Evil Monkey:
You write too slow.

Jeff:
Who asked you, banana breath?

Evil Monkey:
No need to get huffy.

Jeff:
Yeah, well…

Evil Monkey:
You said it on your blog.

Jeff:
I did.

Evil Monkey:
More or less.

Jeff:
You pass judgment too quickly.

Evil Monkey:
If you wrote faster, you’d be richer.

Jeff:
If you moved slower I’d wring your furry little neck.

Evil Monkey:
If you wrote faster but slept slower I’d be able to get all of that poison into the porches of your ears by dawn.

Jeff:
If you drank slower I wouldn’t have to drive you home every night.

Evil Monkey:
If you drank faster maybe you’d stop posting so many pointless blog entries.

Jeff:
If you were faster on the uptake you’d realize appearances are reality.

Evil Monkey:
If you were quicker-witted you’d realize this whole discussion is pointless.

Jeff:
You’d make a terrible slow writer.

Evil Monkey:
You’d make a terrible fast writer.

Jeff:
I don’t write to deadline! (*Beats chest*.) Look at me!

Evil Monkey:
That’s because nobody cares if you finish anything.

Jeff:
Nobody cares if I finish you off.

Evil Monkey:
If a tree falls on you in a forest while you’re writing your slow fiction, would there be a news report?

Jeff:
If a middle class, middle-aged writer throttled a sock monkey in the privacy of his own home, would said sock monkey make a sound?

Evil Monkey:
Yes, he would.

Jeff:
Oh.

Evil Monkey:
Why dost thou hate the fast writers, Jeff. Is it because thou are so slow?

Jeff:
I don’t hate the fast writers, but try to ask a bleepin’ question and the bullcrap rises to cover everyone!

Evil Monkey:
But slowly, my friend. Slowly.

(Originally ran on the old blog)