Dances With Snurds

I'm at the stage of life where I feel my conflicts should be spectacular. The Head Idiot and the Flying Haggis, aka the editor and the Managing Director, are mediocre enough as enemies go. A writer as brilliant as me deserves better villains. When scholars consider my life during this period, they're probably going to focus at least a little on these two buffoons. I am giving them a place in history. Let's face it. The most interesting thing either of them will ever do is to cause a mild inconvenience in the life of Ireland's greatest living poet. What else will Sneeran or Stalwart be remembered for? Nothing.