Evil Editor's Blog, page 467

Face-Lift 615

Guess the Plot

Dreaming Dark

1. There is a town in north Ontario. Meredith, who thought she was perfectly normal, lives there, but she just discovered that she's the last member of an ancient race and she has the power to control mankind's dreams. Now some guy from a different ancient race who also can control dreams has moved to town. Will he leave her helpless, helpless helpless?

2. Ice swami Ned Frankel informs Tina the reason she always dreams of being lost in sinister dark places is because A

Cartoon 348

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar. [image error]

New Beginning 619

On the first day of first grade…

Jeffrey found his seat in Ms. Johanson’s classroom, sat down, and scanned the walls for…the Job Chart.

“There it is,” he said, relieved. It was hanging on the closet door.

Jeffrey read the list of jobs:
1. Clean white board
2. Feed hermit crab
3. Turn lights on/off
4. Office Messenger
5. Line Leader

"Good. I can’t wait to be line leader,” he said.

“Why?” Jeffrey’s tablemate, Bobby, asked him.

“I love being first out the door. And it’s fun being at the front of the line. Whe

Cartoon 347

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar. [image error]

Writing Exercise Results . . .

are in the posts below. The task was to write an excerpt from Evil Editor's autobiography.[image error]

EE's Autobiography 8

When, while sitting among my fellow graduates half-listening to some under-educated, washed-up, B-list movie star (who had deigned to show up for the ceremony, no doubt, only upon being bribed with an honorary degree) pontificate about making our mark in the world, I attempted to read my diploma. Realizing, after a few moments of concern that I had been transported to a bizarro Earth, that the entire document was printed in Latin, I exploded. I stormed onto the stage and shoved the movie star as

EE's Autobiography 7

I was naked as a jaybird. I did my best thinking in those days unencumbered by clothing, or by any other thing.

I stayed in my dorm room bed most of that afternoon, hands clasped behind my head. If you’d been there to ask me what I was thinking about, I wouldn’t have known what to say at the time. Thoughts whirled in and out and around me, through the air it seemed; I was vibrating with thought, but I couldn’t quite capture one thread and run with the thought of it, taking it from a confounded be

EE's Autobiography 6

I guess I must have stopped with the cowboy gear some time around ‘59. The Wild West scene was taking off in movie theatres all over the country, and I needed to make my mark as an intern with a more distinctive look than a checked shirt and matching stetson. So when I broke my razor plucking breakfast one morning, and went a whole week without a shave, that’s when it all started, that whole Evil Editor chic.

My fledgling muttonchops were unruly at first, like when Arooooologong lost most of

EE's Autobiography 5

The trauma of having lost the tip of my pinkie finger, at age 3, in the automated maw of a Mecury Montery is at least partially responsible for my success as an editor today. Father was quick to blame (rightfully so, I might add) my siblings, twins Sanguine and Sangfroid, while Mother proclaimed it a tragedy with farcical elements after she had repaired the injured digit with a running stitch of dental floss and two tender kisses administered between murmured “all better now” enjoiners. The defo

EE's Autobiography 4

I stared at them in disbelief. “I’m adopted?!”

“That’s right, Sweety,” Mom said.

“You’re not my real mom?!”

“Not biologically, no.”

“Then who is?” I asked, dreading the answer.

Mom looked at me thoughtfully before answering. “A girl in New York.”

“Just… a girl?”

“She plans to become a literary agent; she once said something garbled about snark, but I didn’t quite get it.”

I finally began to understand myself that day—the urges I had about books, the attraction and revulsion to large stacks of pap