Excerpt: The Editor

Brian

“Wait just one bloody minute!” Brian Harris gritted out with his frustrated, angry gaze leveled at the ceiling, as if the computer were some sort of non-corporeal deity hovering overhead. “The wealthy tycoon CANNOT be wearing brown socks with a blue suit. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that? Did you, you dim-screened mechanical moron?! Well I did. This is, after all, MY book. Who in their right mind would wear brown socks with a blue suit?! Even a fashion challenged shlub like me wouldn’t do that!!”

“No,” responded the placid, atonal voice of the computer, “you wear white socks with a blue suit.”

Brian’s mouth literally dropped open. “What? What?” he spluttered incredulously.

“I said you wear white socks with a blue suit,” the modulated computer voice repeated blandly.

“I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!” Brian yelled, more with surprise than anger, “But just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are, at the moment, wearing a blue suit with white socks. Although you removed the jacket before beginning your holographic session, and you are currently wearing a T-shirt with a commercial marketing slogan printed across the front, you are, in fact, wearing white socks with a blue suit.”

Brian slumped back in his chair for a few moments and simply stared at the holographic images from the scene in his book that were frozen in “Pause” mode before him. “But I’m not a wealthy fucking tycoon,” he finally said, “so what I wear is completely immaterial to the characters in my book, you incompetent blob of electronic phlegm!”

“Please excuse my impertinence Mr. Harris. As you will note, the wealthy tycoon’s socks are now the exact shade of blue as the wealthy tycoon’s suit. What color would you like the wealthy tycoon’s shoes to be?

“Er, black is fine,” Brian replied, somewhat mollified as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Would you like the wealthy tycoon’s shoes to be of the slip on, lace up, Velcro, or buckle variety?

“WHAT!?” screamed Brian as he slammed his mug down and jumped to his feet. The chair he had been sitting on rolled away with so much force it crashed into the wall behind him.

“We also provide boots, if you prefer,” the computer voice continued, “which come in varying heights including ankle, mid-calf, knee high and thigh high. These boots come in a variety of textures as well including leather, patent leather, suede, calf skin, alligator skin, sharkskin, plastic, and boots made of vegan materials. We also offer eight different shades of black, beginning with ‘Night Sky’ and progressing to the darkest shade entitled ‘Bowels of Hell’ black, also referred to in underground designer circles as ‘Satan’s Anus’ black.”

Brian reached out in a blind rage for the computer monitor, straining for all he was worth to try and lift it off the metal console so that he could smash it against the wall. “JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!” he shrieked as the veins in his neck bulged nearly to the bursting point.

“I am the Editor.”