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Procedural question. Or, let’s talk dick!

Okay, before we kick off Round 47 of the Dead Pool, I gotta tell you: I’m about six dicks behind mailing them out.

Dick is cheap. Packaging them up properly and sending them, colossal pain in the nethers. Turns out, spotted dick is now widely available in the US (including Aunty’s, in some places), making my little dick joke addiction rather pointlessly expensive. Also, the Post Office tells me shipping time alone for freight is, like, 70 days, going the cheap route. Yuck. Outdated dick.

In the end, most people seem to enjoy the little sketches I put in the envelope more than the dick. Spotted dick is, I have to admit it, not a taste sensation poised to sweep the planet.

So, time to discuss alternatives. But before we do: it is very, very important to me that the prize is something pretty good. See, I don’t get to play the Dead Pool (duh), so the pleasure for me is believing the winner is genuinely tickled to win and looking forward to something fun in the mail. So none of this “winning is its own reward” shit, m’kay?

Okay, well, it could be just a sketch (see sample). I feel a little squidgy about that. Giving away artwork is what cheap-ass artists do to their friends instead of buying proper gifts. It always makes me feel funny, like mama pinning my pitcher on the fridge and telling me I’m the bestest artist in the whole world. (My actual mother never did that, but I’ve seen it on television).

Or it could be a coin from my awesome collection. I used to buy old circulated coins by the pound, so I have thousands of not valuable but insanely cool coins from all over the world. Boxes of the suckers. I used to give them away freely, so that’s not an issue.

Or…I dunno. It’s always fun to read foreign newspapers and magazines. Britain has some terrific rags of the “My Cheap Breast Implant Exploded in the Cereal Aisle of the Supermarket!” variety. I love those things.

What do you say? What would gladden your shriveled conservative heart? What would you love to think was in the mail and headed your way?

Okay, New Dead Pool. Tomorrow, 6WBT. And I’m still going to call it Winning the Dick, okay? I can’t give up my dick jokes. It’ll be a…metaphor. And only the cool kids will get it, a’ight?

March 7, 2013 — 9:40 pm
Comments: 87

She has worms. Or she’s a witch.

Must be the change of seasons; the cat is going through one of her periodic Ravening Pig phases. (Hm. Note to self: worming pills).

We call her Grizzel Greedigutt when she does this, from this charming woodcut of the Witchfinder General. Yes, yes…I know it looks like it says Griozzdl Greedigutt, but it’s given as Grizzel in the text.

The text! That’s right, you can read Hopkins’ The Discovery of Witches for free! On your Kindle! Knowing that Matthew Hopkins would have had you hanged as a witch if he caught you doing such a thing!

Mmmm. You know, I realize there was a deeply nasty hysteria in the air, and lots of perfectly innocent ugly old crones and unpopular people with funny looking moles got whacked. But surely some of the people accused of witches were so because they believed themselves to be witches. I mean, this cuts both ways. People believed in witchcraft. Believed it could accomplish all sorts of wonderful things. Who wouldn’t be tempted?

I’m not talking the modern hippie notion of wise women and herbalists. From what I can tell, spells of the time were disease cures, love philtres, aphrodisiacs, money callers and getting back at your enemies. Basically, all the shit for sale that landed in your spam filter today.

We’re still the same old shaved monkeys, aren’t we?

— 12:07 am
Comments: 16