Oiy. You chicken-sh***t writers.
What did I say about publishing your short story collection independently?
You think you little wankers can pull one on ol’ Max Bastard. Well, we’re going to drag your sh**ty book through the mud.
Anytime a reader sees your name in print, they’re going to want to spit on the sidewalk in disgust. You’re going to be the New Coke of literature. We’re going to squeeze your literary balls so hard you’ll be writing in a falsetto for now on.
As for anyone reading this post, if you freaks even touch this turd of a book, I’ll make sure you’ll be sh**ting 45-font exclamation points for weeks.
Just try me!
ReejecttIIon – A Number Two