A Minion's Tale
The query was dead. Of that he was certain. He had put it in the shredder himself. He watched it tear and bleed the author's hopes and dreams. The pail beneath the shredder captured the author’s life’s blood, to be wickedly used as ink upon the form rejection notice.
He relaxed in his favorite overstuffed chair, imbibing his favorite Mogan David to settle his overstuffed stomach. The twelve-speaker sound system played his favorite music. “What’s a matter you? Hey! Gotta no respect…”
He woke to a sheep’s bleat. Opening bleary eyes he saw it. It was before his chair, staring at him.
“A ewe?” he said.
“That’s right. Me."
“No, not ‘you’. I said, ‘ewe’."
“Would you prefer a ram?"
He considered. “Ah, no. So, what is this about?"
“I am the Minion of Christmas Past."
Comprehension engulfed him and he stared in horror. The sheep smiled. It’s a frightening thing to see a sheep smile. If you never have, I don’t recommend it."
“That’s right, Evil Editor. It’s me: your most compliant minion. The one who supported you at every turn. The one who helped trample dreams for you. The one who’s query you just sent through the f**king shredder! I’m here for revenge. The sheep has turned."
“Isn’t that ‘the worm has turned’?"
“Would you prefer a worm?"
“Ah, no. So. How do you intend to exact this revenge?"
The smile again. Resigned to his fate, he led the way to the bed. Fortunately, it didn’t last long. He never did. Unfortunately, when it ended his entire bedchamber was filled with sheep – including a ram!
“What is this?” he cried in horror.
“Never f**k with a Minion, EE, or they’ll all descend on you."