Scandal Sheet aka Hollywood Scandals

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“Shit!”

“Tina!”

I swiveled in my chair to face my boss, Felix Dunn, standing in the doorway to his office, hands on hips.

“What?”

“Swear Pig.”

I pursed my lips. “That doesn’t count.”

“I just heard you say ‘shit.’”

“It was computer related. Everyone knows computer-related swearing doesn’t count.”

He narrowed his eyes. Clearly my argument wasn’t cutting it.

“It’s your own fault, you know,” I protested, changing tactics. I’d been typing up a juicy tidbit about the It teen actress, who’d been caught with a joint in her hand at last night’s after-party, when my backspace button stuck, taking out one very cleverly worded line, even if I did say so myself. “I mean, how many centuries old are these things anyway?” I went on. “Would it kill you to buy some new hardware once in a while?”

He shook his head. “Swear Pig, Bender,” he repeated, then disappeared back into his office.

“Shit.”

“I heard that!”

I stuck my tongue out at his door and dropped two quarters into the purple piggy bank on my desk. Somehow our newly appointed editor in chief was under the impression that yours truly swore too much. I have no fucking idea where he got that impression. But he’d set up the Swear Pig as a way to break my bad habit. Personally, I was fine with my bad habit. It’s not like I was shooting heroin or anything.

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