A week or so ago I was sitting in my agent’s office, signing some contracts.
ME: Uh, was I supposed to sign this page?
AGENT: (peering through the cloud of brimstone and smoke that swirls around her perpetually) No!
Does it have your name next to it?
I'm not sure whether this is an improvement over being run over by a cement mixer, being made into a ninja droid, or being made someone's crotchety great aunt-- all of which I've seen in the last couple manuscripts from my ..ahem...beloved clients!
A bit off topic, but that situation reminds me of signing off on my mortgage a few years ago. I kept looking at my realtor, asking "Where do I sign? Is this one a signature or initial?" I was just terrified to screw it up and lose the deal.
Interesting that you seem to be embracing that description. How... endearing?
I tried to make you the madam of a brothel, but I couldn't find a way to mangle your name into credible Attic Greek.
LOL! Hey, that just means your smokin' hot.
JANETREID vs Godzilla, I'm telling you.
(Godzilla ain't got a chance.)
I wish a cloud of brimstone and smoke swireld around ME perpetually. That would be cool. And I could scare the heck out of rude people!
I hope my stepmother doesn't realize the character in my latest book with reddish hair pinned in elaborate swirls to hide a bald spot was based on her.
It keeps me up at night.
Brimstone's good for the complexion, right?
At least I now know to show up at my agent's (when I get one) office with one of those little battery powered fans and an assortment of different colored pens. I'd have to pass on the whiskey though, since puking into said agent's trash can might get me turned into a frog or something.
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