GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #872: A CRY FOR HELP

 I need your help. I find myself in a terrible situation where I have no means of escape or survival unless I do something I really, really don't want to do. All too often I find myself consumed with something I shouldn't be, and all too often I indulge myself, making more work for me to complete for a possibly nonexistent person or people.

It's plagued me for nearly a week, but my thoughts turn constantly to this thing. I find a phrase encroaching upon my mind all the time, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout. But it's always there, sneaking into my speech, tormenting me when I'm trying to sleep.

I can't stop myself. Someone is going to need to stop me.

You must stop me.

YOU MUST STOP ME!

Please stop me from writing Butt Montana, Esquire.

It started out as a joke about Butte, MT, but I was high, and thoughts turned to Beavis and Butt-Head. The next thing I know my mind is screaming at me: BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE! YOU MUST WRITE IT!

My plate is full enough as it is. I have no idea how I'm going to fit writing Butt Montana, Esquire (or shout I go with Esq.?), into my schedule. I can think of maybe five people who might want to read something like that, but am I really going to go out of my way to write a short book, probably Kindle-only, and release it for such a small audience?

Yeah. Yeah, I would. And I probably will. Unless you send help immediately.

Operators are standing by . . . in another reality where I have gobs of money to pay them. You know how to get ahold of me. You can stop me. You must stop me.

Because when I get like this, the idea usually takes over my entire existence eventually unless I write it as quickly as possible. Do you really want me to ditch out on all my other projects and dedicate myself full time to Butt Montana, Esquire?

He didn't start out as a lawyer. It was originally Butt Montana, MD. But (heh) then I thought maybe he was Butt Montana, Private Eye. Father Butt Montana, Exorcist to the Stars? Captain Butt Montana of the Sex Boat?

See what I mean? I've already put waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much thought into this. There's no way I'm not writing Butt Montana, Esquire, right? Unless you can stop me.

Only you can stop me. Please. Before it's too late.

I've already started thinking he might be a series character. Fuck's sake, please don't let me go down this rabbit hole. He's had full fucking adventures in my head already.

Don't let me write it. Don't let me write BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE!

Just so we're on the same page, yes, I have started some light research. In that research I discovered that people who live in Butte, MT, are called "Butte Rats." Unless you live out there, there's no way you knew that. Why would you? But knowing that enriches your life. It's certainly enriched mine.

Have you heard Butt Montana, Esquire, whispering to you yet? Not to worry, you will.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #563: STEPHEN KING AND OBSESSION

 

I was in Anderson's not too long ago, and I broke my new rule about not buying any books. I'm moving soon, and I don't want to add to my burden. But I saw the book above on the shelf, and it occurred to me that I haven't read anything about King since, well, probably since he got hit by a van. And this book said it would talk about everything that happened after.

I thought, why not?

I used to obsess over a lot of things, and chief among them was Stephen King. I went out of my way to ravenously read everything he had available and a few things he didn't. I wasn't going to wind up stalking him like that guy from Finders Keepers, and I certainly wouldn't hold him captive like in Misery, but everything within reason? I would do.

I used to do this with a lot of things, and for some reason I stopped doing that. Maybe because there's just so much stuff out there nowadays. It's easy to overdose on stuff now. I blame the internet.

But it was nice to visit with an old friend. Bev Vincent is probably one of the biggest King experts currently on this planet, and he has access to a lot of very interesting things, which he showed us in this book. I very much enjoyed my time in this. It's neat that Fairy Tale was included, and I had my doubts that it would. But then, along the way, there are two mentions of a possible third book in the Jack Sawyer trilogy. It would have been nice, but if it happens, it will have to be without Peter Straub. It could work. King tried imitating Straub while writing The Talisman and Black House, so . . .

It's also interesting to see that King's next book will be about Holly Gibney. Well, a lot of things can change, of course, but it will probably happen. I'll bet it's going to be excellent. He's currently better than he's ever been right now. That will probably stick in a few craws, but I firmly believe that.

Funny story. One score and, like, a bunch of years ago my friend, Rob Tannahill, wrote and illustrated a few Stephen King stories using Beavis and Butt-Head as characters. The first of them was The Dork Half. So I decided to make photocopies and send it to Stephen King. I got a letter back from his assistant at the time saying that he enjoyed it a lot and was a huge Beavis and Butt-Head fan.

Fast forward to his Bag of Bones tour. I got to meet him, and I managed to ask him a couple of questions. First was for a paper I was writing for college. My thesis was essentially: Why is someone like Nathaniel Hawthorne taught to death in schools while current novelists (like King) are strictly ignored. It irritated me that I'd been taught The Scarlet Letter about four times throughout my academic career, and that's why I was writing this thing about canon. King's answer: "Because he's dead."

I'll bet that I'm the only one in that class who got a direct quote from one of his subjects in person.

The second question? I asked him if he remembered The Dork Half. He did. And then he did what I never expected to hear from him. He imitated Beavis and said, "Fire! Fire!"

It's a memory I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Sad story: Not long after I sent The Dork Half to Stephen King, there was a horrible accident that involved the loss of one of those pages. On a lighter note, if King kept his copy, he has the only complete copy in existence.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #484: ROE V WADE

 

Sorry. This one is going to be pretty serious. Also, I'm breaking my rule. I'm writing this earlier than my bedtime because by bedtime I will be very high and not able to write something like this. But it's something that needs to be said.

Another disclaimer. I'm not a Democrat. A lot of conservatives think I am because of my stance on a lot of things, but I'm not. I'm middle of the road. However, ever since Trump started shitting the national bed, I've been pushed farther and farther to the left. One day, Bernie Sanders is going to look to the left and be shocked to see me (or anyone) standing there.

What I am is someone who believes in freedom, and with the recent news that the Supreme Court is going to overturn Roe v Wade, I don't dare call this country the Land of the Free. I never have, to be fair. I have a shirt that shows a map of the US, and it says, "LAND OF THE FREE*." The asterisk says, "SOME RESTRICTIONS APPLY. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED." I love my country for what it's supposed to be. I hate my country for what it actually is. And it could be "as advertised" if it wanted to be. But there is a small group of assholes who turn out to be pretty loud, and as a nurse told me once, regarding a patient who was naked and screaming in the hallway when I needed my morphine, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease."

When I was born, I almost won the lottery. I'm white. I'm male. I'm hetero. The only number I missed was being born into wealth. Even without that last one, I'm still pretty privileged. Even in ways I probably don't even know about because my natural response is to not think about it. I do think about it, though. And it pisses me off that not everyone has the freedoms that I have. Because goddammit, this is supposed to be the Land of the Free. Everyone who lives here should be treated equally, and they're not.

Which leads me to Roe. In case you didn't know, Roe is a pseudonym for the woman in question. Her privacy had to be protected in her legal action, and that woman has sadly decided, later in life, that abortion is not a right that women should have. And let's talk about that for a minute. The assholes on Fox Opinions have decided that if you live in a state that bans abortion, all you have to do is move to a state that allows it. One talking dickhead said such states treated abortion as a "free for all." Implying that abortion is a fun thing. Here's your punch card. Get nine abortions, and your tenth is for free.

That's not the fucking case. I know women who have gotten abortions. It's not a fun thing. They're still haunted by it and will be for the rest of their lives. But they had to do it. They weren't ready for kids. They couldn't have taken care of the poor child. And adoption is not a guaranteed thing. I've known people who are adopted. Sometimes it works out, but the majority wound up in ghastly situations. Foster parents often look for tax breaks, and that's all the kids are. Sometimes it's even worse. Sometimes they're looking for a child to rape. A lot of them are chomping at the bit for victims. Would you go through a pregnancy you didn't want just so you could hand your baby over to a kid toucher?

Abortion is not fun, but it's a necessary thing. And I can hear you saying, if you're not ready to have kids, don't fuck. To that, I laugh in your face. Sex is a healthy part of life, kind of like breathing and eating. Do you know what happens when you don't fuck? You get incels who want to enslave women and rape them whenever they desire. They'll call it "fucking," but what they actually have in mind is some Brock Turner type shit.

But, shockingly enough, that's not my topic tonight. I stand by a woman's right to an abortion because if I were a woman, I would 100% want that. And it is a right. The same dickheads who screamed about how wearing masks during a plague was a violation of their personal freedoms are now claiming that women don't have personal freedoms. And yet I suspect that if one of those pieces of shit got someone pregnant, they would demand that she get an abortion. It's like that episode of IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA, when Mac goes to anti-abortion rallies, but the instant he gets one of his fellow protestors pregnant, he tells her she needs to get an abortion.

But that's all I'll say about that. There's something far more insidious happening in this, and while I prioritize a woman's right to an abortion, it is being overshadowed by this other thing. That's why there is a map of the US at the top of this column. Take a look at it. And now remember what the Fox asshole said about moving to another state where abortion is legal.

Let's say that those who live in those states where it is illegal do move to a state where it's legal. Just for the sake of argument. When they all flee to safety, which is a natural response, and I would never blame anyone for that, who is left in those illegal states? People who are, as they define themselves, "pro-life." Which they're not, by the way. As soon as you're born, you can go fuck yourself as far as they're concerned. Born into poverty with no way out? Eh, you were asking for it in the womb.

Well, what does that mean when the scumbag pro-lifers are the only ones in that state? There is zero opposition to the majority, right? Take a look at that map again. See how many states are ready to outlaw abortion. Compare to the states who are willing to uphold women's rights, like my own Illinois.

(Side note: I gotta say, I'm not really proud of my state often. When Pat Quinn left the governor's office without wearing handcuffs, it was kind of novel. We've been in debt for so long it's fucking shocking. But with recreational cannabis legalized, and the fact that we're upholding women's rights, I'm really proud of that.)

So if everyone who wanted a legal abortion left those states, who would be left but the religious nuts who insist that Sharia law is evil but who are doing the exact same thing in America, just with a different god? And which party do you think those loathsome toads are going to vote for? That's right, each of those states you see above are going to be red states. And they will outnumber blue states.

I hate that we have this two party system. Yeah, I know, there are other parties, but when was the last time America voted one of them into the presidency? I'll tell you, because I actually research this shit in case you've forgotten about my essays on Aaron Burr and Benedict Arnold. The last time was Lincoln's second term. Republicans like to claim him as one of their own to show how progressive they are. Well, that's bullshit. As recently as WWII those assholes tried to bring back slavery. And anyway, the parties used to stand for different principles. For example, the KKK used to be Democrats.

But yes, when Lincoln was first elected he was a Republican. When he ran the second time? He ran as a member of the National Union. And if you research as much as I do, you might object to my point, saying that it was a Republican plot to get Democrats to vote for Lincoln. And you may be right. But you're also proving my point more. Because before Lincoln? The last time a president was not a Republican or Democrat? Millard Fillmore. A fucking Whig.

You do remember Fillmore, don't you?

I'm going off on a slight tangent on that one, but let's get back to more recent times. If Roe v Wade is overturned, and the decision on abortion goes back to the states, then the red states will have the majority. They will easily win the next presidential election.

And what fucking asshole is planning on running in 2024?

Oh yeah.

The number one thing you should think about, when Trump is making wild accusations, is that he's using a very old playbook for dictators. ALWAYS ACCUSE THE OTHER SIDE OF WHAT YOU, YOURSELF, ARE DOING. This might be the most insidious election fraud of all time.

And if Roe v Wade can be shot down in flames? What other laws are endangered? Perhaps the 13th Amendment? (If you've forgotten from school, that's the one that outlaws slavery.)

Yeah, that's a pretty depressing thing, and I'm sorry you had to slog through all of that to get to my point. As Bill Hicks used to say, "Don't worry. Dick jokes are on the way." But they're not. Probably.

Here's another thought, and it's a dark one. I say this as someone whose mom had black eyes on a regular basis. Those black eyes were always explained as, "She tripped and hit her eye on a doorknob." If we had a basement, it probably would have been, "She accidentally fell down the stairs." Those states that plan on outlawing abortion are also planning on prosecuting women who purposefully use their own methods to terminate their pregnancies. Like, with coat hangers. Or accidentally falling down the stairs. Or the old gin method. But I wonder, what if it's the fetus's father who does it? Like, he purposely punches her in the stomach, just for example. Would these states prosecute the prospective fathers? I'll bet they don't.

Your reward

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #367: THE TRIFECTA OF THE DOOMED

 When I was in sixth grade I visited my dad and my second stepmom in Vegas. I remember I was in the middle row of my dad's Grand Caravan, and he was talking with my stepmom about me. In particular, my teeth.

My stepmom said that they should get me braces. I balked at the very idea. I was fat and had glasses. Braces would have brought me the Trifecta of Doom. I was unpopular enough has it was. If this plan went through I would be toast. Well, I kinda already was, but I made sure my dissent was known immediately.

I think Dad was relieved. Braces cost money, and it usually took a lot for him to part with that much. My stepmom didn't like that, but when I got on the plane back home, I felt like I'd dodged a bullet.

As an adult I wish she'd won the argument. The short term punishment would have been worth the long term rewards. My teeth probably wouldn't be so horrible if she'd convinced my dad. I've always had a gap between my front teeth, and it's worse in my old age. Plus I've lost three teeth so far. One was a wisdom tooth, so good riddance. The other two are now implants. My bout with gingivitis fucked up my lower front teeth to the point where my previous dentist predicted I'd lose them by forty. My new dentist says I've probably got a couple of years left with them. That fuckin' sucks, man. At least with the others I could hide my tooth loss, but with these? They're front and center.

Plus I have a horrendous underbite. The only worse case I've ever seen was Beavis from Beavis and Butt-Head. Braces would have probably fixed that.

So now we're coming closer and closer to when we can walk around outside without masks on. I feel bad for people with oral herpes. That was a good disguise for more than a year. But yeah, without the mask, I'll be exposing the horrors of my teeth to the world. That's not going to be fun.

I have my first dental cleaning in a year and a half tomorrow. I hope I can make it through with all the teeth I still have. That would be nice.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #325: TABARD INN HAS BEEN ON MY MIND

 So I was thinking about my old magazine TABARD INN tonight. I edited this thing many years ago. Three issues. But it's been on my mind for the last week or two, actually. I have a few ideas about why it was never successful. Maybe the big one was my reluctance to do POD. I printed these fuckin' things first and then tried to sell them. Whoops! I'll go into another reason in a bit. Hold that thought. I'll get to it. Probably. I'm drunk--as usual--but I think I'll remember to get to it.

Regardless, I will never edit a magazine or anthology again. I have many reasons for both. The magazine I'll explain. The anthologies? Nope. You won't get that out of me unless you take me out for drinks. Like, a lot of drinks. Enough to cripple an elephant. And, naturally, off the record.

By the way, I've become friends with a lot of comics creators I'd been a fan of previous. I've interviewed many of them. They all know I was in comic book reporting. I'm out and have been for, what, a decade? And whenever I talk to them as a regular dude, they're still kind of cagey. Sometimes I wonder if I said "off the record" they'd open up a bit more. One of them actually did. Won't say who. If you follow me, you know the name. But this person trusted me, and once sworn to silence, I will forever keep that secret.

As I am unemployed, I have lots and lots of free time. I think maybe that's why I'm writing 10K words a day. Well, more like 8K now that the therapy thing is out of the way. Still better than my self-imposed 2K a day. I think it's also why I'm reading four books at the same time. Hey, I'm down from seven on January 1.

But I thought about the ridiculously difficult time I had getting someone to print the fucking thing. Issue one was so fucking offensive that no one wanted to print it. I even got someone to do it, and the young workers were happy to get it out there. They even took my money! And then the owner read it and said to give me back my money and files. I found someone who would print it! After a fucking age! They did all three!

So since I was thinking about TABARD INN, and I had the time, I wondered if maybe the printers were still around. I drove out in that direction to drive down the road to see if they were. I won't name them, just in case they're somewhere else and might get hate mail over the offensive shit, but they were on the same road as Victory Auto Wreckers. If you ever lived in my area (Chicago, if you don't know), you know them and their ancient commercial. In my opinion, there should be a really sleazy strip club in that neighborhood. Maybe down the road a bit further, as there is a police station near there.

Side note: sleazy strip clubs are my favorite. They're the places where you might get a decent handjob if you paid enough, and you might buy narcotics off a dancer or you might even get the clap from a lapdance that got a little too close. I miss the one at the end of I-290 that eventually got shut down for shady reasons.

In fact, now that I think about it, if you drove past my printers, turned right, went down a while, then turned left on Grand, there used to be a strip club there. I remember my writing partner when I was a journalist and I tried to get into the club to interview strippers to find out what they did for Easter. Bet you were thinking Valentine's Day, huh? Wrong, silly goose. We were, uh, refused service. I also drove a friend who also was an ex there once so she could fill out an application. It was called All Stars. It's a trucking company now, but for some perverse reason they left the sign up. I wonder how many dudes go in there to get lapdances only to be sold on truck storage.

So I drove by, looking for the printer, and sadly they're gone. Too bad. They helped me when no one else would. Some metal works company is there now. Ah well.

I stand by everything I published in that magazine, even the Anthony Haversham stories about Bobby Yandell, Private Investigator. Yeah, I wrote those. And that one by Jack Graves, the one about the guy who wants to fuck his dead mom and she turns out to be alive still. I wrote that one, too. I think it's in Tales of Questionable Taste, but I'm too lazy to look it up now.

What I don't stand by is how I acted as the host, the Crypt-Keeper of TABARD INN, if you will. It wasn't me. Well, it was more or less me . . . if I was an edgy and possibly alcoholic rock DJ. Not those shock jocks in the morning. Those are actually called "radio personalities." Isn't it weird that we had that shock jock period? I enjoyed it at the time, but looking back? *collar pull* But some part of my mind thought it would be a great idea to come off as a rock station DJ. This is why I don't trust my instincts. They are always wrong. I look back on that with a great deal of regret. It came off as kind of disgusting, especially the bumper sticker contests. I'm sorry about that. That was my mistake, and I own it 100%. This, by the way, is the other reason I thought the magazine failed. See? I'm not that drunk, am I? Well, maybe.

Another side note: offensive stories. I'm not talking about offensive-offensive. I'm talking about creatively offensive. Any asshole and fuckface and prickcunt can come along and sling the n-word around like they had practice. Same with the other f-word. And so on and so forth. That shit is just offensive-offensive. I have put awful words in awful characters' mouths, but it's to prove something about their moral shortcomings. To use it just to use it is just showing you're a piece of shit.

I'm talking about writing transgressive shit that pushes the envelope but does so creatively. Like, say, a dude you thought was making a video to show he can suck his own dick but it's really because he wants to video him biting it off. Who wrote that one? Oh . . . maybe it's in a book named after the title of a certain blog. Thanks to M for publishing it first!

Here are a few other reasons I regret the magazine.

I got a lot of letters from mental patients. Nothing wrong with that. I'd be a hypocrite if I talked shit about that, especially after the psych ward. But some would go a bit too far off the beam. Like the guy who decided I was his agent, and he said I should pay Google a bunch of money to make sure that anytime someone looked up science fiction, his name would be the first to come up. I had to explain to him that I was not the guy he thought I was. I lived more or less in my grandmother's basement at the time. When I sent that to him, I never heard from him again. So yeah. If you get a stalker, and he was borderline stalker, tell them something pathetic about you. They'll go away.

Which reminds me, I regretted not getting that PO Box. I stupidly used my own address, which everyone tried to talk me out of. I figured I could handle anyone who came after me, but then I remembered that I have relatives. Awkward at least. Possibly borderline criminal at most. I thought I was saving money. Again, whoops!

I regretted the sense that because I was a publisher, I could do things for people. That was absolutely not true. I couldn't. But people thought I could. One guy asked me for Stephen King's number. Granted, now that I'm a lot older and I have more experience, I have discovered that if you're in my business, we all know each other. Or if we don't, we at least know of each other.

Full disclosure: I met Stephen King once. He was on his Bag of Bones tour at the Harold Washington Library in Chicago on Congress Pkwy and State St. Previously I'd sent him some artwork my friend did. His name is Rob Tannahill, and for mostly my amusement he would do King parodies and replace the characters with Beavis and Butt-Head. Like, this was comic book level stuff. For example, here are a couple of titles. THE DORK HALF. THE STUPID DEATH OF BEAVIS VERRILL. THE SCAMMED. So three titles, then. I even got to be in his parody of The Shawshank Redemption. So with Rob's permission I copied them and sent them to King. When I got through the line and shook King's hand, I told him that I was the one who sent the Beavis and Butt-Head parodies that my friend had made. And let me tell you, you have NEVER lived your life until you've heard King do his Beavis impression. (I seem to be thinking about impressions lately, too, I guess.) He got this demented look on his face and said, with his Maine twang, "FIRE! FIRE!"

Does he know who I am? Probably not. I was a guest twice on The Horror Show, which I've heard he listens to, so maybe? I've been mentioned a few times without me being on, so maybe? Chet Williamson, whom I worship, once did a live read for Dong of Frankenstein, which might stand out to King, so maybe? But I'm certain he doesn't remember the exchange. When you're Stephen King, you meet a lot of people. A LOT.

So no. I don't have his phone number.

I also got a lot of submissions from prisoners. I got to publish one of them, even. I couldn't pay him because the prison system forbade it. I loved those letters because I believe that any prisoner who submits a story to a publication is trying to redeem themselves. A lot of them were even good stories, just not right for what I had in mind. But then there was this one letter I got from a prisoner who wanted to pay me to write stories for him. It would have been a huge payday, actually, if I had done it. I have still never made as much money for one story that he would have paid me for one story. But I said no. Sometimes you can't take the money and keep your integrity. That's the shit you've got to turn down. I needed the money at the time. Desperately. I'm not lying to you when I say that I would be a lot better off financially speaking if I'd taken the money. I said no. What he wanted was time travel porn. He wanted mind control porn. He wanted racially charged porn that was essentially rape porn. In addition to that, he requested just plain old rape porn.

I look up all the prisoners who sent me stuff. Sometimes the crime is understandable. Sometimes it's really bad, but the person genuinely regrets it and wants to redeem themselves and maybe contribute to society. But this guy? He's going to be in prison long after I die. Long after he dies. I shit you not, he might get out a hundred and twenty years from now. Since he's not a Highlander, I'm guessing he won't see the streets again any time in his life. He's got a lot of rape charges. Manslaughter charges. FUCKING KIDNAPPING CHARGES. If I remember right, he even robbed a bank. Some of those rapes were not committed against adults.

So no. I'm going to turn down that money. I'd like to be rich someday, but there are routes I am not willing to go down. Hell, I might not even be able.

Sometimes, you morally have to turn down the money. You HAVE TO.

Yet another side note: I actually know someone who did time for a bank robbery. He got kicked out of the Navy for doing it. Again, no names. He's suffered enough.

So yeah. You'll never see issue four, as I predicted in issue three. You'll never see another anthology I've edited. For vastly different reasons, I've turned down four editing jobs for other authors in the last three months. Paying jobs. In one case, a very good paying job. I mostly did it to focus on my own shit, especially since I was going to start that new job soon. But the job keeps getting delayed. It's something I'm reconsidering. It's going into that lizard brain conversation I'm going to have soon, maybe tomorrow or the next day.

So yeah. I guess if you want copies, I have boxes of them still cluttering up my living room. I've taken to giving them away as a three-issue package for anyone who buys my books at conventions. Since conventions are canceled until the plague finally dies, what the hell? You don't even have to buy anything from me. If you want a single issue, Paypal me a dollar for shipping. If you want all three, make it five for shipping. If I actually published you in any one of them, and you want me to send you copies, you won't even have to pay for shipping. Unless you're ordering like ten or twenty or something. We'll talk. The issues will be free, but the shipping might get crazy. Contact me in the comments or social media or wherever you know me from. Hell, if I can hand deliver them, I'll do it for free.

Just know that I kind of come off like a dick as the host. Sorry.