Absinthe Goodbody and Her Agent Hattie Faluntimo-Spiegel Beat the Bush For Big Game.
"He's bad for your novel." Hattie sipped her hot coffee. She scrawled a red X on a query and slid it into the reject box. Her lips puckered as she read another query.
"Snake Mountain's bad?" Absinthe teared up.
"Not your novel. This query sucks like a twenty-four hour lollipop." Hattie drew a skull and crossbones on the query. She picked up the next.
"I want to know why you think my novel isn't suitable for EE." Absinthe's feet scuffed the floor.
"I don't want him anywhere near our Snake Mountain. It's precious and he's common. He despoils fine, literate writing. He'll make you sacrifice your story on the altar of popular commerciality. Worse, he smells like butt crack in a steam room. Speaking of ass..." Hattie's eyes expanded as one hand fumbled to find a biohazard stamp. She slammed it down so hard that Lucent logos formed beneath the coffee cups.
"It's not like I write bad. We've sent this to how many -- fifty, sixty? And waited how long -- thirty, forty months now? I'm willing to rewrite just to get the ball rolling."
"I'd rather be reincarnated as kitty litter. Hold that, this query is kitty litter, soiled kitty litter. Who spells persnickety with a Q?" Hattie scribbled "NO" on it and picked up another query.
"I'm at my last straw. Either you send my novel out to EE or else I find a new agent." Absinthe stopped hunching like her husband told her.
"I insist." Absinthe squeaked.
"You insist? What for? He'll rape plotlines, parboil your hero, bimbo-fy our heroine, and crap out some supermarket drivel with delusions of Grisham!"
"It's my decision, please."
"OK, I'll send it to EE, my ex-husband. It's your lamb to slaughter... Humph! This query is brain schmaltz masquerading as foot fungus."