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Dear Scabby,

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Dear Scabby,
Last issue you were named the new editor of the Vent and now I here you are back to writing obits and advice fluff.  What happened?   -Your #1 Fan
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Aw, you’re a sweetheart for asking… It’s a long story and it starts with some scabs and it ends with, well, some more scabs.

As you mentioned last month I was finally realized as the talent that I am, and promoted to Editor of this fine publication. I figured that as owner of the magazine, that Will Vent a-hole would provide me enough of a salary to leave my old lifestyle and truly give my whole self to the arts. Since the pages of my contract were all stuck together, I couldn’t fully read it. It turns out I got the short end of the stick. By that I mean that it stipulated that, as Editor, I would have to perform sexual favors for Will Vent’s short stick.

Of course I immediately went on STRIKE. I refused to do any writing or sucking or sucky writing until I was given my due. In the interest of full disclosure, I did continue to offer hand job service during the strike, but only at full price and never during union breaks.  A girl’s gotta eat. But that was it. I drew my line in the sand and I stuck to it, literally… you have to understand, pretty much everything I do is sticky.

Long story short, that SOB Will, brought in scabs to cover the line during the strike. He found a scab Scabby. She was younger, cheaper and more willing, and if I’ve learned anything in my line of work, it’s that if you ain’t willing then you ain’t billing. I had no choice but to give in and out and up and down.

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