The Season Begins. And frogs.

A lot of people IM’d me or emailed me because the frogs confused them. I think I’ll just keep it that way. If you get it, you get it. No, it’s not some veiled Pepe thing to say I’m an alt-right freak or something like someone accused me. I appreciate and applaud the conspiratorial thinking, but I don’t lean that way because my brain works. I hate to leave those who didn’t enjoy them a bit off, but if you don’t get the frogs, let’s just say that you haven’t understood, well, anything.

Also, this guy makes me happier more than any old image I’ve ever found. He’s my life coach now.

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Better than Anselm’s proof. Look it up.

I’m not kidding when I say that, finding this, I thought I might have been done with the internet. It just completed everything for me. Full circle. Desire no longer had meaning, and I was at one with the universe.

And yet, as Beckett said, “Where I am, I don’t know. In the silence, you don’t know, you must go on. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

Thus, the holidays begin.

So this year, we’ve got the same old cards. And new cards. And podcasts. Interviews are lined up, but I want surprises.

And I’m going to do some Christmas ghost stories. I’ll ask later, but if you want to help me read them like I did with Lovecraft last year, email me at weirdxmas@gmail.com. If you helped last year, please help again. If not, help anyway! We all love creepy stories at Christmas time, and I’ll explain why…

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If you didn’t write so huge, Kringle, you might save some paper…

Also, yeah, I’ve been hinting about it, and I *am* writing a book. A “Weird Christmas” book. It’s going to have lots of the postcards reprinted, but it’s not just that, not at all. The problem is that I only own a couple hundred of the actual things, and not most of the weirder ones. So trying to recreate them off of internet scans would be bad quality and just stupid. So, no. Instead, I’m putting together an expose that will blow the lid off of Christmas. It will show the truth behind everything, the awful, terrible, beautiful truth that makes the holiday dangerous and truly worthy of a sleepless night again. It’s not a novel. A novel couldn’t contain what I’ve learned in all these years. But it’s coming. Not this year, maybe next year. But, believe me, it’ll make you fear and tremble. And that’s what Christmas is all about.

It’s Halloween-ish season now, tho. Gotta go find those cards….

 

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