by Jeff Somers

SCENE: Camp Levon Office. Your Humble Editor startles awake from a troubled sleep on the floor to find Jeof Vita, Misty Vita, Ken West, and The Duchess standing over him.

YOUR HUMBLE EDITOR: Uh, hey guys. What's up?

THE DUCHESS: Feeling better?

YHE (troubled by stern tone): Uh, no, not really. (Touches head and moans) How long was I out?

JEOF VITA: Two years, big boy.

MISTY VITA: (wrinkling nose) And you smell it, too.

YHE: Two years, huh? That's the last time I drink homemade plum liquor.

MISTY VITA: You always say that.

YHE: So, uh, what's up?

THE DUCHESS: (makes angry, choking noise)

JEOF VITA: Uh, I think what your wife is trying to say is that it's almost time for a new issue of the Swine.

THE DUCHESS: (more choking sounds)

YHE: Uh, I don't want to alarm you, but I'm getting pretty fluent with these choking noises, and I think your translation is, frankly, all wrong. You might want to edge away from her.

JEOF VITA: I fear no woman!

MISTY VITA: Ahem.

JEOF VITA: I fear no woman I am not married to! Look, the fact is, we've been carrying your weight for two years, putting out the Swine while you were comatose. We're tired of it, so it's time for you to jump back in the saddle.

YHE: Two years. . .hey, how did you feed me?

MISTY VITA: Oh my god, don't make me explain. It's too horrible.

YHE: How have you been writing the zine? I'm kind of a big deal in the zine world. I've got a style and voice that's hard to mimic.

THE DUCHESS: Uh. . .we just took old articles from a few years ago and re-ran them. No one noticed.

JEOF VITA: We even forgot to change the table of contents a few times, and still no one noticed.

MISTY VITA: By the way, a wooden crate filled with ten-collar bills was delivered from Colombia while you were out. We've been dipping into it for Chinese food now and then, but it's still mostly there.

YHE: Colombia. Ah, shit; Pedro's going to be really pissed off.

<Suddenly, Ken West crashes through the window, rolling into a perfect crouch. He is wearing a black Ninja uniform and is holding the largest hyperdermic needle ever seen by anyone at any point in history.>

KEN WEST: I've got it!

THE DUCHESS: What?

KEN WEST: The adrenaline! To revive the idiot!

MISTY VITA: Uh. . .the idiot's up.

<KEN WEST looks at Your Humble Editor for a moment.>

KEN WEST: Damn. <Tosses needle onto floor>

JEOF VITA: So, if no one notices your rag is exactly the same each time, why do you bother putting so much energy into it?

YHE: It's not the same! Every issue is actually a snowflake in the bitter storm of the universe. Or something. Different, at least. I mean, the themes.

THE DUCHESS: Themes?

JEOF VITA: <aside to Misty> If you listen closely you can hear Jeff's heart breaking. It's just like when Cassie Redacted asked “Who's Mr. Mute?” He almost cried that time.

MISTY VITA: Ah, good times.

YHE: Yes, themes! Dammit! Every issue of this zine has a theme. Or, well, every issue except this one. That we're in right now.

KEN WEST: In?

<an uncomfortable silence ensues>

YHE: ANYway, yes, themes. That's how I write the editorial each time, actually. I decide, months in advance, what the next theme will be about. When I wake up, in a panic, months later and realize I have just a few weeks to put together an entire issue of The Inner Swine—”

JEOF VITA: Don't you mean “A Flat Constant of Suck”?

YHE: Silence! When that moment comes I know I just have to riff for a few hundred words on the subject, and bam! An editorial. The wonder of it is that I don't even need to have any firm information or even a developed opinion—I make up an opinion on the spot! It's genius, really.

THE DUCHESS: Especially since no one actually reads it.

YHE: Huh? I didn't quite hear that?

THE DUCHESS: Nothing.

YHE: <suspicious> OK, then.

MISTY VITA: So, what's the new editorial gonna be about?

YHE: Nothing.

MISTY VITA: Nothing?

YHE: Nothing.

JEOF VITA: Rip off.

YHE: You see, for the first time ever, this issue of TIS has no theme. None whatsoever. Not even a subtle, can-barely-see-it theme like had. It's completely free-form. I can write about anything and not have to twist myself into knots in order to make the articles hit some vague aspect of a theme! So there's no theme to hang the editorial on. I'm free!

<Your Humble Editor begins to perform a complex dance>

MISTY VITA: What is. . .that? Oh my god. Baby, make him stop.

JEOF VITA: You heard the woman, man. Stop or be stopped.

YHE: It's my Freedom Dance.

JEOF VITA: Stop, or be stopped. My eyes!

KEN WEST: So wait a second, you're just making this shit up? I'm out there taking bullets for you so you can make this shit up?

YHE: You took bullets?

KEN WEST: Metaphorically, yes.

YHE: Sure, it's all made up. I pick out a theme and when it's time to write these editorials, I just make up an opinion about them and pull three thousand words out of my ass. Go ahead, try me: Pick a theme and I'll give you the editorial.

THE DUCHESS: No more booze before noon for you.

YHE: Okay! Sobriety: The editorial would be “Inebriation Is Necessary and Healthy, Sobriety Unnatural and Considered Harmful.” Next?

KEN WEST: Movies.

YHE: Movies! Great theme. The editorial would be “Why Will No One Assasinate Jamie Foxx and Save Us All? Famous People Are Destroying the Universe.”

JEOF VITA: Holy shit. How come you aren't this sharp in regular life? We're usually lucky to get a syllable out of you.

MISTY VITA: And it usually doesn't mean anything.

KEN WEST: And it usually comes with a lot of spittle. And sometimes puke.

THE DUCHESS: Marriage.

YHE: Yes'm. The editorial would be “Marriage Is the Single Greatest Thing That Has Ever Happened to Me: Share my Joy.”

THE DUCHESS: Smart man.

YHE: I'm learnin', mum.

MISTY VITA: Okay, one more: Time travel.

YHE: Excellent theme. The editorial would be “Brain Salad Surgery: If You Could Sculpt Your own Personality Through Judicious Use of Time Travel to Perfect Past Experiences, Would you Become Better, or Simply More Boring?”

JEOF VITA: Jesus. You're one of those idiot savants.

THE DUCHESS: Half right!

<Everyone stares around at each other for a few awkward moments>

KEN WEST: Uh, I don't want to actually have to read those horrible editorials.

JEOF VITA: Seconded. Get his legs.

<They rush Your Humble Editor and knock him unconscious>

MISTY VITA & THE DUCHESS: <in concert> Thank you!

JEOF VITA: We're heroes!

END.