 'is there really life on other worlds?'

EE let out a sigh. 'I swear there's life in that slush pile. It seems to follow me everywhere. Especially when I go to the bathroom.'

'Maybe you should call Mulder and Sculley.'

'I did. And wouldya believe it? They've plagiarised the text of my sternest rejection.'

EE narrowed his eyes and directed a fine beam of laser light between Mr's V's thighs, modulating its searing pulses with subtle

Super EE 6

“Damn cell phones! There’s never a phone booth when you need one,” muttered Evil Editor as he searched for a discreet location suitable for a quick wardrobe change. Exasperated, he ducked into the next best thing: a Porta-John®. Moments later, after a brief struggle with the spandex leotard and a thorough slathering of hand-sanitizer, he emerged, no longer a mild-mannered editor: by the magical alchemy of suspended disbelief combined with two parts alka-seltzer and a jigger of diesel fuel, he

Super EE 5

The sound of screams echoed through the halls and out into the streets. Cosima drew her pistol and prepared to enter the Halls of Congress. Her partner, Warfield, looked scared.

“Ready?” she asked. He nodded, but she could tell he was far from ready.

They went in. She to the left and Warfield to the right. Stopping a woman Cosima asked in which room the trouble was.

“He’s in the Senate Chamber!” the woman cried.

“Warfield, see that she gets safely outside,” said Cosima.

“What about you?” asked Warfie

Super EE 4

Battle drums rang out, braw and strong in the bright morning. The group—a portly man, a thin woman, and a strong hero—reined in their horses and looked around nervously.

As the drums built up to a thumping crescendo, a hulking monster appeared over the top of the next hill, growing larger and larger as he approached the unsuspecting riders. He roared.

They whirled, and the woman screamed. Red light flashed, and the monster slowly toppled over, a smoking hole burned in its chest.

“Cut! Cut, cut,

Super EE 3

The Somali pirates held the American hostage at gunpoint. Their boat floated about a thousand yards off the stern of the US Naval Destroyer, tethered to the tanker they seized.

“We demand five million dollars in exchange for the safe return of your citizens,” the radio crackled. Captain Benson looked at the sky, watching as the helicopter made its way to the landing pad on the Destroyer’s aft deck.

A voice again cut through the static of the radio. “Who is on that helicopter? No funny business, or

Super EE 2

"Are you saying tedium is inherited?" I asked Evil Editor.

He shrugged. "Maybe. It's just a hunch, you understand. I have no proof."

"What if, just what if, you're right, what's the problem with humdrum integrating with exciting?"

He reached up to straighten his vanilla beret. His drab T-shirt was baggy, and I could see his clean-shaven pit. "Dullness is an unsavory ingredient in the human recipe." His voice was tight and, I thought, bitter. "Vaporizing all male Homer descendants was a half-hear

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