Miss Delicious Convention by John Patrick Robbins

                                      

Frank checked his emails about as often as he checked his ego, which as anyone would know from reading him was seldom.

He had a certain criteria for emails being.

If it was from a fellow writer he largely ignored it, unless that said writer had tits and a vagina.

The messages were many and mostly from folks he was glad to show.

Yes your shit truly does stink.

Then he noticed his favorite kind the newbies, those that had yet to have their egos inflated into something that resembled a hot air balloon.

Most were shit as all of us were when we started out and some still were, it's just they caught some breaks or had become the new it thing for the moment.

Frank had broke a few and largely regretted giving them all that push.

“Dude stop publishing with your dick.”

Simon told him over the phone as he was having his usual evening check in slash buzz kill conversation.

Over everything Frank did not want to discuss like deadlines, which would never be met or books that were only a year or two behind.

“Hey kid, I'll have you know my dick has great taste just ask your sister.”

“That was my ex girlfriend you fucking asshole!”

“Dude seriously, you're still pissed over that? 
I mean it's not like you two were serious or anything.”

“We were fucking engaged you cocksucker!”

Frank knew he had hit a nerve and a normal and caring person would have probably backed off.

Good thing Frank seldom if ever troubled himself with feelings of others let alone his best friend and agent.

“Dude that was before I found Jesus.”

Simon cracked up with that statement.

“Yeah I never knew you were religious.”

“I didn't mean the dude that walks on water. I'm talking about the Uber driver I met who turned me onto some lower priced streetwalkers last time I was in Cincinnati visiting your mom.”  

“Why do I even bother?”

“Hey kid, check out this flaming pile of dogshit!”

Frank forwarded a submission to the Speakeasy, which was far from top shelf. 

More like the crap you steal from your parents liquor cabinet and don't even bother refilling with water for even they could give a fuck less about it.

Simon looked it over.

“Fuck this is bad dude! like please tell me you're not publishing this garbage?”

“Fuck yes I am did you see the author's picture?”

Attached to the word doc was a pic that made the work a little more tolerable.

And made Frank reflect on what he once told Victoria when they first met.

He read over confusing lines, yet was lost in the perfect storm that was the vision that he soon would learn was window dressing and nothing more.

As she rambled as usual about all her recent publications and the endless sea of  false praise she received underneath every facebook post.

And although he was a notorious asshole, he had to feel bad even for someone as self absorbed as Victoria.

For internally there was something in all of us that wrote that was fractured.

And needed that praise and beautiful women were the worst for no matter their appearance, there was still something that desired acceptance like everyone else.

Frank was lost for a moment as old drunks and fools grow sentimental with time.

“Dude are you looking at porn again or something ?, I told you get off the fucking phone if you’re doing that shit !”

Frank snapped back to reality without missing a beat.

“Yeah but I am just about ready to cum sweetheart.”   

They both busted up laughing with that one.

And soon Simon realized  little was going to be achieved today in pressing his favorite client and semi big brother.

So he simply said goodbye and wrote the day off as usual.

As Frank went through the submissions and sent out rejections with broken dreams.

It never was easy for he had been there many times himself.

But he knew from experience, if someone truly wanted anything in this life, seldom did you become defeated from a no.

And as he returned to the fresh faced submission he shared with Simon he made sure to take special care.

“Dear Heather , thank you for sending me your work I will take, Love Like A Butterfly and send you a link when it’s up.” 

He pressed send and awaited her reply for which he would most certainly would receive in an hour. As like anyone getting her first publication she would be over the moon.

Frank had passed on ten others far more talented and just as boring.

But none of those had a beautiful smile and a nice rack.

Making dreams come true for the beautiful people was his mission in life, that and if you are going to be annoyed by endless inquiries over publication dates and grammatical errors.

Then make sure at least your view is worth the stress.

I mean why else do you think he published all you sexy bastards?”

It’s hell when you learn people don't appreciate you for anything more than your body.

Editing, it was truly God’s work minus the communion and altar boys.

But that's why the lord had provided strippers and cocaine.

All was well in the publication’s asylum today.

Sometimes it felt rewarding to be the villain.

John Patrick Robbins, Is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review , The Abyss, Under The Bleachers and The Black Shamrock Magazine. 

His work has been published by Heroin Love Songs,  San Pedro River Review , Sacred Chickens,  Punk Noir Magazine,  Piker Press, As It Ought To Be Magazine,  Red Fez and here at the Dope Fiend Daily. 

He is also the author of If Walls Could Speak Mine Would Blush written Under His own name Frank Murphy. 

His work is always unfiltered.