BILL BILLIAMSON TYPES AWAY AT A TYPEWRITER IN AN ALLEYWAY.
NARRATOR: (VOICE-OVER) Meanwhile, somewhere in an alley behind a stripmall…
TRENT SCROTAL-WAXING, A FLUSTERED WEIRDO HOLDING A STACK OF LOOSELY-BOUND PRINTER PAPER, ENTERS.
TRENT: Excuse me, are you erotic scifi novelist Bill Billiamson?
BILL: That’s right. How may I help you?
TRENT: Wow. Uh… Hi, I’m Trent Scrotal-Waxing. I recently finished reading your new book, “Wet, Sloppy Bits in Space,” and I just wanted to say you’re a real bastard, aren’t you?
BILL: I’m sorry?
TRENT: Look. I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I pirated a copy of “Dinosaur Orgy on Mars with Robots and Lasers,” but I do not appreciate this tactless commentary on me and my genitals.
BILL: I’ve done no such thing.
TRENT: Oh, come now. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice all these thinly veiled references to me and my genitals scattered throughout this… this… literary hit piece?
BILL: “Literary hit piece”?
TRENT: Playing stupid, are we, Mr. Billiamson?
BILL: I assure you, I’m not playing at all.
TRENT: And I assure you, I’ll have your ears choking on your own words… (FLIPS THROUGH THE STACK AND READS) “As the flaccid winds of Analor stung their eyes and punched their nose in that way an offensive smell might do had it a fist, they looked upon the distant light of Brixby-Eleventy and sighed a sexual sigh.”
TRENT: (SCOFFS) Need I go on?
BILL: (CONSIDERS THIS) Yes.
TRENT: Oh, well… Uh… What about this… (READS) “Cunnilinda held his arm in the light of the moon, content in the knowledge she could never love another.” Hmm? Did you really find it so necessary to mock my lifelong inability to find companionship without paying for it?
BILL: Did you pirate and print out a copy of my book instead of buying it?
TRENT: I did. And after suffering through your attacks on me and my genitals, I have to say it was worth every penny.
BILL: Look. Mister…
BILL: Mr. Scrotal-Waxing, rest assured that I do not know you, I do not want to know you, and I have absolutely no intention of writing anything about you or your genitals.
TRENT: A bit late for that now, isn’t it? Now the whole world thinks my genitals are of an inferior nature, utterly incapable of pleasurbation!
BILL: Are you sure you’ve actually read my book?
TRENT: I’ve… read enough, thank you very much.
BILL: (GESTURES TO THE STACK OF PAPER) May I?
TRENT: (HANDS STACK OF PAPER TO BILL) Far be it from me to stop another man from digging his own grave.
BILL: (READS) “The Turgidian drove his staff deep into the soft, yielding flesh of yet another Moistman, and howled like some sort of howling beast.” I suppose that one’s also about you?
TRENT: An obvious allusion to my deep-seated resentment toward my mother.
BILL: Right. Well, what about… (READS) “They dove headfirst into the slippy mouth of the Clitorian Caverns, never to be seen again.” What’s that one about, then?
TRENT: I was only a child, Mr. Billiamson!