I do believe the end is nigh. For nine months, EFFIN’ ALBERT has gestated in my belleh, light as a leaden balloon. Nine months of morning sickness that can’t tell time. Your mommy’s had a rough go, ALBERT. Much crying and weeping and gnashing of teeth. Craving chocolate and olives and copious amounts of alcohol, and maybe a little peace of mind. Banging her head against a wall built with writers’ blocks, spewing expletives like vomitus when she’s not on her knees, praying for this hell to end; dreaming about the end whilst simultaneously dreading it . . . which makes no sense.
You have that affect on Mommy, ALBERT.
Ahh, but the end is nigh, sweet pea. Nine months you’ve nestled in Mommy’s addled brain, subverting her common sense, sucking the life out of her but it’s coming to a head like a great, pulsing boil. You’re preparing to make your debut, she feels it but just to make sure, she’s got it tattooed on her brain: 55,931 words, as of today. My, you are a big boy and getting bigger, too! Mommy’s hauling out her calculator. She figures she needs to come up with another fifteen thousand words which seems insurmountable if Mommy thinks about it so Mommy’s going to get herself another shot of brandy.
Ahh, that’s better. It’s all good, isn’t it ALBERT? You and Mommy are on the home stretch now. Is that why you’re stretching her to the breaking point? But she’s in it for the long haul. What did she say? It’s you and me you little prick, you cock-sucking–
Whoa, Mommy. I know, let’s talk about your future, ALBERT. What do you want to be when you grow up? Mommy has high hopes for you. Do you know that? There’s an awful lot riding on you. She sees you as a trade book, pretty cover and pages and everything or would you rather be a virtual baby? You decide. Mommy will do whatever you say. She’s happy to stay in the background. Actually, that’s probably a really good idea. Mommy’s been looking a teensy bit peeked of late. You’re taking it out of her, you know it? Of course you do, that’s what you do best: suck her dry, suck the life right out of her you little succubus but she loves you, ALBERT. Really and truly, she does. She can’t wait to see you, hold you in her arms, whisper in your flat little ear, “My little ALBERT, you nearly killed me, you know that? You’d better sell you little bastard if you don’t sell I’m gonna break your fuckin”–”
Never mind Mommy, ALBERT. Mommy’s a little crazy right now. She just wrote another chapter and realized it could be months before she actually finishes her stupid, stupid—