The trio weighed their options. One of them had to go. It was a matter of survival, plain and simple. They had to eat something. And with no proper food and no route for escape, something readily translated to someone.
The celebrity spoke first.
“You can’t eat me. I have millions of fans who need me. I’m thin and pretty and young and beautiful and…”
“Annoying as hell,” Evil Editor
The writer laughed.
“Quit sucking up. I told you I’m not publishing your manuscript,” Evil Editor said.
“Then I have no use for you. That makes you look tastier than her,” the writer said.
The celebrity turned to the writer. “I’ll introduce you to my agent.”
The writer contemplated the offer, until the Evil Editor interrupted his chain of thought.
“You could write about this experience as narrative non-fiction. I would consider that.”
The writer was great at contemplating, and he had a notoriously short attention span. He forgot about the celebrity’s agent and sat silently, lost in thought.
“You think it will sell?” the writer asked.
“It depends on how it ends,” Evil Editor said.
“But I’m famous!” the celebrity whined.
“And annoying as hell,” the writer and Evil Editor said in unison.
“EE, judging by the cartoon caricature of you, you weigh the most and I have the most muscle. That’s one good reason for either of us to be on the menu,” the writer reasoned.
The celebrity listened attentively. She did not know where this was going, but she liked it so far.
“But there are two good reasons to eat her,” the writer pointed at the celebrity as her look of curiosity turned to surprise.
“First, it will finally shut her up,” the writer said.
“And second?” Evil Editor asked.
“We’ll probably get high as kites.”