A minion heard a man in a restaurant talking on his cell phone and determined it was Evil Editor. He bargained with the waitress to put truth serum, which he happened to have with him, into Evil's beverage. [Note: find less lame explanation for serum before posting this.] After awhile, the minion invited himself to Evil's table.
“All right Evil, 'fess up,” said WouldBe. “Who's your favorite minion?”
“I can tell you this: it is not one who'd put truth serum into my beverage. You see, the waitress/novelist/actress is also a minion. She put the truth serum into your beverage, instead.”
“Yes, the thing about truth is, don't ask the question if you don't want to hear the answer. Now, where is this so-called story going?”
“I...don't have a clue...I never know where they're going until I type “THE END.”
“Sad. That won't happen this time. I'm taking over this story. Give me that typewriter.”
“What? Hands off the Royal. That was my grandfather's--”
POW! BAM! (Other pulp sounds! Can't think right with serum--) KABOOM!
“Now,” said Evil, in control of the Royal. “I was born at a very early age on a dark and stormy night. There was evil in the air, and it was I--”
“Shut up, WouldBe.”