Somewhere between a shot of minttu and the first glass of water, Charles Bukowski, may his name ring out through a thousand glasses of whiskey, came over me and bestowed me with a message:
“Go forth and tell your followers that they can win T-shirts.”
“T-shirts, your smokiness?”
“Yes, T-shirts. Plural. More than one. And now shut up and listen to me.
Tell them to chip in-”
“Pledge, oh king of lowlifes, pledge.”
“Pledge, whatever, 3, what is it you’re using now, euros? Tell them to pledge three euros and then have their friends do the same thing and write you a letter-”
“E-mail, patron of troubled women, letters have gone out o-”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up? Anyway, have their friends send an e-mail to you with their name and the friend who referred them to your comic, graphic novel, project, whatever you call it.
Afterwards, when your panhandling was succesful, you pick a message at random and send them their T-shirts. Remember to emphasize that this contest is open worldwide, meaning everybody can enter. Understood.”
“Yes, I did. I will spread the following message.
“You and your friend can each win a T-shirt. Here’s how you enter
Pledge three euros or more.
Have your friends to do the same and send an e-mail afterwards to info [arobas] theunnamedcomic.net with their name and yours.
The winners will be picked after a succesful Kickstarter-campaign. This contest is open to everybody across the globe.”
Does this please you, oh non-holder of a thousand jobs?”
“Meh, good enough. Now where is that Duvel Tripel Hop I’ve been hearing so much about?”