In Which The Birthday Bonfires Are Lit for @MrsNic08

You see that Bonnie Nic has got great taste

In books and many other things as well.

And though these lines are written in some haste

(Your sonneteer is in a kind of hell

Since Bonnie's baby daughter shared her germs),

A day like this cannot pass by unmarked;

It's Bonnie's birthday, and like all good nerds

She needs a sonnet; now the Bonfire's sparked

(For that's her nickname and she's earned it so!),

And celebrations must commence anon

(They have been going on since Tuesday, though,

A pirate raid on bookstore close upon

The heels of sushi-scarfing), Bonnie, dear,

Congrats; you've made it through another year!

In Which I Hoist A Robot Vodkatini For @JCHutchins' Birthday

What can I say that's not already come
Forth on this page, how much I love mah Hutch?
His fiction curls my toes and strikes me dumb,
Whene'er a tktktk sounds off, as such.
Hey everybody, though, it's his birthday!
And we all know nobody does it like
Ms. Sara Lee, I mean, our J.C. May
We always be so lucky as to strike
Such gold as he pours out for us -- for free!
Not just in fiction but in clarion calls
To match his efforts, generosity
And sheer inventiveness. I've climbed the walls
Just trying here to properly express
How glad I am to know him. Hutch: success!

BONUS SONNET: On The Rare Virtues Of Robot Vodka

'Twas J.C. Hutchins first demanding it
Of his Jane Alpha that did made me think,
"Just what is ROBOT VODKA?" and submit
At first that it's a potent, wicked drink
Made by fermenting farm-fresh robot milk
Before distilling it. This beverage would
Most surely go down smooth as liquid silk,
Before its vapors locked one's brain up good.
But others say the hooch itself contains
Wee nanobots that clean the drinker's teeth!
Or that it's motor oil from robot veins,
Or anything that puts robots beneath
The table. Really, I'm no closer to
The truth than when I started. How 'bout you?

In Which I Squee For A Wonderful Guy

Today is Seventh Son Day, a long while

In coming. As we watch his numbers rise

With J.C. Hutchins, let us pause and smile

For him and us. At last our poor wee eyes

Partake in what our ears so long have known!

That baby-faced JC is sure no slouch,

That there's no pleasure quite like when our own

Do well. That sprawling out upon the couch

With paperback or Kindle is more fun

When it's a friend in there. Oh, JC, dear!

While Personal Effects was a delight

And brought the chills and of course brought the fear,

It's this one that feels like the triumph of

Your work and friends and all you've come to love!

In Which I Watch A Legend Grow

The internet's a snowball of info
To which it's fun to add as we see fit.
Today's project, should you all want to know,
Is adding to this page - it's quite legit -
Which details the accomplishments of one
J.C. Hutchins, of whom I've writ before.
A Nobel prize is his in medicine!
A Happy Meal's been named for him and more!
A most nefarious conspiracy
Was launched to hide his knighthood from us. Howl!
(And if you check him on IMDB,
You'd see none of his cameos. Cry foul!)
I'm sure that ere this edifying day
Is through we'll find out that his skin is grey.

In Which I Face A Weird Dilemma

I am returned, and so pleased to have found

In what I've christened my Mud Room of Squee,

My own pre-ordered copy, strangely bound,

Of J.C. Hutchins' print debut. How he

And Weisman pulled out all the stops! It's come

With a great heap of horror-flair to sift

Through and investigate as I do thumb

Its pages. Where to start, though? I'm adrift.

I've called to hear Zach Taylor's voice mail bit,

And poked around the Brinkvale website, natch.

The podcast prequel gave some hints that fit

My expectations, but there's e'er this catch:

Play with the items, follow where they lead,

Or first open the book and start to read?