Errata

Errata

I was reviewing my notes from the weekend, the various list items I scribbled down and wanted to do something with. Mostly just have two, rather unrelated items. One involves a feller who I nicknamed “bubba” and the other involves the Journal Con committee. Very disjointed, and very unrelated topics.

1> I think it was Saturday. Bubba was making time with a Virgo, as is his wanton ways. He was admiring the fine artwork she had tattooed, “sleeves” and so forth. To me, she looked like a mere whisp of a female, “Yeah, I’ll be bouncing tonight at an art gallery.”

Without missing a beat, he asks which gallery.

Bouncer. Art gallery. Does anyone see this as weird?

“Yeah, I’ve seen her work before, she’s mean.”

2> “Yeah, Kramer, we’ve got the perfect panel for you to host. Only, I’m not telling you what its title is.” That’s what the Pisces said.

“Yeah, Kramer, it’s got your name all over it,” another Pisces informed me, “and I’m the secretary, in my notes. Your name. All over it.”

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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