THE HUNDRED-AND-TWENTY-FIRST PAGE

Had my editor shown half the wit in the editing and publication of my novel as he was beginning to demonstrate in his attack upon me, the book would have been a grand success. Alas, it was too late.

My fears mounted when I considered how My Editor’s days might be spent. He was unemployable and he could devote himself full-time to his present pursuit, as once I had with mine.

And, my god, he was swift. I had honored him with my gifts on a weekly basis; he seemed to be going for daily with me. The day after the arrival of the Starship Troopers nemesis, I returned to the dump and threw away two suspicious packages. They may have contained a winning jackpot lottery notification (highly unlikely, as I am opposed to gambling in every form) or a cache of Kron chocolates--I didn’t care; there was no need to take chances when you’re at the mercy of a lunatic.

I was beginning to fear for the mental health of the dog, who no longer seemed as sleep prone as he had once been. He paced about the floors as much as I did and often followed my aimless wanderings about the house. Worse, he somehow made it clear that he was no longer eating out, and that he preferred to eat in the house from a large bowl containing food prepared for him by me.