Jealousy. I’ve decided that reading Mecawilson is a bittersweet experience. Bittersweet? That’s not the word. If there’s some word combining the tang of pickles with the acidic, gut-eating taste of jealousy, then that’s the word I mean to use instead. “Bittersweet.”
He’s funny. I’ve seen a lot of good writers on the net lately, good, solid, dependable writers with witty elements much to be snorted over. They don’t make me jealous. I’d read Mecawilson’s stuff in print. I’d pay money for it. Like I said, jealous.
Why isn’t he getting paid for this stuff?