The Crapometer shall usher in the Day of the Snark, during which all submissions must involve George Clooney, pink tams, or vast quantities of gin.
Additionally, the Cerberus in my WIP shall be renamed to Killus Yappus, and shall reform the Underworld with his New York savoir-faire
Miss Snark says: would Cerberus have pink tams on all three heads?
Ms Syrd bids
I bid a pleasant tropical breeze sent your way, about mid-January 2007.I would bid a fancy-schmancy golf vacation trip for you and Killer Yap to my home island in the tropical western Pacific, but Jack Abramoff isn't available to arrange the financing. Sorry!P.S. using my word verification-mssyrd-for id. A shortened "cute" version of Ms. Absurd-which in my case is just another way of saying clueless!P.P.S. Tell Killer Yap that there is a lovely tropical island in Micronesia called "Yap". I'm sure he'd be treated as royalty
Miss Snark says: here's a picture of Yap
Notice the conspicuous lack of gin joints and gambling dens, not to mention...sidewalks??? Miss Snark clutches her NFT, and murmurs "no no, I'll never leave home again"
"George-need I say more" bids:
Miss Snark says: Monkey see...monkey do? Monkey guano from Curious George? ummm....no.
Rejected Writer bids:
I bid a native New Yorker who can find the state of Iowa on a map, an agent who doesn't drink, and an author for whom publishing is of tertiary consideration (after the simple joy of writing, and feeling good about one's self for just having actually written something).In other words, I offer you the impossible. And I promise it will come to you gift wrapped in a cleverly-constructed box made entirely of Bombay Sapphire miniatures.
Miss Snark does not handle science fiction ergo must question the grip on reality of anyone offering an agent who does not drink. Also, I know where Iowa is. It's where the anvil salesman is ogling Marian's treble clef.
Dwight the Troubled Teen bids:
I bid metaphysically clairvoyant insight into man's constant turmoil in the struggle to free himself from the inhibitions that stifle a creative philosophy...Oh wait...And I'll throw in a pirate satellite decoder that unscrambles the porn channel.
Miss Snark says: you were in the running right up till you wanted to descramble the prom channel. Once was enough.
I bid a pail of that fancy cucumber gin I keep seeing advertised in The New Yorker.
Miss Snark says: only one pail? cheapskate.
Sha'el, Princess of Pixies bids:
I've taken inventory. All I have that's worthwhile is a used pacifier (been drooled on and chomped by the best), a box of unused preemie sized diapers, one talkative goat, and two stale Oreos. And my word verification code, "kaehkugn," which must be some sort of record.I don't win, do I?
Miss Snark says: well, no, but it's certainly an array of objets d'art worthy of the new Dada exhibit opening at MoMA this week.
Tori Scott bids:
I bid three George Clooney clones, one George Clooney original(who needs no formal training in anything since he's already perfect), a year's supply of gin, an assistant to read all snark-causing sub-standard submissions so you don't have to, and a year of free grooming for KY.
Miss Snark says: NOW we're talking!
Well, everyone's gonna bid George Clooney, so...I bid TWO George Clooney clones, one of whom has just written an absolutely surefire best-selling series of books, and the other of whom has just graduated from the Kama Sutra School of Sensual Massage and Dog Grooming.
Miss Snark says: Inkwolf, meet Tori; Tori meet Inkwolf. You're co-winners and I want all five Mr. Clooney's Fed Exed for Saturday delivery. It's been a TOUGH week.