Taste of Humanity

I was kidnapped.

I went out, and enjoyed an afternoon with friends, then they dragged me - yes, dragged - I kicked, screamed; one of them needs a new liver as I'm still digging what's left of his from beneath my fingernails. But I was dragged across South Texas, and while not all bad, I lost a whole work day - not that I mind giving editors heart attacks. She's only 35, and after two months with me, the new white in her hair is settling in nicely. I think I've even gotten her to start keeping liquor in the office.

That would explain the i.v. I noticed her trying to pass off as a coat rack.

"David, high. It's a pleasure meeting you. I've read your stuff; very nice."

"Nice to meet you, Jennifer. I fucking hate editors."

Jennifer stares awkawardly.

"Don't worry. I meant to say that out loud."

"Oh god, the rumors are true?"

"I thought we were well past the rumor stage."

"The baseball bat through the window?"

Silence.

"The pregnant dog under the desk?"

Silence.

"Not the elephant urine in the truck bed?"

"Stick to punctuation and spelling, we'll be fine. Ask me to change the content, and every Christmas for the rest of your life will be forever shamed with reindeer carcasses strung up in your front lawn, execution style."

"Fake reindeer? That's extreme."

"Who said fake."

Back to work.

P.S. Seriously, Jennifer's been the best. The reindeer are happy.