“It’s crap. Falderal not worth the paper it’s typed on,” declared Evil Editor.
“It’s brilliant! A chef-d’oeuvre beyond compare,” retorted Good Editor.
“You’ve obviously had more than your share of angel dust today, GE. The dialogue is as stilted as a Blue Heron and the plot’s as shaky as the Warsaw Pact.”
“I beg to differ.”
“He that humbleth himself wishes to be exalted.”*
“Your wish is my command!”
“If wishes were horses beggars would ride.”
“A bad horse eats as much as a good one.”
"The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.** But enough of this banter. We shall agree to disagree. Besides, Literary Fiction makes me cranky.” Evil Editor opened the closet door and grabbed two large pink plastic ring and rolled one across the floor to GE who appraised the device with bemusement.
“Rather large for a halo,” joked Good Editor.
“It’s the latest thing. They call it a hula hoop,” said Evil, slipping the ring around his rotund middle and gyrating grotesquely.
“Oh, you crazy kid! Next thing you’ll tell me you like Elvis Presley!”
Evil smirked and fluttered his upper lip into a brief sneer. “One for the money, two for the show – ”
Good Editor continued to read the manuscript in question while Evil Editor grunted and twisted, vainly attempting to keep the plastic hoop spinning. Good Editor sighed deeply and rolled the long scroll into a tight tube. “I think you should reconsider your opinion of this one, E. It’s fresh, edgy, and I’m sure it would do well in the youth market. I find it to be, oh, how should I say it? Whitmanesque! Here, let me read the opening lines to you: ‘I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up. . . With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.’”
“Nah, I’ll pass. But hey, it’s lunchtime. Let’s go get cheeseburgers from that new place down the street. I think it’s called McDonalds.”
** Oscar Wilde