This story is copyright (c) 2004. All rights are reserved by the author, including that of publication. Posting on-line is only allowed when permission is explicitly granted by the author, and then only for the complete story, including this disclaimer. Contact the author at <jimc-author at excite dot com> for more information, referring to this story ("Blocked").
I explicitly grant permission to post this story on storiesonline.net and asstr.org.
The following is a work of fiction and is just a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional. This means everybody!
This story describes sexual encounters between adults and my target audience is also adults with broad minds. If reading this is illegal where you live, then you should stop reading this right here and now.
Harry was chanting something, but Lisa couldn't make out the words that he was saying. "Make out" the words, Lisa thought to herself. That's funny. "Make out" was something that Harry had probably wanted to do with Lisa for five years. She knew that Harry would never get into her pants, but she enjoyed taking him for the ride!
Harry was in his thirties and wasn't bad looking. He had some money that he got from an insurance company when his parents perished in an airline crash and he made some smart investments in the early seventies that increased his fortunes. He was, as Harry himself put it, "comfortably well off." Since he wasn't hurting for money, Lisa allowed him to spend his money on her any way he wished.
Lisa knew that Harry had a thing for her, and she enjoyed teasing him mercilessly. There was an erotic tension in their relationship that they both knew existed, but which would never get beyond a good-night's kiss.
What was Harry saying anyway? Lisa found herself wondering. She noticed that she could see his lips move, but couldn't comprehend what he was saying.
Lisa was sitting, staring at Harry's face as he continued to talk to her, saying something that she just couldn't hear. She realized that she couldn't even hear the sounds around her: everything was quiet. The stillness was wonderful and wrapped around Lisa like a warm blanket, a sensation that Lisa felt was similar to being cradled in a warm sea.
This isn't normal, thought Lisa. They were in a deli, but Lisa couldn't make a move to even lift the Styrofoam cup of coffee to her lips. What was happening? Usually, Lisa was fully in control of herself, and she would never cede that control to anybody. Why couldn't she move?
It's not that Lisa didn't like Harry. She liked him very much. It was just that she loved teasing Harry. She didn't remember exactly how long she had known Harry, but it seemed like she had always played this childish game of "keep away" with him. She could excite him, but she would never allow him to touch her, except under rigidly controlled and proper circumstances. Harry never crossed the line; he was too nice a person to do that.
What was Harry saying, anyway? Lisa couldn't even move her head to see if the anybody else could hear what he was saying. There was no noise whatsoever other than a dull thumping that Lisa realized must be her heart beat that she heard like a faint clock drumming its nearly inaudible beat.
Harry didn't seem concerned with Lisa just staring at him, her eyes not blinking. His lips continued to move unceasingly. Lisa wondered how he did it. He could easily move his lips while Lisa was quite unable to do so. What was his secret? What was Lisa's problem?
How long have they been sitting here like this? Lisa couldn't even move her eyeballs to spy her wristwatch. Harry's mouth was still moving, totally occupying Lisa's full attention. There wasn't anything in the background behind Harry. There was only his moving lips. This wasn't right. Something must be wrong... but what could it be?
From somewhere deep within Lisa's consciousness, she realized that her hands were moving. She must be doing something, but she had no idea what it possibly could be. It was a familiar movement, but she couldn't make out exactly what she was doing. Her hands weren't in her line of sight. Harry's lips were still moving, not seeming to take any notice of Lisa's movement.
A flash of white appeared before Lisa, who didn't even blink at it despite the fact that it had occurred without any warning. Lisa's eyes were still wide open, the brief whiteness replaced by Harry's still moving lips.
Maybe Lisa could try to read those lips. What was Harry saying, anyway? Why didn't her lack of hearing bother her? There... that was a "B" movement. What he just said began with the letter "B" but his lips had moved a few times since then. One letter in the hundreds—thousands?—of words that Harry was saying. Lisa felt a bit disappointed in her failure... There! There was the "B" movement again. His lips made a "B" sound, even though Lisa couldn't hear his voice.
A childhood song that Lisa knew came to her. "B, A, Bay... B, E, Be... B, I, Bicky Bye... B, O, Bo... Bicky Bye Bo B, U, Boo... Bicky Bye Bo Boo..."
No, that wasn't what Harry was saying. He wasn't singing. He may have been chanting, but he definitely wasn't singing. Harry was saying something, but it wasn't that song.
Where did Lisa hear that song, anyway? Lisa tried to think back, and then had a memory of a black and white movie. Which movie? Lisa had no idea, but she suddenly remembered Moe Howard from the Three Stooges. Those three idiots were singing that song to a room full of kids. Was it a teaching song? It seemed that it was, she thought. Why did she remember this, anyway? She hated their stupid slapstick comedy. It was cruel.
Lisa's eyes couldn't focus on anything other than Harry's lips. They were moving, seemingly unaware that Lisa wasn't entirely there right now. "Lisa is not available right now. Please leave a message and she'll get back to you as soon as..." As soon as what? Harry's lips were still moving; he apparently didn't hear the voice mail message inside Lisa's brain.
Lisa thought about the pink message pads at work that were titled "While You Were Out." That's a good description. Lisa is out now. She's out with Harry at a deli. Harry was saying something, but for the life of her, Lisa couldn't make out what he was saying. She couldn't take his message!
A new sensation revealed itself to Lisa. Coolness. A breeze. Somebody must have turned on the air conditioner in the deli. Wasn't it early spring? Why would they need A/C now? It was cool and it was making Lisa's nipples harden. Lisa wondered if Harry would notice. She had seen him looking at her ample breasts in the past, and she had used his fixation on her breasts to her advantage: a subtle wiggle and a quick smile would work wonders. Gifts, flowers, vacations, whatever Lisa wanted. She knew how to play Harry like a well tuned instrument.
Lisa couldn't see Harry's eyes to see where he was looking. The only thing she could see was Harry's lips moving up and down. Occasionally, she could see his teeth as his lips parted. Very infrequently, she could see the tip of his tongue. He was still talking, and Lisa wondered why he didn't notice that she wasn't talking.
Something changed! Lisa was still seeing Harry's lips, but something was different now. What was it? It must be important... any change was important! This was weird... what was different?
Perspective! The perspective had changed. Harry was still talking, but she was now looking down at Harry, not across from him as before. Did he get lower, or did she get higher? Was she still sitting, or was she now standing? Lisa had no way of knowing.
The image of Harry's lips tilted and quickly righted itself. What was that? Another flash of white, but Lisa got a better look at it this time. It looked like a handkerchief... some material. Something small like that and what? A slight stain in the middle... Something familiar, but again... unfamiliar. It was quickly gone. What was it, anyway? Suddenly, Lisa found that whatever it was, it must be unimportant.
Harry's lips were now dead on again. They were both at the same level again. His lips were still moving.
The coolness could be felt even more now. Not just Lisa's nipples, but it was like a breeze was coming up her dress. Was there an A/C duct under the table? That would be a rather poor place to put such a thing. Heating vents, maybe. But air conditioning?
Harry's lips were still moving. Lisa gave up trying to figure out what Harry was saying. The letter "B" had tired her so...
Something changed again! What was it? Oh yes! Harry's lips were no longer there. She was staring at his belt. Harry must have stood up. Maybe Lisa should also stand up, but she was unable to move.
Harry's belt moved, and Lisa could only see pinkness. Something fuzzy and pink. Lisa should know what this is... it's something she should definitely know. It was getting closer to her. What should Lisa do? She could no longer see Harry's lips! She had no idea what was expected.
Open your mouth! That's what Lisa was supposed to do! But how did she do that? Could she open her mouth? Maybe she could ask Harry what he's saying, but she couldn't see his lips. The pink thing got closer and closer and...
Warmth. Lisa could feel warmth! Something salty and warm. It gave Lisa a feeling of happiness. She was feeling something other than the confusion she had, especially now that she could no longer see Harry's lips.
Lisa could see things moving back and forth, toward her and away from her. Back and forth, again and again... Was that hair? Fine, curly hair. Very much unlike the thinning hair on Harry's head. Whose hair was she looking at?
There was a fullness in her mouth. It wasn't the coffee in the deli. This was solid. It was going inside and out... back and forth. She should be noticing something, but what is it?
"I always get stuck around at that point," the man says. We only see his head. "The setup is always easy," he continues. "Two people and the story is from the female point of view. It's an older woman, but I haven't given her age; between twenty-five and forty, I guess."
The man pauses, shaking his head. "Confusion is easy to write. Just do a 'train of thought' thing, like somebody's inner dialog. Not very common. OK, I did it in that other story, but I got blocked there, also. Thirteen great chapters and then, BAM! Nothing."
We see more of the man's face now. He is on the phone.
There is a delay. Nothing spoken, and then: "No. Haven't described the guy much. Good looking and in his thirties. It's not so much about him..."
"Who is this guy?" Lisa says, suddenly finding herself somewhere completely unexpected. It doesn't occur to her that she is now able to speak.
"Where the fuck did you come from, and who the hell are you?" asks the man, looking up from the telephone.
"Huh? Who are you?" Lisa asks. "Where's Harry?"
"Harry who?" the man answers.
"My friend. We were having coffee in the deli and then..."
"LISA? That's impossible!"
"Of course, I'm Lisa. Who the fuck are you?" Lisa asks. "Where's Harry?"
The man looks back on his desk. Something seems to be missing. "Where's my story?" the man asks.
"Hold it, buster!" Lisa says. "Who the fuck are you and how did I get here? Where's Harry?"
"Where's my story?"
Lisa realized that this isn't getting anywhere. "Can I use your phone? I need to call Harry."
The man looks at the phone in his hands. "I'm using it." He realizes that things are getting weird. He talks into the phone. "Vinnie, are you still here?"
A pause. "Vinnie, something weird just happened."
"Who the fuck are you, and who is this Vinnie?" Lisa demands.
"Vinnie's my editor... one second," the man answers. "Lisa's here asking for Harry." A pause. "No, not in the story. She's fucking right here!"
"Hey, buster," Lisa shouts. "I ain't fuckin' nobody!"
"Please," the man says to Lisa. Talking into the phone, he says, "Vinnie, you won't believe this. Let me call you back." A pause. "Yeah. Call you right back. Yup. Bye."
"Can I use the phone now?" Lisa asks.
"Sure," the man asks. He throws the handset to Lisa.
Lisa looked at the phone in disbelief. "What did you do? Rip out the cord?"
The man looks confused, but after a moment, he makes a realization. "It's a cordless phone. I forgot I set your story in the seventies."
"No cord? How do you get dial tone?" Lisa asks.
"Press the 'TALK' button. Are you really Lisa?" the man asks.
"How do you know my name? I've never seen you before." Lisa asks. She presses the button on the phone and hears a dial tone. She dials 555-4421 and waits.
"What the fuck is this?" Lisa demands.
"What happened?" the man asks.
"It sounded like a recording asking me for a city."
"You got directory assistance," the man answers. "Did you dial the '555' exchange?"
"Of course. I dialed Harry's number. What was the recording?"
"Directory assistance is automated nowadays."
Lisa looks suspicious at the man. "You can't automate that. Let me call the operator and get the police..."
"Wait a second," the man says quickly. "Let me explain. Up until a few moments ago, you and Harry were both here... a story!"
"Is that a TV?" Lisa asks.
"It's my computer," the man answers.
Lisa looks at the guy as if he has two heads. "You're a lunatic. Where's Harry?"
"I have no fuckin' idea. Are you really Lisa? You're almost how I pictured her..."
"I have been Lisa for all my life." Lisa is starting to get exasperated. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I... um... I... I created you..."
Lisa shakes her head. This man is certifiably insane.
"Really," the man says. "I was writing a story about you and Harry..."
"Who are you, a reporter? Harry and I don't have any kind of relationship. We sometimes go out for coffee, that's all. If you have a problem with that, Harry's lawyers will..."
"I'm a writer. I write... stories. On the Internet."
"What kind of net is that?"
"It's the world wide... oh, fuck it! This is fucking impossible!"
Lisa notices that the man is staring at her. "What are you staring at?" she asks suspiciously.
"I sort of pictured your breasts as a bit bigger," the man says. "Also, you were supposed to be a bleached blonde."
"BLEACHED BLONDE!" Lisa screams. "I'll have you know I've never..."
"Listen," the man says. "You were in a deli with Harry. You saw him talking, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. Am I right so far?"
Lisa looks at the man and her mouth hangs open. "How did you know that?"
"I wrote that! You didn't realize that he hypnotized you. He was sticking his dick in your mouth when I got stuck... you know... writer's block."
"Who was sticking his dick in my mouth! I'm no cheap slut!"
"Harry was. He hypnotized you, which is why you were kind of confused as to what was happening. You were fixated on looking at his lips, remember?"
"I'm still confused. Who are you?"
"Call me Jim."
"Jim What?"
"Jim See," the man answers.
"Sea like in ocean?"
"Close. Anyway, I was writing a story and I got blocked. It happens every so often. Last one was on a great story... but enough about that. I was talking to my editor when you showed up out of nowhere."
Lisa looks at the man. "How old are you, anyway? You're older than Harry."
"Harry's name was going to change, I think," the man says. "At first, your name was Helen, but I did a global replace when I decided you were over twenty."
"I'm twenty five," Lisa answers. "And how did you know about Harry's lips?"
"I told you, I wrote you! But, in my story, you were naked. You didn't know it but you had been undressing yourself as you were fixated on his lips. You were no longer in the deli, but you didn't realize it. You were in Harry's house, and he was hypnotizing you... oh, it's no use!"
Lisa looks down and sees that she's fully dressed. "What are you talking about? I wasn't at Harry's house. I've never gone into his house in my life. I don't do that..."
The man shakes his head. Lisa is confused. Maybe she should call the police.
"What's the number for the police in this town?" Lisa asks, pressing the "0" button.
"Can you wait for a moment?" the man asks.
"What for?"
"Let me type something here. It will just be a few minutes..."
Lisa found herself in her own house. Harry is no longer around. It's late at night, and Lisa is tired.
Lisa goes to bed.
"Wow!" the man says to himself. "She just disappeared!"
Suddenly, Lisa reappears in front of the man. She is dressed only in a robe.
"Why am I back here?" Lisa asks. "I was just at my bed."
Lisa looks at herself, dressed only in her robe. She's in that weird man... Jim's house... and she's nearly naked!
Lisa screams.
The man turns around and starts typing again.
Lisa shakes her head. This whole evening has been totally weird. First there was that thing with Harry's lips. Then that weirdo that thought he was God. Twice!
Lisa found herself ready to go to bed. She removed her robe and lowered the covers.
In bed, Lisa couldn't fall back asleep.
Thinking to herself, Lisa realized that she had been teasing Harry for years. Maybe she should just forget about him and let him find somebody that really loves him.
"Maybe I need an older man. The kind of guy that likes to write. Now a writer... that's sexy!"
The man stops typing, and turns around.
Lisa suddenly appears.
She's about to scream when she gets a closer look at the man. "Are you a writer?"
"Yes!" the man says. "I told you before. I'm Jim See."
"I've heard that name before," Lisa says.
Lisa looks down and notices that she's naked. Instead of being embarrassed, she simply shrugs. Lisa was always a bit of an exhibitionist.
The two stare at each other without saying anything for two minutes.
"So, what now?" Lisa asks.
"Give me a few minutes."
Lisa found herself in bed, thinking about her past life.
Despite being a virgin, she had perfected the art of cock sucking since early high school and through college. She loved the idea of sucking cock so much that whenever she met her ideal man, like somebody much older than her and who knew how to write, she'd want to kneel down, take his erect member into her mouth, and suck him until he was pouring his seed down her willing throat.
It's been a while since her last oral partner, and Lisa was feeling a bit randy. What she wouldn't give to have a guy right now...
Lisa appears in the man's apartment one more time. Again, she's naked. The two are staring at each other.
"Aren't you a writer?" Lisa asks.
"Indeed I am, Lisa."
Lisa felt a hunger inside her, and without another word, she emits a low growl in her throat and descends to her knees. She undoes the button on his jeans and pulls down his zipper.
He's wearing boxers. How cute!
Lisa pulls his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. She finally sees his cock. She looks up at him with confusion on her face.
"Hey, lover," Lisa says. "Aren't you excited? I'm naked and on my knees in front of you!"
"Try sucking on it a bit," the man answers, a bit embarrassed.
Lisa sighs and gives the man's dick a tentative suck.
The man moans a bit when Lisa's tongue makes contact with the head of his dick.
Lisa starts to feel the dick come to life. Encouraged, she sucks a bit harder. It's still soft, and she finds it easy to suck the entire member into her mouth without ever hitting that gag point.
The man continues to moan, but after a few minutes, there's no more action on the part of his organ. It's still quite flaccid.
Lisa pulls back, dropping the dick from her mouth. "Is anything wrong?" Lisa asks the man.
"Give me a second," the man says, waddling toward the keyboard on his desk.
Lisa found herself back in bed. She's been having some weird dreams lately.
Lisa thinks back to the time her best friend in the world taught her an ancient oral technique that is guaranteed to turn even the most unresponsive male organ into steel-like hardness in just a few seconds. It was like magic, and the technique has always worked...
Once again on the floor, kneeling in front of the author, Lisa takes the man's member into her mouth again. She starts humming and sucking, moving her tongue back and forth like crazy across the head of his dick.
As if by magic, the shriveled organ begins to show signs of life.
Emboldened, Lisa continues to suck. The organ is now almost hard enough to slip into her throat. If only it were longer...
"Aaaaaaaah!" the man cries as his seed spurts into Lisa's mouth.
Lisa is a bit disappointed; this sexual encounter only lasted about thirty seconds.
The man pulls out and waddles back to his keyboard...
In her bed, Lisa contemplates her life.
She had spent the last five years teasing Harry mercilessly.
She just had an oral experiences with an older author. He was nice, but the encounter hadn't been very satisfactory to her.
What was the point of living?
Lisa turns toward her night stand, and notices that there is a hunting knife on it. How did that get here, she wonders.
The knife beckons.
With a sudden motion, Lisa grabs the knife and plunges it into her own heart. As the life runs out of her body, only one thought emerges: "Harry...!"
There, thinks the man. I finally got rid of her.
He gets up from his chair and freezes. Where Lisa had been standing, she is now prone on the floor, naked, with a knife plunged into her heart. Her blood is making a huge puddle on the floor. The cordless phone is nearby, exactly where Lisa dropped it the first time she disappeared from the room.
"Oh my god!" the man says. "What have I done? Lisa! Lisa! Oh, my god! I've killed you!"
The man runs to Lisa's dead body. He pulls the knife out of her body, but he's much too late. There is no way that Lisa could survive so much loss of blood. He realizes that her blood is everywhere... on his pants where he was kneeling next to her, on his hands where he grabbed the knife...
There's a knock on the door. "Jim! Are you there? It's Vinnie! You sounded weird before. I tried calling, but your line was busy."
"Vinnie!" Jim screams. "Something very weird happened."
There is another bang on the door. "This is the police. We've had a report of a woman screaming. Please open the door."
"No!" The man shouts. He looks at the bloody corpse of the character that he had created. There's no way that he would be able to explain this...
There is a bang as the police break the door down.
Vinnie is at the door, but the policeman asked him to remain outside until the situation is under control. He could still see the grisly sight inside the house. "Oh my God, he's covered in her blood!"
Jim looks up, and realizes he still has the knife in his hands. He drops it on the floor and looks up at the group of people. "I didn't mean to kill her," he cries.
"Who is she?" one policeman asks. "She's naked. I don't see a purse anywhere."
"Jim told me that he had a girl named Lisa here," Vinnie says, looking at the writer with complete disbelief.
"I made her up! She's a figment of my imagination."
Two detectives walk into the house and see the phone on the floor. Using a handkerchief, one detective speaks into it and finds a policeman on the other end.
"This is Rogers at dispatch. The phone was transferred to the police station when the operator heard a scream. I've been listening. There was some muffled conversation, and then a male voice yelled that he killed somebody.l"
"I didn't kill her!" the man cries. "I created her!"
The murder scene is gory, like so many of them these days. The girl was cute, the policeman notices. Nice body, blonde. I wonder what set this guy off?
"Vinnie, please explain to them..."
The detectives look at each other, and one sighs and tells the crazy man, "You have the right to remain silent. Should you give up that right, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law..."
"Interesting concept, but kind of confusing. No real sex. Yup, it looks like one of your typical short stories. It sucks."
"What do you mean, 'my typical short story?'"
The editor smiles. "You should stick to what you write best. Nobody likes your short stories. They're too strange."
"I write what comes into my mind," the writer answers. "I always wondered what happens to my characters when I stop writing."
"You are a guy that has writer's block, so you write a story about a guy with writer's block. There's no sex in the story to speak of. Only a writer would appreciate it. Your typical reader, especially on the sites you post to could care less about a guy with writer's block. It's convoluted and it's totally unbelievable."
The writer shrugs. "What's wrong with the story other than the lack of sex?"
The editor takes a sip of his Scotch. "The ending sucks. Like all of your endings." The editor glances over the pages one more time. "The story within a story concept is confusing, especially when you keep shifting between one world and the other. You need to stick within one reality for a while before switching. And you really, really suck at these endings. Jeez, do you even know police procedure? Did you get that Miranda shit from a Google search?"
"This isn't a 'happily ever after' type of story, Bill," the writer explains. "I wrote this at the cottage, and you know there's no Internet access there."
"Happily ever after is the only believable ending you can write," the editor retorts. "At least, that's the only kind you can finish. I still don't know... a writer gets arrested for killing his own character in a story? What next?"
"How about an editor that gets arrested for changing the ending of a writer's story without the writer's consent?"
"You never did forgive me for that," the editor shrugged unapologetically. "It was a better ending, plain and simple. You suck at them."
"You know, I've had this idea for a story that's been running through my mind for a few years," the writer muses. "It's about a kid that finds some magical tickets."
"Let me guess. Set in the seventies, before AIDS, right? Magic tickets make the girls do whatever he wants. You're so fucking predictable! I could write that one, you jackass! It's already been written by every teenage male that ever tried to write a stroke story."
"Maybe so, but I think it's a neat concept." The writer takes a swig of his beer. "I do kind of like that era. Anyway, he finds true love..."
"Spare me," the editor says. "I'd like to see an ending to the one with the military guy that was in a coma. I can probably sell that one in Hollywood. You'd be a fucking millionaire. It's not just about sex, you know. I can see intrigue in that one. It's the only real story you've ever written, and you've just about given up on it. You even alluded to it in this fucking story. You have talent and yet you post to those sex story sites."
"They're good for getting feedback," the writer protests. "Besides, I keep trying to figure out what happens next in that one. Who knows? Maybe after the one about the tickets."
"Why did you make the author in this one impotent?" the editor asks. "Are you making some sort of confession here?"
"It was an attempt at humor," the writer answers, sipping from his glass. "You know, the old saying, 'Those that can, do. Those that can't do, write.'"
The editor smiles. "And you are one of those that can't write. Your endings suck!"
The writer winces and starts to get out of his chair. "You fucking son of a bitch..."
The waitress arrives, breaking up the fracas that really wasn't going to happen anyway. She delivers another tall beer and a Dewars. The writer makes no effort to pay for the drinks. The editor growls and puts a twenty dollar bill on the waitress' tray.
After making change and taking her tiny tip, the waitress leaves. Both men study her ass as she walks away.
"Her hair is bleached, and her tits are huge. A perfect Lisa," the writer says.
"I've told you that short stories don't sell any more," the editor says. "And you... you really suck at them! Remember that last one about the kids writing a sex story? That was totally unbelievable and on top of it, you slapped on the worst ending possible! A fucking comet lands on some motorcyclists?"
"You're not thinking soft core," the writer points out. "Don't need much story there. You just need a location that can make up for the lack of a plot, some good looking chicks, and a bunch of sex scenes."
"You've been watching too much Skinemax," the editor says. He thinks a bit and looks at the story in front of him for a few moments before taking another swig of his drink. "You know, it might be worth soft core. I'd have to find one of the companies that do that sort of thing. Of course, you'd have to add more sex scenes, and make the scenes with the author longer..."
"No! That destroys the entire point of the story!" the writer complains. "Maybe flesh out more between Harry and Lisa..."
The editor shakes his head. "We're talking five figures for soft core. And we'd need to change the ending..."
"For five figures, I think we could punch up the oral scenes with the writer..."
"And you need to come up with a decent ending. I told you, you suck at endings!"
The conversation is interrupted when a man materializes in front of the two men.
"Who are you two guys?" Jim asks.
The editor and writer look at each other. The newcomer is totally disheveled and covered in blood.
"Who the hell are you?" the editor asks.
"Just a moment ago, I was in my house. Lisa killed herself, and the police were about to slap handcuffs on me. Who the hell are you guys and what am I doing here?"
The editor shakes his head. He turns to the writer he's sitting next to and says, "You know, you're fucking pathetic!"
The writer totally ignores the man covered in blood and says, "With this tickets story, I was thinking of a female character, eighteen years old. She's got lovely blonde hair, and she's also a millionaire with this oral fixation. And..."