Evil Editor's Blog, page 460

New Beginning 627

A hand pressed against the back of her leg. Corrie turned, frowning at the familiarity, but the man sitting nearest her was intent on the nearby stage. She replaced his near empty wine glass with a full one. For all the notice he took, with the dancing girls taking his full attention -- if you could call wiggling around in too tight dresses dancing. Still, Philip Lovell enjoyed it and it was his birthday.

None of the girls looked familiar. From Elizabeth City most likely, or Offers. No local girl

Cartoon 362

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.
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Writing Exercise Results

. . . are in the posts below. The task was to write a scene at which Evil Editor is among the men being offered at a charity auction.[image error]

Evil Auction 9

William Shatner, the celebrity auctioneer, gripped the podium. “Well… folks,” he said, “while MISS… PhilPOT calculates the… fiNAL numbers--”

Cough.

“I shall READ some… of my finest… LINES from Star Tr--”

Cough, cough.

“ExCUSE me… LAdies, it appears we… have-one-final LOT in our auction. So, who will start the BIDDING for… Evil Editor?”

Bill shuffled his script. It was the only sound.

“COME… on girls. Sure somebody would LIKE to bid…”

Silence.

“This is Evil Editor. FamOUS for… Uh… Editing. PROBably.”

A vo

Evil Auction 8

I held out for Editor Hour at the charity auction. I mean, hell, I’ve already had any other kind of guy I’d ever wanted to try on for size (and may I say, I’d certainly never paid for any - at least not in cash).

I waited for the last guy. The last guy on the left. In the back row. He stood out like a big bright blue sore thumb, handsome but gaudy, and throbbing for attention.

You’d think, with editors being on the auction block, the emcee'd have followed old time typewriter pecking order - peck

Evil Auction 7

“So, bidding on Evil Editor?”

I glanced over at the competition. I had no idea who she was—I had been slacking in the comments sections lately. Used to be I had everyone pegged. “Probably.” I shrugged noncommittally. Couldn’t let her know how important it was to me.

“I just found out about him last week,” she continued, practically breathless with excitement. “I’ve got a query letter in desperate need of editing.”

I gave her a flat look. “Really? That’s all you’re here for? You’re going to

Evil Auction 6

The bidders for Evil Editor were divided into two groups. One, huddled together in the cheap seats, was made up of minions pooling their crumpled dollar bills and sticky quarters to finance a group bid, arguing about who would get to do what to/with EE first.

“I want him for the whole time,” said Dave. “I think we should draw straws.”

“Don’t be so selfish, Dave,” snapped Wes. “What do you need that will take the whole week?”

“I want him to listen to me,” said Dave plaintively. “No one ever listens

Evil Auction 5

"Come, come ladies," the auctioneer pleaded, "surely the Brad Pitt/George Clooney twosome is worth more than seventy-three dollars and sixteen cents. Remember, this is for a worthy cause, the Borders Bookstores Bailout Fund." But there were no more bids, and the gavel came down. "Sold! To the gin soaked woman with the talking dog."

"We come now to our final item up for bids," the auctioneer said. "Your last chance to avoid going home alone to the Lifetime Channel movie and a carton of Ben and Jer

Evil Auction 3

The fateful auction, the night of my ignominy, held in the basement of a seedy nightclub on the bad side of town, a place of uneducation and low morals; A basement unseen, alive in ultra-violet darkness. By day, a bordello catering to immoral acts performed by sweating, grunting, sex-crazed degenerates. By night, a dance floor and auctionarium for the jaded, the under-whelmed, the disinterested. A blasé so blasé, comprehension neared impossibility, a tangent of life.

By chance, lot 42 stood in my

Evil Auction 4

“Hold it right there.”

They looked at the security guard in bewilderment. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t meet the dress code.”

Dave stepped forward. “I didn’t hear about a dress code—and besides, what’s wrong with this?” He indicated suit pants, a suit jacket, and a dashing T-shirt.

“Those shirts, sir.”

Everyone looked down at their shirts for stains, snot, kick-me signs, anything. As far as they could see, the shirts were almost the paragon of perfection. Almost, because a picture on a T-shirt coul