"By the wings of Barjab!" Semlin Throng mutters under his breath as the
office mailgoblin empties his sack of scrolls into his already-
overflowing In-Tray. As Editor-in-Chief of Quester's Monthly, Semlin
feels that reading and responding to reader's comments is beneath him;
unfortunately however he is one of only two members of QM staff who can
actually read, the other being the fabled Eye of Pabelory, who was
currently in the middle of a quinquennial hibernation. (The Eye was not
naturally a hibernatory
creature, but it had a habit of occasionally indulging in expenses-paid
business lunches of such size that it invariably took it some five years
to sleep off the effects.) So in addition to writing all the articles,
proofing and editing them, Semlin Throng also has to wade through the
daily dose of ignorance-fuelled bile emanating from the
magazine's "beloved readership". Semlin hates this part of the job more than any other (well, maybe apart from cleaning up after Jiblitt, the office mascot/werewolf), but as he has currently run out of reasons to delay it any further, he sits himself down on his ivory throne, reaches over, pulls out the first scroll at random and begins to read: "Dear Sir/Madam/Thing" it begins, "you have been chosen from all of the sentient beings in this realm to be invited to partake in our once in a lifetime offer. For one sen'night only, we are offering the chance for you to become part owner of one of the legendary Timeshares of the Golden Forest. Imagine the . . ." RRRRRRRRRRIIPPPPPP!! Semlin tears up the sheet of parchment and thropws it into his waste-paper bottomless pit in disgust. "Damned junk mail!" he hisses. He spits on the floor and then grabs another scroll. The next one at least seems genuine: "Dear
Peasant
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11/6/2007 2:37:24 AM
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