‘Awful!’ I said. ‘Piss-weak bletherings of a pair of cretins!’
‘Well, you’d know,’ the hatted one said. ‘That’s every submission you send us.’ Ponce.
‘They are carefully constructed and crafted pieces. There’s an art to it.’
‘I suppose you could do it much better,’ said the sessile oak with the Punisher tattoos.
‘Standing on my head in a bucket of turps.’
So I talked myself right into that one, didn’t I?
The Ponce and the Punisher put me to work at once as InkyLab’s resident blogger.
Resident blogger! Blogging on what, guys!? You do fuck all!
(And I’ll bet that gets edited. I’ll bet that ends up as a string of asterisks. No, I can’t just be left to write whatever I want. I can’t swear, Heaven forbid! It’s Unprofessional. Someone might be Offended. We can’t just put up a palliative disclaimer at the top of the page for these terminal offendees. No, we’ll just redact half the blog. Twats.)
Where was I?
Oh, they do fuck all, that’s right.
Yeah, I’m supposed to conjure up a blog out of weak tea and thick air about what these guys are doing day to day. Jesus.
OK, here goes.
Phil is grappling with some half-arsed Soviet-era Poundshop simulacrum of Adobe Photoshop cos he won’t pay for the real thing. He has been at it for about four and a half hours and is currently swearing like a massive hypocrite with his big bear mitt caught in a gin trap and throwing stationery about the place in a very Zen manner. This all to the burbling consternation of:
Gaz, who is lying supine on a ratty holy relic of a corduroy sofa, smoking rollies, drinking Jilt (half gin, half Lilt – you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll not notice you’ve fallen out of a first-floor window) and daydreaming. By the end of the afternoon, when Phil has managed to turn a poster of Kitchener into a postage stamp of Yosemite Sam, Gaz will have come up with le mot juste, ‘batholithic’.
They will now go for A Pint to celebrate A Hard Day’s Work.
Oh, that’s right, they have a new anthology of short stories out, Within A Forest Dark.
Check out their website, www.inkylabpress.com
Oh, you’re on it…
K Weismann, unpaid lackey.