Jts's contribution amounted to just one line - and it is just barely coherent.

He couldn't help it. God made him that way. Naked, alone, dancing in front of the mirror, singing to the hair bursh. Oh Ga Ga I love you as I sit here alone in the unvisited alternate universe mentioned in a previous chapter. Such a cruel world is literature where a cruel non-editor can non-edit one out of a story at will. What will become of my lonely orphan characters. Oh the ones that were metaphors for coffee are OK. They have new lives in the "other" reality. But what will poor DeCrappio do without a story in which to dwell.

Will his literary existence wash up on some surreal DouglasAdamsinain landscape like bones on a beach?

(BTW You know that people are dying to know which line.)