R87

Young slouched man enters an office decorated with diplomas, certificates and framed cover pages of magazines. His nervous tic is to remove greasy tussock of hair from his forehead while nervously blinking behind glasses rimmed with thick black nerdy frame. In youngster's tow shambles, tightly bound in chains, his novel.

In the office, behind a desk is a fat man. Seeing the youngster he almost jumps off his chair, starts stroking his beard, which could put many woodsmen to shame. He likes nerds and their shabby stories. They always fall for well practiced combo, stab or two of harsh critique, pinch of friendly advice, some balm for the ego, then comes a bait which they always swallow like big fat twats they are.

"Mladen, I presume?" asks the fat publisher, offering hand.

Very weak handhsake.

"Yes, and you are mister Zarkovic?" youngster speaks shyly.
"Of course, now sit my boy. Let's see what you have here..."

Publisher walks around the writer and his hideous story. And indeed it is even more horrible than many scribblings that fat man sees these days. Tragicomically serious title, bumbling introduction, rehashed ranting, three quarters of religious crap, six ninths of stunted ideas and preconceptions, all that coated in same kind of fantasy writer probably sucked from tv and internet, sticky-shy sex scenes, cardboard characters and very very much of whirling senselesness.

Fat man pats the withers of the story and caresses it's stinky curls flowing down the novel's back.

"Well... well... Look here. We get a lot of stories like this lately", publisher shrugs. "Everyone wants to be the next George R.R. Martin."

Youngster nervously smiles, embarassed and honored by the comment.

"Your story really needs more work, you see. Lenghty descriptions, not really making sense there, what's even this? See this spikes on the elbows, needs to be filed and chopped off, skin on the neck needs also grinding and you need to lose the tail and sixth thumb."

Every suggestions sends searing pain across youngster's face.

"However, you were smart to pick our publishing house, we can fix all of that. We will work on it, don't you worry. Overall I would say it has some potential... see you started off nicely over here..." Fat publisher points at, probably only, smooth patch of otherwise scabby and scaly monster.

Then publishers goes silent and pretends to inspect the story once more.

"So... does it mean you will publish it?"

Publisher giggles.

"Look, we already pushed several fantasy novels this season. I'm not sure there is space for one more. Although... it would really be shame to hide this beauty from the audience." Publisher stops and sighs. "How far are you ready to go..."

"Far... I'm ready to go all the way..." youngster rushes to confirm, excited with the prospect of having his writing presented to the audience.

"Well, how about this... you will pay the printing expences, which is not too much, then we will provide promo and..."

Youngster almost jumps from the chair and shakes publisher's hand. Fatso chuckles while inside he is shaking head and thinking: "Thanks God for pop-culture and all the geeky fanboys!"