http://vook.tumblr.com Why would some idiot New York City editor email me and rant and rave that she is not a "gatekeeper." She is an "editor at a distinguished book publishing house with a sterling reputation." And she would appreciate it if I would stop demeaning the editors of America; a hard-working group of aristocratic, corporate, alcoholic hobnobs. So there. I guess she told me. Dear Ms. Editress, Take the corn cob out of your woowoo and look around. There are 2,764,983,772,907,335,622 idiots who could do your job and all of them could do it better. You are a gatekeeper. Your corporate JOB is to keep people like me from ever, ever, EVER making it past the gates. It is MY job to defy you, distract you, subvert you, and get close enough to the gate to burn that motherfucker down. Even if, and sometimes especially, I have to pretend to be someone else -- let's say an ethnic poet from Turkmanistan. My name is Turkmanistas Beaverus Cleaverous, and I am the winner of the Desert Pushcart Camel Poetry Award (DPCPA to you). And you are going to publish my poems about drug-running poppy base with naked female slaves with big tits from the Sudan. Then I will win the Nobel Prize for Lunatics. There will be a scandal and Matthew Fleischer will ask (on your knees, boy) his dominatrix mistress, Sherman the Head, for permission to denounce me in the Raleigh Navajo Times. Sherman will say "Yes, Bitch, you have my blessing, but first you'll have to rim me, and I want that tongue stuck so far up my asshole, it comes out my mouth." You're a journalist now, Matthew. Do it for England. Motoko Rich will call your Editress on her orange juice tin can phone with the string. "Did you know?" "I had no fucking idea." Fiddledeedee. You knew. When they fire the corn cob in your ass, you'll have to join my retinue of naked slave girls smuggling poppy base into Minsk. It's not so bad. It's an honest day's pay for an honest day's work. Which is more than you have now. Tim Barrus, the IMMM...