Extra Evil - Plastic Zen
Today's Fortune: The other gamblers don't know what they're doing.
Newsreel
Chicago's punishment for besieging the capitol continued.
Don't email your pimp.
Schumer yanked the football.
Jamaica's neighbor leapt into nothing.
Elon read Oates for the first time.
OpenAI disrupted teen suicide.
You Need This
Fresh stuff next week, travel got in the way.
A Photo
As requested, the Zagreus costume:
The ears fell off as quickly as you're imagining.
War Journal
Schumer's Riddle: If I expect nothing, get something, and it melts into nothing, which step's the surprise?
People like me in person! Very pleasant news. The New York Writer's Institute was kind enough to host me, watch me ramble, and feed me. All deeply appreciated. It's nice to get the odd reminder that "professional writer" isn't some ongoing prank, or delusion from a padded cell.
A lot of the audience questions have stuck with me. I suspect, in a way, that the works we sculpt over time are smarter than us. Your best novel/film/diss track isn't just you at your peak, but something a little bit beyond you, that you're barely qualified to represent. In fact, I fear that the average literary interview is a clever, overeager version of the sports postgame interview. But don't let any event planners know I said that.
Though I did get a nice haircut for it.
I overestimated Amtrak, so this volley's late by a day. But think of how much stronger our bond grew during our time apart. Now you know its love.
Satire's a great format for making your own problems.
I recently bought a book on impulse. Right off the front display. It had a nice title, a slick cover, and a topic outside of my usual floating wheelhouse. Why not? The bookstore gods wanted me to have it, and I owed them for spreading my madness.
Fun ride, with some unique pratfalls. I could see the market ley-lines around it, and publishing's my eternal sparring partner. All perfect for a format-bending parody. I dove into Notepad with even more single-minded purpose than usual. When you're addicted to work, you'll work every day of your life. Or something like that.
My clown chakras aligned, and the inspired punchlines jabbed a little harder than usual. Perhaps harsh, but I imagined bestseller money would take the sting out on the other end. Author power levels are the sum of reviews, sales, and ki. I imagined I was punching up at the bestseller list.
I fired the riff with extra confidence. Nothing left to do but wait for the Twain Humor Prize. To kill time until then, I looked up the author.
They'd just died.
Suicide, by all signs. The de facto rules around reporting suicides are humane, life-preserving, and incomprehensible Newspeak. Worthwhile, for preventing chain reactions. But I often end up reading headlines four times, wondering if someone simply phased out of existence.
Naturally, the article was damned. I spent two hours panicking, five writing a replacement, and four writing a re-edit pointing at a different series. Maybe I slept too, I'm not sure. I do recall the tensest email of my career, wherein I casually suggested using the edit that didn't tap dance on a beloved celebrity's fresh grave.
When my heart settled, the prestige hit me: I'd found her 2019 book on display, in front, with the new releases. Because she'd just died. Putting my intelligence somewhere between a pelican and a pelican with a newsletter. Squawk.
There's some Seinfeld in me. The fictional, saner one. Let's just say Larry David.
Overheard, on Planet Coffee.
Black Drip: ...Larry...David. Bang.
Americano: Can I be obnoxious?
Black Drip: Be extra obnoxious.
Americano: Is that like a computer, that you just type on?
Black Drip: A hundred percent. I find it makes deadlines...possible. Mostly. Not this morning's.
Americano: That is so cool. We're inventing new ways to escape from the internet.
Black Drip: Apt. Can I use that?
Americano: Whatevs.
Espresso: Can I be extra obnoxious?
Black Drip: Be beyond obnoxious. I'm curious.
Espresso withdraws a blue suitcase.
Black Drip: I'll take a half ounce.
Espresso reveals a large, blue, functioning typewriter.
Black Drip: ...Or that. I'll take that.
Americano: Ohhhhhh my God.
Espresso: I uh, use it for zines mostly. It helps get me out of my head.
Genius: That's not obnoxious. That's pirate treasure. I hope someone takes out a gold-tipped quill next.
I'm going to reclaim my zen monk gimmick. It'll be entirely fake for months, even years. But it was a nice way to live, a decent angle on art, and you shouldn't let your enemies decide who you are.
A Screenshot
The Present
- Reading my new book makes you smarter than me. [How to Dodge a Cannonball]
- Decided to finish a classic wytch trilogy. [1900HOTDOG]
- You still need this. [You Need This]
- Realistically, they should finish these by January. [McSweeney's Internet Tendency]
- Reading my first book makes you wiser than me. [My Previous Book]
The Past
Meet the Rx box.
The Future
I will continue to be a dog chasing his own tail. Amusing, and slightly tragic in the cosmic sense.
Dead Sun Theory
Some comraderie coming up next. Alongside, ideally, another poster series. But first I have to type all of it.
Not Brought to You By
A longtime friend suggested this one. I thought they liked me, but I've been wrong before. Everything you need to know about friendship is in The Count of Monte Cristo.
I've rambled about products I enjoy, shrug at, and hate. But none I wish drowned in mercury. Let's test the limit of my "ad and product quality are separate" nonsense, with a spot for Adolf's Fan Club.
I'll define the product, to help out Late Americana students. ICE's a low-rent challenger brand to the Gestapo. While they lack Hugo Boss sheen, they add inimitable sloth. If the 20th century nazi was a twisted tryhard, 21st century swastikas belong to the trynot. Half the skull pins are upside-down.
You know my thoughts on autoplagiarist art. Most observers respect stick figures more, even within the cult. Midjourney sheen is visual shorthand for "ignore this." The headline might as well say "Blocked Number" or "Suspected Spam."
I'm more confused by the prompt choice. "Three children stare into melting globe" doesn't sell any idea or tone, even fascist chic. Based on the first-draft headline, it should be inviting. "You can go anywhere, without your silly friends, family, and dreams." Instead, Earth looks like a bad DMT trip. If this were my only data, I'd take my chances ducking short bus dropouts. Kristi Noem's zombie is worse at art direction than voice acting.
If cultists are the audience, this slop's worse. Slacking here risks knocking someone back into sanity, even for a moment. Call me old-fashioned, but Shosanna Dreyfus wouldn't bother burning down this theater.
One can argue for high-volume, low-quality propaganda. This isn't the place. The White House Twitter should be Minitrue primetime. Alt-Hollywood. Show believers you've made gruel great again, and enemies the dawn of the empire. Try. Or skip a few textbook pages, and follow Adolf's retirement plan. Just don't waste our time.
I'll avoid a series on White House LLM vomit. There are better uses of my limited life force. I haven't even finished the movie poster run I just started, and I just promised to reclaim zen.
We're definitely done here.
See you next week.
Creativity: F- | Persuasion: F- | Sanity: F-
One Sentence Reviews
Franchouchou - The Best Paradise: Quality sugar rush. (3.5/5)
Anna von Hauswolff - Iconoclasts: Massive. (5/5)
Vampires Suck: How do the gods let you make anything after "Date Movie?" (0/5)
Marc Maron - Panicked: Still tapped into my brain. (4.5/5)
Akutso Okatsuka - The Intruder: Growing on me. (3/5)
Hades II, Week Forever: It turns out you can jury-rig every god into usefulness. (5/help)
Retrodeath - Bonginator: You know whether you're in from the title. (3.5/5)
Absolute Superman: I heard this bangs. (4/5)
Absolute Superman: This might bang. (4/5)
Absolute Wonder Woman: This bangs. (4.5/5)
Note: Many of my music pulls are siphoned off of Jeff Treppel, read his stuff.
A Question
Signing off
Thanks for reading Extra Evil, the very long newsletter. Share it for extra text.
