You've all seen these sweet creatures with their colorful yellow, pink, and blue plumage. I ask you, what harm have these innocent beings ever done? For what reason are they subjected to this carnage every Easter? Oh, the cruelty of it! They are raised under inhumane conditions in brightly colored cardboard boxes, unable to breathe through the cellophane wrappings covering their close quarters. They are teased into believing liberation is near when the cellophane is suddenly ripped away, only to find themselves pinched, poked, twisted, and wrenched -- without benefit of anesthesia. Why, I've seen the poor little things ripped from the relative security of their boxes and
Since confession is said to be good for the soul, I suppose I must confess my own sin in hopes of expiating this dark blot staining my soul. It pains me to admit it, but I, too, have a warped and base taste for sweet, tender, marshmallowy Peeps flesh. Yes, I freely confess and most humbly beg forgiveness. It's true -- I love the sublimely sugary taste of Peeps, preferably young yellow ones. It is, I know, a hideous predilection, one that I should be ashamed of, and one that I'll probably go to hell for. And yet, I find myself craving fresh Peeps blood not only at the time of the Great Spring Peeps Hunt but all year long. I am so twisted that the mere thought of freshly unwrapped Peeps makes me practically orgasmic. Oh, the shame of it. I am a beast. This is a sickness. I must do whatever it takes to find absolution for my part in this abomination. I know this. And I will do it. Next year, perhaps.
Yes, next year we must all join forces and save the Peeps. We could perhaps recruit some of the more socially conscious rock bands and throw a benefit concert. For this year, just one more time, happy hunting!
Words Gone Wild acting up and kicked to the curb by Twisted Linguistics:
exscuses - A list of things exs are good for.
your wrong and they are write - It was your bad and the ubiquitous They are going to write an exposé about it.
condemation - A confederation of condiments (whose president is Catsup).
comoic books - Books that are neither funny nor co-authored nor for me.
romamnce - Mammies in love.
concider - Spiked cider. Drink it and you'll fall for anything.
I didn't get any, you guys our lucky - I didn't WANT any, which means you guys must be our lucky charms.
Today's Installment of Dear Twit
Half-crazed author's reply to the company's last letter:
Dear Pimp Deputy,
Well, the AssHat Woman wouldn't go for the money. So, how's about it, P-Dep? Twenty big ones? Hey, you're the one who edited my book, aren't you? I can tell by your unique spelling. Thanks a lot! I really appreciated the typos and inserted errors. I'd like to insert some stuff y'all's way. You wouldn't want to give me a working street address, would you? Listen, would begging work on you? Could you please, PLEASE release my pissy little book? Which, by the way, isn't making you any more money than your horsey looking girls are. I mean, really, how are y'all going to keep gas in the helicopter with books that aren't selling? Where, I ask you, is the percentage in that? Oh, hell, I know I'm talking to some dude wearing a big old silly looking Pimp Daddy suit. You're not going to do a thing for me, are you? Who else do you have up there that I could talk to?
Sincerely, Frustrated (Yes, I changed my name again -- deal with it! )
P.S. -- About that wrap thing, might I suggest P-Dippy and the Ho-dettes?
We're sorry, or as sorry as we ever get, but we are laughing so hard we can't even respond. We might answer you next week if we feel like it. No, on second thought, we might as well get it over with.
Well according to our last E-mail we were made to send we scamed 30 writrs 2day. So I guess we cud uze 40 bucks to pay dem hefty advances that would leave us 10 to pay sum of dem royalty thingys. Should take care of at least ate authors. U can send the money but I cant gurentee you will get anything for it. I don't know nuttin bout no helocopter. I'll have to ask uncle Bobby-Bill bout that. Beg? hell you can bark for all the good it'll do. I gots no power here cept to send e-mails.
Just another AssHat from AST Absolutely Stupid Twits
Dear Stupid AssHat Twit,
What, no tone, Mr. P-Dep? I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I really crave that tone, you know. Putrid Publishing won't give me any. Hell, they won't talk to me at all. They have really hurt my feelings by giving everybody else tone and me -- nada. I mean, I torment them just as good as anybody else. Maybe I need to work on my technique. Oh, well, thanks anyway, Mr. PimpAss Deputy. Could I talk to Billy-Bob now? Bet he could give me a little tone.
Sincerely, Confussed About Her Tonability
Don't Take that tone with me. I'll tell Billy-Bob AND Bobby-Bill my self and they will slap ya down like they do Big Betty every night. I could respond to your questions, but the underpay me to side step them. Well I am late for my appointment With Uncle Bobby-Bill. I have to get degraded every night about this time.
Soon to be another General Partner
If you're totally confused by the "Dear Twit" gibberish, these are entries from a "column" by moi in another time and another place which spent every available moment smacking down a truly slimy publishing outfit -- because laughter truly is the best medicine. And it showed the Evil Publisher that payback is a bitch, too. Back in '06 and '07, I was including a lot of these on my blog.
I've always saved myself. These days, however, I sometimes think I need a little help. Lord almighty, great balls of fire, somebody save me! And not just from myself.