I woke up this morning with an awful, miserable head cold: there is a great wobbling blob of snot atop my shoulders today, and there are grisly, bubbly, phlegmy noises coming out of my mouth. It is not good. It is kind of gross.
So I would like you all to pray for me.
Oh, wait, no! That never works! Don’t do that. Instead, there’s only one thing that might give me some psychic assistance: money. Yes, a small pile of money would really help right now.
Only not for me. Send it to Skepticon. Would you believe they got a rude surprise this week? The venue is demanding an unexpected and rather excessive sum of money right away, or they’re going to cancel the whole event. It’s like learning that someone plans to steal Christmas, on top of having a brain that has turned into a flocculent, foamy fluid today.
Skepticon is in urgent need of donations, fast. Those crazy kids…it was suggested that maybe if they charged a nominal admission fee, like $5, that would be enough to cover the shortfall, but noooo…they’re sticking by their principles and insisting that this conference will always be free of charge.
So make a cranky old sludge-brained man mildly less dismal by throwing a few dollars at some idealistic young’uns, OK?