So about five months ago author Sam Sykes reached out to me and said he was going to be holding an author Batsu game, where the panelists are not allowed to laugh, and if they do they are forced to consume noxious spicy concoctions. In attendance would be Myke Cole, Aprilynne Pike, Chuck Wendig, John Scalzi, Delilah S. Dawson, Patrick Rothfuss and Leanna Renee Heiber.
Sam said we could ask all kinds of questions, and he wanted to know if I’d be willing to contribute a few. I’d had a couple of glasses of wine and am generally always down for shenanigans, so I said okay, not really understanding that this would be a moment where I would be judged by my peers.
Here’s the transcript of the questions I wrote. Not all got asked, but it looks like it was a lot of fun, and Sam did a good and ridiculous job.
This is not in order of my wine consumption but it should be pretty clear by what I wrote how deep I was in the evening.
For Myke Cole:
Myke Cole, as a mighty sailor man, I think we can both agree that the mightiest of mighty sailor man is that inarticulate lover of slimsy, starved women and iron-rich vegetables – Popeye. I have in my life adopted a corncob pipe and bedded many a high-pitched anorexic, but I have yet to attain his most confounding feature – his forearms.
Myke Cole, it is my wish as both a man and an American to achieve forearms with the girth of a Turkish man’s thigh. I wish to have forearms that will make it necessary for me to be stitched into my shirts each day, as all sleeves would doubtless be ruined. Tell me how this can be done. Do I need to have my buttocks amputated and grafted onto my wrists? Or, preferably, someone else’s buttocks? I beg of thee, yield thy secrets of the swollen wrist to me, so that I may achieve my dream.
Chuck Wendig (this one seems to have been the most popular):
Chuck Wendig, I am an avid fan of your online internet blog web site, terrible minds. I come to it frequently for writing advice. But I have recently used a tip of yours that was not literature-oriented, but health-oriented.
You once said that your pappy, a stout pennsylvania man, cured many an ill with his patented “Yuengling Restorative,” in which four chilled pints of the prized Pennsylvania ale was pumped directly into the colon, then violently expelled into a washtub. You claimed that this fixed ailments of all kinds for him – colds, fevers – yet I have found that it did not fix the ailment my pet guinea pig Scrubbers suffered from: mange.
Mr. Wendig, I don’t think you can understand the grief and anguish you have caused me and my family. To see an animal in such indescribable agony, limping into the corner of his cage, leaving a trail of warm ale in his wake – that is truly cruelty of cruelties. And I feel you must be held accountable. I have been to many funerals – but never have I wept so fiercely than that of my poor, sweet Scrubbers.
Please provide me with your formal mailing address, so that my lawyer can be in contact with you.
John Scalzi, I come to you with terrifying news. I have emerged from the seediest of vape lounges of Akron, Ohio, where many a swaggering hacker peers at the world through a fog of clove cigarette, fingers tightly gripping the dragon-carved katana they have thrust through the belt loop of their husky-sized jeans. Rumors have spread through the alleys of 4-chan, and I have learned through my excursions into this vape den that you have violated the highly-sacred doctrine of Dansei no kenri -the rights of men.
John Scalzi, many a bitcoin has been placed upon your head – even the precious dogecoin, for insulting the Dansei no kenri. It is said that the hacker who parts the sinews of your neck will ascend into the hacker constellations, achieving memehood, becoming most l33t, pwner of the pwners. I beg of you, take my hand, and come to my Honda Fit, where we will find sanctity in the place this fearsome clan will never dare to look – Gold’s Gym.
Will you come with me?
I understand your books contain depictions of sexual acts – I believe the genre is called erogenous books, books of erogeny. I have written some erogeny of my own and would like to hear your thoughts on it.
Here it is:
‘Sam looked at Betty’s face, with his eyes. Their faces touched, in the kissing manner: mouthwise. ‘Touch me,’ she said, ‘with all your hands,’ and he did, because he didn’t have much better to do at the time. He touched all of her – her knees, the back of the leg, the bottom of the knees, the side of the knees – all of her. They put bread in one another’s mouths, good quality bread, soft bread, not the hard stuff that cuts up your mouth, they hated that stuff. Then they put on their feetsie pajamas and did sex at one another, super loud, until they got tired and then they watched some quality animes.’
What do you think, Delilah?
Patrick Rothfuss, my father is a follictitian, a practitioner of that rarest medical art, that of the human hair. He is perhaps the most respected follictitian in North America, having been published in Hirsute Revelations and The Terrible Secrets of the Afro. Unfortunately, it is my grave and terrible duty to inform you that my father has reviewed many photos of you, and has noticed an alarming trend. It seems as if you have an unusual and most deadly disorder – invasive beardism.
My father informs me that, purely from photographic evidence, your state of invasive beardism is so extreme that soon absolutely no part of your dermis – your skin – will be visible to the human eye. You will be cocooned in a dense, tight net of beard, and the tendrils of beard will become entangled, growing tighter and tighter, forming an impenetrable beard mesh through which your mortal coil will be flensed.
The only solution to your state of invasive beardism is to be shaved – immediately – all over, from head to toe. Do you assent?