Good morning, citizens.
We hope that you are enjoying your mandatory protein-snack break with 8 oz. of Lithium Calmdown® waterdrink. (If you are not enjoying it, please report to Adjustments for assistance.) We are interrupting your productive duties this morning to share with you an opportunity to give a little back to your community.
And by “community,” we mean “benevolent overseers.” (Wait, actually: Benevolent Overseers™. Yes, that’s better.)
You may know that the overseer of the Overseers, the sentient brainmeat casing known as Community Hierarch Sean Hoade, is skillful—nay, He is perfection—at every single task done by normal humans. He can read math books without any retention, write novels and stories that make the young girls cry (out with epiphanic devastation), and grow a beard better than Brian Blessed.
Okay, maybe not better.
But fellow citizens, there is one thing that your Glorious Patriarch, your Bedtime Glow Worm, the man after whom you are contractually obligated to name your children (all those little Seans and Shawnas!), cannot seem to do. And that one thing is “earn consistent income.”
Oh, the shame! The embarrassment! All the good people of fair Thunderdomebowl may be shocked and dismayed to hear it (but of course are forbidden to show such shock or dismay to anyone else, and We are watching), but Hoade has some chemical and personality … em, features … that make it well-nigh impossible for him to hold a job. We mean, the man has a Master’s Degree in the hard-charging and rigorous world of Creative Writing, is father to three children who somehow always remember him on their birthdays, and who can charm the pants off of women WHO AREN’T EVEN WEARING ANY PANTS.
But making money not associated with writing? Our Grand Poobah, our Obi-Wan, our Sole Reason To Get Up In The Morning After Our Generously Mandated Sleep Shift is not good at it. In fact, is terrible at this thing called “in-come.” (Yes, We said it.) Yes, Her Grand Matriarch Ann is unable to work because of rheumatoid arthritis that has eaten her hands and feet and scarred her lungs, but that’s not the only reason Deer Leader (“Dear Leader” was already taken, dammit) doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. It’s that his anxiety disorder (it hard out here for a Prīmum Mōbile), for which he should finally be getting treatment again after 3 loooong years in [LOCATION REDACTED] during which he has had to rely on the free clinic, where he has learned how to say the phrase “But they told me to talk to you!” in Spanish, Tagalog, and Basque. It has gotten much worse over the years and now keeps him basically confined at home, doing work online that sometimes (read: right now) dries up.
Pictured: Acute Generalized Anxiety Sufferers Annual Job Fair.
So what are We on about? Good question, citizen. (Note to selves: Get barcode from that citizen’s forehead.)
His Elevated Personage put out a question on Facebook the other day, asking if anyone would be interested in helping a poor boy survive long enough to write his next book on the 10-book contract while he waits on word back from 107,642 applications he has sent in to various unsuspecting suckers potential employers. This “job” that he is trying to get would be to take him to the beginning of Q2 of 2015, when the royalties should start flowing like extremely inexpensive “wine drink” since the first and possibly the second books will have been released in Q1.
A Permuted Press author celebrating Q2. Or maybe two Q1s.
Or possibly Ross Perot’s second term in office.
It’s an interesting conundrum (and by “interesting,” read “OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME”), and one that has Us reaching out to Our friends once again. We were going to do it as an Indiegogo campaign (and still might), but several people who may have probably already blocked Us on Facebook said that they would just send Us money. (We have extremely lovely and generous friends.) That is extremely welcome and Our PayPal info is at the end of this blog post. But ye shall be treated to premium gifts beyond imagination! (Because We’re telling you what they are. We guess We should look up “beyond” sometime.) EACH HIGHER LEVEL ALSO INCLUDES THE REWARDS FROM ALL THE LOWER LEVELS. (And of course those of you who just hit the PayPal link below instead of Indiegogoing it will get these same rewards.) Have a look:
|Support Level||Premium Awesome Reward|
|$25||eBooks of Hoade’s collected works|
|$37.50||Exclusive commissioned poster for Dead Man’s Hand|
|$50||Hard copies of Dead Man’s Hand and, to you exclusively, The Act|
|$75||Audiobooks of all published titles as they are released, PLUS an audiobook of The Act, which, again, will be owned by nobody nowhere other than you, sexy|
|$100||Hard copies of Hoade’s collected works—even if you already have them—they make great gifts for people you won’t see much afterward)|
|$250||EXCLUSIVE (unless you post it on YouTube or something) video of Us (specifically one of Us, namely Hoade) doing whatever degrading or otherwise enjoyable (for you) act you choose. This was me walking down the Las Vegas Strip in my underwear last time. Some examples:
“Simba, one day all of this will be yours. That is, if you support my Indiegogo campaign.”
We’re going to put PayPal links below for the different levels, but—unlike your required daily treadmill run at the factory—it is just a suggestion. Everyone has been very supportive of me for the entire time I’ve known them—Sean Conner, We’re looking at you (don’t worry, it’s unofficial and no report will be made to CentCom)—and we’re posting this request knowing that money is only one way to support friends and other creative folk. It’s just the way We desperately need to be supported right now.
No matter who you are or how you support me—even if by nothing more than a smile and a “Get ’em, Tiger”—I am eternally grateful for your friendship and patronage. I hope any of you will call upon me if I can ever support your projects and life. (And yes, We said “I”—it’s a peek behind the curtain! Now go about your business or be “corrected” via Rectal Taser!)
Love, at least as much as is legal during our war against Eastasia Eurasia,
And now a song from troubador and heartstring-puller Sarah McLachlan … play it while you decide on what amount to donate. While she sings, imagine me begging for someone to adopt me … I’m almost housebroken … Won’t you … REMEMBER ME? *sniff!*
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Yes, YOU’RE a good boy! Here’s some money!”
Whatever donation you choose—even if it’s good wishes—know that I am VERY grateful and this will directly allow me to survive long enough to get this new book written. Just click the button below and have at it, loves. I will buy you all a soft or hard drink of your choice when you visit Vegas.
More snark and sarcasm to come, but for right now: Thank you for being my friend.