Note 797
February 1, 2021•126 words
When I was a boy my grandfather bought this crazy remote plot of land and he built a "shack" on it. Said he would go there when he was feeling lonely. When he died of a Marmite related accident in 2013, he left the land to me. This is where I keep my pseudonyms, all real people whom I have kidnapped, guarded by an intricate system of mines and mouse traps. The pseudonyms work there 7 days a week on a diet of blanched hay and egg whites – my grandmother's recipe for quality literature – churning out volumes of what some people have called, "Desperate crap." I then publish and profit from them anonymously.
They [the pseudonyms] do get a half day every second Christmas.