To the Hugos and LonCon: I’m your man.

It’s been a trying few days for SFF. There are a lot of hurt feelings floating around out there, a lot of accusations and counter accusations, movements and countermovements, blog posts and tumblr posts and controversial Facebook likes.

What we need right now is a period of healing. What we need is a cool balm to be laid upon the countless wounds and injuries this debate has caused. What we need, I feel, is a spiritual cleansing, a laying down of burdens and grudges, and in this delicate moment, we need to gather around a sensitive, thoughtful, perceptive figurehead who will calm our inner waters, and lead us to our Dharma.

And who’s got one accessible thumb and is all that shit I just said?

me

That’s right. It’s basically just impossible for anyone with two eyes and a brain to ignore that I am 100% the perfect guy for this job.

I can already hear the objections out there. Sure, I’m not perfect. There could be some more worthy people out there. But let’s simmer down here, gang, and consider the pros and cons of my nomination:

Pros

1. I don’t have any controversial history.

Since Katrina wiped out years and years of municipal and state records, I’m basically lily white at this point. If anyone still contends that a person who looked and acted like me tried to shepherd, maintain, and occasionally slaughter a flock of goats in an outlying New Orleans sewer, then where’s your proof, asshole?

2. I am good with crowds.

Cult leaders get a bad rap, what with all the murders, but you can’t deny that my involvement in a backwoods sex cult, then a backwoods death cult, and finally a backwoods sex-and-death cult has given me the experience I need to maintain the attention of a large group of people and control the energy in the room, or the energy in the moonlit forest clearing lined with bones. Related: would LonCon consider moving the Hugos to a moonlit forest clearing lined with bones?

3. I have handled metals in my day.

I might not know my way around trophies, but when I was in my prime I could strip a government tenement of every fucking inch of copper in less than three hours. I could butcher an abandoned house just like a Spaniard does a pig, and though my time in a chop shop is maybe a little less meaty, I could probably still make short work of a Volvo. Make sure you clear out any corpses in the trunk, they fuck the machines all up.

4. My body will soon be capable of standing upright.

No one likes an emcee who has to sit, or lie down on the floor and scream their announcements up at the ceiling. So I’ve shuffled around some of my more lucrative bitcoin investments, making connections with a prominent underground vaping lounge in Raleigh, NC, and any day now I expect a husky gentleman in a fedora to 3D print me up a new spine. If that fails you can maybe hang me from the ceiling sort of like Boris Johnson.

5. I’m a pretty good dancer.

bennett_got_moves

Check that out. I just got the air pregnant. I could just do this shit off in the corner while the nominees are making their way to the stage, I guess.

6. I’m familiar with the writing life.

I survived it, after all.

7. I know my way around London.

To this day I can’t explain why the juvenile center I spent my formative years at only played the 1966 Michael Caine film Alfie on repeat, over and over for 7 years, but I watched it so much that I basically have a map of London in my brain at this point. London hasn’t changed any since 1966, right? If not, then we’re golden.

8. I can eat.

There’s a meal served at the Hugos, right? I can eat the meal. My mouth works, and it’s in the right place, as is all the other stuff connected to it. (I smuggled in a lot of electronics once and some of the little cameras kept going off inside me, so I know.)

9. I exude sex.

I don’t know if that’s important or not, but it couldn’t hurt.

10. I know to never end a list on a 9.

Bam.

Now, that’s all great and chipper cheese folks, but there are plenty of cons to me, as well. I’m a fair and equal-minded person, as one learns to be when wrangling backwoods cult members, so I’ll be honest about myself.

1. I am a white man.

I’ve had multiple doctors confirm this, and several respectable mailmen. I am, and likely will be in August, a white man. However, my parole review board once said I was “more animal than man,” mostly due to my choices in disposing of my own waste when in solitary, so who’s the expert here? You or a state review board? They have badges and stuff, and you’re probably just some chump.

2. I’m tall.

Freakishly tall. When I climb onto my riding lawnmower (my preferred method of transportation) I am basically just a tangle of knees and elbows. The mere sight of me terrifies children to the extent that I only converse with my own son through a hole in his bedroom wall, and only when he’s sleeping. This may be an issue with the Hugos, as I understand people prefer to see the emcees.

3. Animals have a distinct dislike of me.

I don’t know what it is, but whenever I’m around an another alive thing that’s not a person, they freak the fuck out, even fish. (But not plants, plants are okay.) I don’t know if many SFF writers are dogs or cheetahs or horses or anything – I haven’t read the LonCon bylaws – but if a horse shows up to the Hugos, it’s going to flip out. Related:

4. I will be armed.

Because of #3, above, I have to kill a lot of things, basically constantly. I have been attacked by too many cats and birds in my life and I would have to be a dang fool if I wasn’t packing something that could throw a lot of death in any given direction. I am told that London is in a country (a recent development???) that does not allow guns, but I have never met a law I couldn’t break, usually as a result of not understanding the law or basic property concepts. Regardless….

5. I will almost certainly kill something during the Hugos.

It’s okay, I will bring the tarps. I urge you to reconsider the moonlit forest clearing lined with bones idea I suggested above, I think it’s a real corker.

6. I have no concept of gender or race.

I am not saying that I am an open-minded, considerate person here. I mean that I am incapable of interpreting human life as anything other than a screaming bag of wet errata. Sometimes I forget where the eyes are on other people. (The neck, right? Somewhere around there.)

7. I am constantly losing teeth.

They just keep falling out of my body, usually out of my mouth, but not always.

8. I will not permit another man to write down my name.

Then he has power over me, and that I cannot abide. I will not allow my name to be written on any of the LonCon publications. I do not even want to have a name tent at the Hugos. Actually, please refrain from saying my name at all throughout the promotional activity leading up to the event, onsite, after the event, and preferably for the rest of your lives.

9. I have to sleep in a crawlspace.

It’s how I was raised, it’s a cultural choice that you need to respect. Please reserve me a tight, dusty crawlspace, preferably between two rooms filled with weeping children. This is what I know and this is who I am.

10. I do not know what the Hugos are.

Seriously, are they like some kind of rocks or something?

3 comments on “To the Hugos and LonCon: I’m your man.

  1. Jay says:

    I’d vote for you, if there was a vote. And if we’d be allowed to write your name down on the ballot slip, of course.

  2. According to the British press a Hugo is a sort of metal dildo.

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