Having set the scene, we can begin with the Questions:

Q. SO, SELF, WHAT PROMPTED THIS PARTICULAR STORY LINE?

A. You know, the thing I really cannot determine is whether this is the ORIGINAL "Forsyte Saga," the one that appeared 30 years ago when I was just about the age of Big Little Rich Boy, or a new version. Of course, I never saw the original so I have no reason for wondering whether this is an update. And yet it has the look and feel of something new.

Q. DAMMIT, SELF, ANSWER THE QUESTION! WHAT PROMPTED...?

A. Oh, yes, yes, yes, I'm getting there. Well, in fact, like all my stories, it's basically a secret fantasy that I held for a long, long time. Always unhappy with my family of origin (although they seem like a cross between Prince Charming, Snow White, and the Osbournes by comparison to the roomie) I was always imagining what it would be like to be WEALTHY, ya know? With dry, brittle, indulgent parents who would, like, let me do steroids AND suck cock. It didn't quite matter whether I was the illegitimate offspring of Howard Hughes (I'm sure some readers will say "Howard Who?" but then I am an old troll, aren't I?) or a (different) younger brother of the Prince of Wales (who always conveniently got knocked off during a skiing accident in some place like Klosters or Gstaad) or maybe the love child of Elizabeth Taylor and Larry Fortensky, assuming Larry was about 30 years older than I am. (Lordy gumdrops, do you suppose he's actually YOUNGER than I am? I'll have to look that up sometime!)

Q. YES, YES, YES, ENOUGH PRATTLE. NOW HERE'S THE BIG QUESTION: WHEN WILL JAKE AND THE BIG LITTLE RICH BOY HAVE SEX?

A. Oh, my dear. Surely by now you've figured out that I can't write a sex scene worth shit? I mean, there are more than 40 chapters posted on the MGS Archive site under my name and HOW many of them have a decent sex scene?

Q. I'M ASKING THE QUESTIONS, NOT YOU. SO...?

A. It's not like I don't have any experience, mind you. I did my "kid in a candy store" phase after I came out and I really did NOT exercise any degree of restraint. Still, all the technical details really don't do it a lot for me. Reading that cute, incredibly innocent looking Ralph Garcia's little tale about "Building the Perfect Body" is the kind of thing that sends ME over the top. Think of it -- between ages 16 and 20 he put on *90* lbs. of fucking muscle. From 135 to 225. It's mind blowing.

Q. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER THE QUESTION?

A. Ask something else.

Q. OK, HERE'S ONE FOR YOU. HOW BIG IS THE BIG LITTLE RICH BOY'S WEINER?

A. Ah ha! You noticed that thus far I've made NO mention of it whatsoever. That's unusual for me, isn't it?

Q. HEY, I'M THE ONE WHO'S SUPPOSED TO BE ASKING THE QUESTIONS. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PULL HERE?

A. See, you asked a question anyway. I'm not trying to pull anything, except one or two legs. It's the least I can do for having received so much satisfaction from this particular venue. I can't tell you how many times I've pulled my OWN (third) leg after having read something here.

Q. IS THAT SUPPOSED TO GET ME ALL HOT AND BOTHERED?

A. How can it not? We're the same person. But let ME ask a question or two.

Q. HUH? I THOUGHT WE ANSWERED THAT ALREADY.

A. Not really. So tell me -- how do you like the arch little references I've spread through out the story. You know, things like "luxury resorts for the environmentally self-conscious" and "archaeologically correct post-modern villas"?

Q. DO I HAVE TO ANSWER IN ALL CAPS?

A. Unless we want to trade. Do you want to become "B," perhaps?

B. Yes, that'll do. Well, I think perhaps they're a little TOO arch.

A. WHAT ELSE?

B. Lordy. Now YOU are typing in caps.

A. SO?

B. I think you need to see a shrink.

A. TOMORROW, DARLING, TOMORROW.

B. It's another day, after all. •