Earth Goat: We're glad you've agreed to come back.
El Gordo De Amore: Last time it didn't go so well.
EG: Well, we got rid of that guy. You have nothing to fear from me!
EG: So, what are you working on?
EA: I'm on the fifth draft of my novel. It's about a fictional Eastern European country under a spell. It's extremely loosely based on my experiences working in Russia.
EG: Wow! That sounds craptastic!
EA: Well, uh -- What?
EG: So, how do you think you got into the Workshop?
EA: I don't know. I wonder about this alot, since the stuff I tend to like is not "typically workshop," but not really avant garde either. The story I turned in for my application ended up with some magical buffalo, and I --
EG: No, I meant because you're such a talentless hack. No one can understand how you got in, and believe me, I've asked some people. Hoo boy! I don't think Sherlock Fucking Holmes could figure out that little mystery! Watson? Watson! I need a little help here! What's the first story you turned in for the Workshop?
EA: It was about a law firm in the future that only represented clones. They were fighting each other over the original's assets.
EG: Boy, that sounds like a real shit fiesta! Weren't you up with Jennifer Haigh that day?
EA: Err, yes.
EG: I bet she turned in something beautiful.
EA: She did.
EG: And you wasted everyone's time with your zombie story?
EG: Whatever. Jennifer Haigh, now, that's a real writer! She was on the Today show, in Entertainment Weekly, won some big awards! How many awards, interviews, and television appearances have you had?
EA: Err -- none.
EG: And you haven't taken the hint yet? What do you want? A burning freaking bush? Faulkner's ghost to rise from the dead and tell you you suck? A letter from the Library Association? How guilty do you feel about Workshop time wasted on you that could have been used for Robert Rosenberg?
EA: Well, I err --
EG: You're not very articulate. Is this why no one at the Workshop likes you?
EA: They don't?
EG: Describe your body odor -- one, dead fish; two, regurgitated dead fish; or three, regurgitated dead fish reswallowed and pooped back out?
EA: Don't you think this is a little mean?
EG: I'm thinking choice three.
EA: (unitelligible noises. Sound like a duck).
EG: Your son is incredibly handsome and intelligent. Since this means you can't possibly be his father, how does it affect your writing?
EA: What? Really?
EG: It's KClou.
EG: You've obviously married beyond your station. How did you pull this off? Roofies?
EA: What? Man -- I've had enough of this. I'm going.
EG: Wait! I have 16 more pages of notes!
(unintellgible noises and a loud banging sound).