Ok folks, we’re here at the home of celebrated author R.D. Wylder. Well, she isn’t exactly celebrated or anything, but no one else would actually agree to this so we didn’t really have a choice. Anyway, have you ever wondered what goes on the mind of a writer? Well it’s your lucky day. Ms. Wylder has graciously accepted our request to meet the Muses responsible for her work. And since I didn’t realize that the woman I spent last Saturday night with was the boss’ wife, I’m the lucky guy who got the assignment. We might as well get this thing over with.

 *Knock knock*

 Wylder: Hello? Oh, you must be the guy they sent over for the interview. Come in. I’ll get the girls together.

 Interviewer: Thanks for agreeing to this.

 Wylder: It wasn’t actually me. Some of the girls have an exhibitionist streak and, well, they’re the talent so I couldn’t really say no, now could I? I’d offer you a drink but Drunkie finished the last of the tequila this morning. She’s around here somewhere, trying to figure out how to turn shoe polish into alcohol.

 Interviewer: Uh…okaaayyyyy. So how many Muses do you have in all?

 Wylder: You know, I never can tell. They’re always coming and going. I can never say who’s going to make an appearance. It’s quite rude, if you ask me. How am I supposed to know how many beds to make up? And everyone wants something different for breakfast…*mutter, mutter*

 Interviewer: Um…so, moving on. Hey, why are you showing up as Wylder and not R.D. Wylder?

 Wylder: Sorry. That must be Slacker’s doing. She doesn’t like to type…or work…or do anything really except sit and ponder the meaning of life and all that existential stuff.

 Interviewer: Is she here today?

 Wylder: Sure. She’s right over……..Slacker! Put the weed down! How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not bailing you out of jail again?

 Slacker: It’s medicinal.

 Wylder: What do you mean it’s medicinal? You’re not sick.

 Slacker: My point exactly…it’s working. Okay, okay, my doctor said I need it to treat my condition.

 Wylder: What condition?

 Slacker: Weed addiction.

 Wylder: Sigh…I’m not able to deal with this right now. Where are the others?

 Slacker: *unintelligible murmuring*

 Wylder: You’re not going to get a better high if you chew the weed. Now spit it out and then talk to me, and no, I will not make you magic brownies.

 Slacker: Fine. Pervo kept begging someone to #$%* her ‘til it hurts, and that got Psycho excited for some reason. I think they’re up in her room.

 Wylder: Great…just great. Like the nurses didn’t threaten to call the police the last time. Come on Mr…..er…..whatever. Just follow me.

 Interviewer: If this is a bad time….

 Wylder: Bad time? What are you talking about? This is about as good as it….holy hell!

Interviewer: Oh my god! I think I’m blind….am I blind? No? You wouldn’t happen to have any sharp implements around would you?

 Wylder: He’s not being serious Psycho. Put down the Ginsu knives and take those nipple clamps off. I need you downstairs. Yes, yes, I know about all your idea for that serial killer story. We’ll work on it later, I promise. Now go get Dreamy. Last I heard she was composing a sonnet in the garden.

 Interviewer: Your Muses compose classical poetry too?

Wylder: Only Dreamy. Well she tries to anyway, although after her Ode To A Caterpillar I was contemplating borrowing Psycho’s piano wire myself.

Interviewer: So you don’t get along with…yipes!!!

Wylder: Pervo! Stop that!

Pervo: But I’m soooo horny. Is he a prezzie for me?

Wylder: Er…no….he’s not for you. And neither is the camerawoman so stop trying to undo the poor woman’s zipper. Here. Take this vibrator and this copy of Raiders Of The Lost Arse. It’s none of your business why I happen to be walking around with it, and don’t come out of this room until I tell you to.

Interviewer: I am in hell.

Wylder: Did you say something?

Interviewer: Uh, I said that went very well.

Wylder: Well you’ve still got your clothes on so I’d say so. Pervo can be a bit…er…enthusiastic.

Interviewer: Are all your Muses this…I mean, they seem a bit extreme.

Wylder: Really? I think they’re behaving themselves very well. You should have been here the last time someone tried to interview them. Somehow Pervo managed to convince everyone that an orgy on the living room floor was a good idea. Of course poor Sappy had a fit of histrionics…

Interviewer: Oh goodness.

Wylder: *dreamily* Yes, it was very, very good.

Interviewer: What?!

Wylder: I said we really, really should…er…find the rest of them.

Interviewer: There’s…there’s more?

Wylder: Oh sure. When I checked last night there were about eleven of them. Sappy should be in her room working on 101 Ways To Tell Her You Love Her…With Nail Polish, and Creepy’s skulking around in the shadows somewhere. Oh, and you have got to meet Giggles.

Interviewer: Creepy? You have a Muse called Creepy?

Wylder: Hey, relax. You want a glass of water or something? Your voice got awfully high there for a moment. You’re sure? Well okay. You don’t have to be afraid of Creepy. It’s not like it’s a full moon tonight and even it was, her chains have never broken…not once. Designed them myself. Come on. Let’s go say hi.

Interviewer: Um…well would you look at the time? I forgot that I have to go…wash my hair.

Wylder: But you’re bald. 

Interviewer: Did I say hair? I meant hare. Yeah, that’s it, my pet rabbit. He gets very upset if he isn’t shampooed every day. I think we’re going to have to call it a day. We’ll have to reschedule….

Wylder: Are you sure? I can get….hey, where’d he go and why is there a man shaped hole in my wall?

Camerawoman: Who cares? I never liked him anyway. So……you think that Pervo chick might want some company?

Wylder: Hmm…let’s go ask her…and bring the camera.

Slacker: Sigh, where’s my Bob Marley CD? We have got to talk about soundproofing some of these rooms.

Creepy: Yesssss…all the better to hide the screams.

Slacker: Aaahhhhhhh!!!!

Camerawoman: Did you hear something?

Wylder: Huh? What? Not a thing. Now get back here. I’ve always wanted to try position 423.

Pervo: Ain’t life grand? *insert wild laughter here*