“They’re just so fucking boring,” the oddly-accented writer’s voice is informing a novice eddy-tor over the phone. “One hit wonders all the way.”

“But Iman,” asks the panic-prone Eddy (eddy: a current of water or air running contrary to the main current) in a quivering voice, “they’re on their second hit right now!"

Pause.

“So they are,” admits the writer. “Well, I meant to say two hit wonders.”

Nooooooo, the silly Eddy mutters to himself, shaking his over-rated thinking device sadly, it’s gonna be one of thoooooooose. He recalls other disastrous CREEMares that’ve plagued him in his brief stint in eddy-torial, like the stupid move of assigning—in udder desperation—half an issue to J. “Fingers” Kordosh and hassling him daily (half-hourly by deadline time) with quaint-but-powerless 11 Where’s my copy?” phone calls and written threats starting out, if you ever wanna see your wife and kids alive again...

“Well,” he would reply calmly, “the kids maybe...”