Jesus portholes Divya Dubey's untitled work

[Jesus slaps the last page of the the tome down on the desktop atop the Jenga-ing tower of pages he'd slapped down prior. He'd removed his glasses earlier, and now he rubs his red-rimmed eyes. The Java cigar rests on the edge of the humungoid ashtray stage left of the the desktop. Jesus grabs the combat sunglasses and shoves them onto his face, and then he grabs the cigar and shoves it into his mouth. He rises]

Could not pay me enough to do this for a living.

[He grabs up the freshly examined cap/tome and shoves it into...oh, nevermind. What with all the grabbing and shoving, well, sorry. Jesus takes steps, oily smoke like silk wrapping around his nasty beard and tailing assward]

Ms. Dubey, I've examined the cap you sent, which, strangely, doesn't seem to have a name, and I have decided it doesn't meet up with our standards.

[His heavy, dirt-crusted combat boots transport him to the opened, whistling Porthole. He tosses the cap out into the deluge]

I won't go into it, but, I mean, really. Come on, now. What we want is action in the plot. We want to be suprised, you know what I mean? We want "Oh wow, I did not see that coming!" Or, maybe I'm trying to say that we want more of those things than I found in the unnamed cap. More and less. Hah ha ha. See...

[He walks back to the cherrywood]

Less, as in it was to gosh-darn long, mame.