The Perils of Plastic

After Bristle had a hissy and sent the first ghostwriter packing, the ghostwriter rental agency scrambled to find a suitable replacement. In the break room, the agency ghostwriters drew straws to see who would get stuck with Bristle. Hapless Baghead drew the short straw.

“Oh no,” thinks Hapless Baghead. “I’m going to end up in North Dakota like the last ghostwriter.”

“I hate cold winters.”

Desperate thoughts continue to bounce around Hapless Baghead’s brain as she is seated in the beige room. She asks Bristle to update her on her progress.

“So, how far along are you?”

“Four mo–um, I mean, I have some ideas.”


“How far along are you with your manuscript?”

“I have a title now, and some chapter stuff.”

Not Afraid of Life

“Kinda lame, huh?”

“To be afraid or not to be afraid! THAT is the question!”

“I need my own reality show…

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