(This story was inspired by the reading of the post on finely crafted Shakespearean insults, see reblogged posts!)

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I submitted what I thought was a humorous story to my editor and he rejected it. Now, I am no stranger to rejection. In fact, I married her, but after two weeks of marital disjunction, she filed for divorce and demanded custody of the key to my padded cell! I have not seen hide nor feather of her since. She even took the tar with her.
And as if this were not enough, I got the above-mentioned story shoved back down my esophagus. But this was not what did me in, dear reader, it was the phrasing of said rejection that caused me grievous comical harm. How would YOU like to get this email for breakfast, on an empty stomach and hung over:
“Dear Mr. Burcke,
Concerning your latest contribution:
Although your addressing me as “Deer Editor” made me smile, I should point our to you that ours is not a publication that caters to hunters. However, do allow me the privilege of shooting down your submission and this for the following reasons:
Your comprehension of the laws of comedy is so astronomically minute as to embrace gravity. Even though your logic is so drearily quaint and so hopelessly safe as to actually make a foolish kind of sense. Every morsel of wisdom to you is like the square root of an apple pie. Your comical astuteness has been known to make turnips yawn. Next to you, the boringest person in the entire universe is but a reflection in the mirror. My dear chap, you could force an insomniac into hibernation by reading this story to him out loud!
Although it must be said, in all honesty, that you have the waffle business down pat. Perhaps you should consider a career vending the latter on market day!? Oh and do me the courtesy of unsubscribing me from your list of hunting acquaintances. There’s a good chap!
Signed, The Turnip Hunter, editor in chief.”
Waffling, me? I’ve never baked in me life!
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