Yes, Mr. Wilson. There is an editing clause!

[Once it'd become clear that Jesus had pulled down Rorschalk's undergarment along with the pants by mistake, and once Rorschalk had shakily, due no doubt to the loss of blood, pulled said ungarment back into place, Jesus had dove into the task at hand. He'd sewn the ripped thigh back together. And now he knots the last knot. From some secret stash inside his filthy robes, he pulls out a somewhat clean cloth. He looks around the Floor]

Hmff.

[He climbs over the rough terrain to the cherrywood, and he rumages around in the bottom drawer. He comes up with the big bottle of Sailor Jerry's rum. He rushed back to Rorschalk and splashes some rum on the cloth. He goes about cleaning the area around the thigh-gash, wiping away the blood pudding, nasty job]

So, Mr. Rorschalk. I've managed to examine another cap. I know it seems a stretch, what with all this black knight stuff and the pulling and jabbing of the needle, but I've done it, and I must tell you that I'm a bit on the fence with this one. It's a cap called Venis Kiss, sent in by a fellow named Mather Wilson. I like the idea behind the prose, however the crafting leaves one miffed and awed. And not in a good way. Some examples, sir. Mathew types, The fingers of his left hand were in his mouth on which he merrily chewed. Now would bring us to believe that this fellow chewed on his mouth? And another example, or a few: Back bone? Out come? These should be one word not two. And so the reader stumbles, I mean, I'm not being unfair saying the reader stumbles here, am I, Mr. Rorschalk? More examples: "Every ones in stasis, you idiot."...Once a century, Venus, the Earths sister, entered it's closest distance to the planet...Man made? Man-made!...Grand children? Grandchildren!...Anderson built it during the Blitz and his son in the belief of inevitable nuclear out come in the sixties had extended it. Mathew, comas. Come on..."This things heavy,"...But she there was fear inside her. Huh?...With his optic nerve severed, Venus was a singer with no microphone and being poor. Henry could only afford a seat in the most back row. She had shook them with no look. She had hurt her back moving the wardrobe and the interior of the shelter left much to the imagination but though her hand hurt she was happy. Venus was waning but still here and everything was fine. These last two lines? Ok, Mathew. What are you? Six? I am confused. Was there proffreading going on here?

[Jesus stands. He tosses the dirty rag to the floorboards. From inside his robes he pulls out the cap in question. He walks toward the Porthole]

Due to the lack of editing, and just plain laziness, this cap is going to the four winds.

[He tosses Mathew Wilson's Venus Kiss out into the deluge]