Newest Baby Talk Winners

Overdoing the Packages This Week

Egg & a Friend Hanging Out on the Floor at Sling Shot

The Jackalope Heads Are Still Rolling

While Hemingway had his big fish to contend with, I’ve got a plethora of taxidermied heads to find worthy homes for. Not to mention Easter candy and books.

A special thanks to Colton Merris — who I called Colson for years because Random House had toured Colson Whitehead and I together, and we got along so well that I wanted Colton to be Colson. C. Merris reminded me that Egg could let loose with room-clearing farts, especially in restaurants, a memory that delights me nowadays.

Fun Fact? I once rode to the airport in San Francisco, sharing a limo with William Gibson, who cut a hella fart as big as Canada but didn’t say a word, instead he just got this tiny smile on his William Gibson face. All the way to SFX it smelled like something had died. The memory still makes me laugh.

This Week’s Three Heads Go to…

Myling by Karin Kohlmeier

Baby live in mommy tummy long time. Baby warm and comfy growing in mommy. Baby dreaming of mommy hold, mommy breast, suck-suck mommy juice, full tummy. Happy baby. But when baby come out, mommy no want baby. Mommy no name baby. No holding baby warm arms suck-suck mommy juice. Mommy make baby not alive. Mommy bury baby in cold-dirt. Sad baby. So tonight baby come back to mommy. Baby find mommy breast. Suck-suck til no more mommy juice. Suck-suck til no more mommy blood. Suck-suck-suck til baby make mommy not alive. Mommy join baby in cold-dirt forever.

Fancy Language by Kitana

Big peepole tawk in their own langwage but onwy when they dwess fancy. And onwy when we go to the little casso. There is music. I like music. All the songs are about the big man they call God. They say God is aww our daddy. That’s a lie. My daddy is not big. My daddy can’t do magic. Lots of big peepole go up to a man in a big shirt. He yells about God and push his hand on the heads of the peepole. The peepole wiggo, yell, jump and tawk the fancy dwess langwage.

“A-shon-da-da-me-ho-she-la-la-SHA!”¹

Baybee Boi by Dan Frazier

Wut? Thwack! Wut dih you tay my widdle, widdle baybee boi? Oh, no. Are doze teeyears? Is dat bwud? Don’t wuhwee, mommee is here for all dah owies and dirdy dyepuhs. Wut’s dat? Thwack! No mo spank, spank? Ha. No. You bin a bah, bah boi. You dih nah wead my dunjun wayvuh. It sez at dah bahtum: NO SAFE WORD.

Please check in with The Cult and let me know how to inscribe the books and where to send the swag. Thank you guys for keeping me busy these days.

1. "Peepole wiggo” sold me.