Dilly Tally!

Happy New Year to all the beautiful nit pickers out in beady eye land!

Yours truly got a thrilling late Christmas Gift to ring in 2025 in style, laryngitis!

But I haven’t just spent the last week shuffling around the house while my voice gradually grows from the faint dying squeals of a drowning bag of field mice to the brassy honks of a trombone entering puberty. I’ve gotten to work on the year end Crankshaft report, gearing up for Cranky Awards Season coming soon.

So! For all you data and lore obsessives out there!

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Testimony Of Student

My retelling of The Burnings continues. All episodes of the retelling appear under the “Burnings” tag.) A recap of previous episodes:

Chapter 6 begins now.

PROSECUTOR: Please state your full name.

CHRISTOPHER: Christopher J. Bland, but I go by Chris.

PROSECUTOR: You are a student at Westview High School, is that correct?

CHRISTOPHER: Yes.

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Fetish Gear

Hope you all had an awesome Christmas and a beautiful Boxing Day. I had originally hoped this post would go up Christmas Day. But I let that dream die, as on a foggy Christmas Eve I sat alone at my kitchen table, building a massive wall of unfrosted cookies like I was running on a platform of Make Baking Great Again.

I spent Christmas Day being hostess, and the days following recovering from the insulin shock resulting from the three pounds of assorted baked goods I’d consumed all at once.

But, finally, a Funky Winkerbean Christmas post I’ve been baking up for a while.

WARNING: LES MOORE ARCHIVE APPEARANCES EN ROUTE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. THOSE WITH SENSITIVE STOMACHS AND WEAK CONSTITUTIONS ARE ADVISED FOR THEIR OWN SAFETY TO USE DISCRETION.

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Deck the Dink (With Boughs of Nettles)

The sickening mess of regurgitated Dinkle glurge of the last two weeks has finally, (and hopefully only briefly,) broken BJ6K. I shot him an email this afternoon, asking if he had anything cooking, and the reply I got was as defeated as a starving spider trapped in the bottom of a slippery bathtub, crouched over the drain, exhausted and silently begging you with all eight of its beady little eyes to finally turn on the spigot.

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