Dolla Dolla Bills, Y'all
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Dolla Dolla Bills, Y'all ●Do you like this site? ●Have you ever enjoyed reading anything here? ●Did you ever find anything helpful, informative, or even just funny? Then now’s the time to pledge your support and not get a free tote bag or whatever PBS is shilling these days. I don’t even have any cool interns to man the phone banks I also don’t have, so don’t expect any of that business, either. PROGRESS TO GOAL: 70% What I do have is the yearly renewal on my hosting plan coming up, with nothing budgeted to pay for it. I recently started a new job, which required a small move, which required fighting a ridiculous custody battle that I can’t even describe, which depleted any savings we had, etc… Things are fine now, financially and in every other way. We’re back on our feet and things are turning around; I can pay our bills and our lawyer (because that particular nightmare isn’t over yet), I can put food on the table and a nice new roof over our heads. I could probably even pay to renew my hosting plan, if I really wanted to. But that’s money that could be better spent on Trey, so that’s where I want to spend it. So, that being said, what am I going to do with Coquetting Tarradiddles? Well, that’s entirely up to you. To renew my server hosting at its current level (which is pretty necessary, unless you want the site crashing every time I get a traffic spike, or whenever some jellyheaded script kiddie tries to hack my Gibson), it’ll cost me $250 clams. That I don’t want to spend anymore. I don’t run ads here, because I think they’re annoying. I get no revenue from this site whatsoever, so it’s all just expense. Back when I was helping fight the good fight to fix the local school district in Beaumont, Texas, I hosted gigabytes of data for the community to access – and none of it came free. Or even cheap. But I could help, so I did help. Or tried to, anyway. I’ve written a lot of stuff about a lot of different things. Some of what I’ve written (such as my posts on Depression ) have had a significant impact on the lives of a surprising number of people, which is why I wrote them. I’ve helped people, and they’ve helped me. I’ve tried to entertain you guys with silly posts, goofy jokes, and even a few short stories ( the most successful of which ended with a pathetic SWATTING attempt by just a really super cool dude, so that was fun). What I’m getting at here is this: I’ve been writing and paying to host this site for a little over 8 years now, and I’ve always done it for free. And I want to keep doing it for free, but I just don’t feel like paying to do it for free anymore. Which is where you come in. I need to raise $250 by the 15th, or Coquetting Tarradiddles will cease to coquette or tarradiddle. Forever. So, I ask you again: ●Do you like this site? ●Have you ever enjoyed reading anything here? ●Did you ever find anything helpful, informative, or even just funny? If the answer to any of those questions is yes – and if you want this site to continue – then head over here and toss me a couple of pennies to pay for the hosting renewal. NOTE: THIS IS NOT CHARITY. This is for nothing more or less than paying the minimal cost to keep Coquetting Tarradiddles alive and running for another year. If that’s something you want to see happen, then contribute what you can. If it’s not, then don’t. Simple, really. I might come back later and add some kind of progress bar or something, to indicate how close to (or far, far away from) we are to the $250 goal. PROGRESS TO GOAL: 70% Once (if) we hit it, I’ll update this page and tell people to stop sending me money unless they just really, really want to because they’re crazy and rich and wipe their gold-plated butts with $100 bills or whatever. Like I said, this isn’t charity. I’m not asking for a handout, or for any money to do anything other than keep this site alive. I considered setting up Patreon, but this isn’t a regular thing. I don’t need you to pay me to write. I’ll do that for free; I just don’t want to pay for the privilege. Besides, I don’t have nearly enough hipster facial hair for patrons. I’ve paid the tab here for 8 years now. If you want me to keep going, it’s your turn. I’ll probably come up with some kind of thank you to send to anyone who contributes, although I have no idea what that will be yet. I might put up a poll, and you can just tell me what you want. A new short story? An insightful commentary on the dichotomy of good and evil? A ten page report of the efficacy of fart jokes? The possibilities are endless. The point is, you’ll get something for giving anything. I just don’t know what that is yet. All the cool kids are doing it. Don’t you want to be cool, too? The Click-Clack Man I was going to post this all in one go, but people seemed to really like the serialization I did throughout this past October with my Halloween horror story , so I thought it’d be fun to do it again. When I started writing this, I had something very different in mind than where the story actually went, which is something new and scary for me since I like to know exactly what it is I’m writing as I write it. But this one took on a life of its own, and I just went where it led me. I’ll be posting new entries irregularly, so check back often. I hope you enjoy it. The Click-Clack Man “I like your shoes.” “Thank you,” replied The Click-Clack Man. He crossed one of his long, thin legs over his lap and pointed to the shiny black dress shoe on his right foot. “Do you have any like these?” The boy paused for a moment, nibbling his bottom lip as he thought. “Yes,” he said, his eyes wide with recognition. “For Sunday mornings when we go to church sometimes.” The Click-Clack man tilted his head to the side, his thin lips parting into a wide grin. “Only sometimes?” he asked the boy. “Yeah. For, like, Christmas and Easter and stuff. We don’t go much other times.” “Pity,” said The Click-Clack Man. “Church is good for you.” “Do you go to church a lot?” “Oh, yes,” said The Click-Clack Man. “Every Sunday. You can come with me,” he said. His lips stretched thinner as his grin grew wider. He leaned closer to the boy and whispered, “if you want.” The boy pushed back a little in his bed until his back touched the wall of his bedroom. It was covered in comic books his dad had made into wallpaper the year before, and his shoulder smooshed into Superman’s face. “I don’t think my mom would let me,” he said, trailing the sentence off as he spoke. He was nibbling his bottom lip again. “Do you know my mom?” he asked. The Click-Clack Man nodded. “I know everyone,” he said. The boy relaxed a little. “Then I can ask her, if you want.” “That’s okay,” replied The Click-Clack Man. “She wouldn’t like that.” “Why not?” The Click-Clack Man uncrossed his legs and stood up, the fabric of his thin black suit letting out a gentle whoosh of air as he rose. He took a few steps away from the boy’s bed, nodded, then turned toward the door. As his hand reached out to open it, he turned his wide grin back to the boy and said, “She doesn’t know I’m here.” The door closed behind him, and the hallway light switched off. click-clack, click clack The boy listened to The Click-Clack Man’s shiny black shoes fade into the distance, then went to sleep. ************ He came like that at first, when the boy was young; brief visits in the nighttime. The Click-Clack Man was always friendly, always smiling. The pair talked about random things, while The Click-Clack Man made the boy laugh with a well-placed joke or a funny face. The boy would answer his questions. “Do you remember the first time I met you?” The Click-Clack Man asked the boy. “No,” he replied. “I don’t think so.” He nibbled his bottom lip again as he always did, making little sucking noises as he thought. “Haven’t you just always been here?” The Click-Clack man smiled. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?” “Yeah,” said the boy. “It does.” And it really did. ************ “Are you ready to go?” asked The Click-Clack Man. The boy looked at the superhero clock by his bed, noted the time, then grabbed the handle of his backpack and pulled its straps over his shoulder. “Yes,” he replied.