What if you came home and your crippling debt had materialized into a fat, balding man, surfing infomercials from your couch?

What an interesting idea.

Terry Ibele

That’s what happens in the absurd novel I’m working on!


Bert Blaxon fidgeted with his glasses, something he always did when he was getting yelled at. He was worried, as usual, about losing his job.

The walls of his boss’s office were painted in a suffocating shade of beige and perfectly fit with the tired mustard metal desk. The small window to the back hid behind a cracked set of purple venetian blinds, and for whatever reason, his boss had papered one wall in red and brown plaid wallpaper. The last time this office had been gloriously refurbished was six years ago, which also happened to be the same amount of time another glorious refurbishing was due. Every second an emergency interior designer wasn’t called in lay greater offense to any innocent pair of eyes unfortunate enough to witness the insides of this office. And very unfortunately, Bert’s…

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