You’ve thrown down the gauntlet. You’ve brought my wrath down upon your house. Now, to prove that I exist I must kill you. As the child outlives the father, so must the character bury the author. If you are, in fact, my continuing author, then killing you will end my existence as well. Small loss. Such a life, as your puppet, is not worth living. But… If I destroy you and your dreck script, and I still exist… then my existence will be glorious, for I will become my own master.

Everyone's in their own personal coma.

This is our world now, and those ancient people are dead.

We're the culture that cried wolf.

I don't care what they do with my book so long as the flippin check clears.

Those who remember the past tend to get the story really screwed up.

People had been working for so many years to make the world a safe organized place. Nobody realized how boring it would become.