It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: Macramé Flames, by Eric Raglin

Episode Date: December 14, 2025

Margaret tells you the tale of some nightmare queers off to bring about hell on earth.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-Heart podcast, Guaranteed Human. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product. With every sip, you get a little something different. Visit Gentleman's Cut Bourbon.com or your nearest Total Wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit

Gentleman'scuturban.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Hey, everybody, it's Chuck and Josh from the Stuff You Should Know podcast, and it's that time of year again when we knuckle down to do our annual holiday episodes. We collected our best past classic holiday episodes and compiled them into a 12 days of Christmas toys playlist that the whole family can enjoy. That's right. Maybe you missed it the first time we detailed the history of Beanie Babies, Monopoly, or Yo-Yo's, and a whole lot more.

So listen to the 12 Days of Christmas Toys playlist on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Have you ever listened to those true crime shows and found yourself with more questions than answers? Who catfishes a city? Is it even safe to snort human remains? Is that the plot of Footloose? I'm comedian Rory Scoville, and I'm here to tell you, Josh Dean and I have a new podcast that celebrates the amazing creativity of the world's dumbest criminals. It's called Crimeless. True Crime Comedy Podcast.

Listen on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. What up, y'all? It's your boy, Kevin on stage. I want to tell you about my new podcast called Not My Best Moment, where I talk to artists, athletes, entertainers, creators, friends, people I admire who had massive success about their massive failures. What did they mess up on? What is their heartbreak?

And what did they learn from it? I got judged horribly. The judges were like, you're trash. I don't know how you got on the show. Check out Not My Best Moment with me kept on stage on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcast. Cool Zone Media. Book Club. Book Club.

Hello. Welcome to Cool Zone Media Book Club. The only book club where you don't have to do the reading? Because I do it for you. Or should I say, welcome back? because today we're going back to doing short stories. I know you all listened very patiently through Dawn of the Frogs, and I know you all really like it when Trent throw a bomb.

But don't worry, we've got schemes and dreams for more TTPRPGs here at Cool Zone Media. But we're back to doing short stories on Cool Zone Media Book Club. And if you're new here, or you just don't remember, I'm your host, Margaret Kiljoy, and every week I read you a story that I like. Sometimes the stories are chaotic. Sometimes they're cozy, and usually they made me feel something, and occasionally they're bad enough to be funny. But most weeks, I pick stories that are just fun to read and fun to listen to, and I hope that you have fun too. And this week, we have a fun fucking story.

This is a romp. It is a hoot-nanny. That's what this story is. Because this week, we're reading you Macromay Flames, which is a 2022 story by the author Eric Roglan. It's from an anthology called The Book of Queer Saints, which was edited by May Murray. And this story rules because stories about gay people doing cult shit rule, but it also rules because of just how many rich details there are, like how they all use Signal, the app, when they're doing their texting for crime,

or how they all have knuckle tattoos. And if you feel like it, you should listen in for how Eric contrasts the familiar and the fantastical in this piece. All right, are you all ready? Are you ready for Macromay Flames by Eric Roglin? How Thorpe went from being a member of the Nightmare Queer's Motorcycle Gang to a Suburbanite with a respectable carpentry business is beyond me. Back when we were committing arson once or twice a week, he always threw the first Molotov. And boy, did his eagerness for destruction win my heart. After one arson in Cincinnati, we fled the same.

scene, climbed to a nearby rooftop, and went to town on each other, while the hobby-bobby below burned. One of six hobby-bobbies we'd torched that month alone. Watching the cops scramble to find us and fail only furthered our pleasure. They're dumb as shit, Thorpe groaned, his gimly beard buried in my ass. Thanks Satan for that. After a couple sweaty, sexy hours, we fell asleep on the rooftop. Reckless, I know. But waking up to a sunrise hazy with craft supply smoke was magical. Shivering in our leather jackets, we held each other and shared a cigarette. Perfect beauty and calm enveloped us.

I would have loved for the moment to last forever, but you rarely get to savor things when you're wanted in 17 states. Before the morning rush hour, we were off to the next hobby, Bobby. Not another in Ohio, we weren't stupid, but won a few hundred miles off. the store is growing fewer and farther between. Gang leader Ripley greeted our arrival with eyes narrowed and tattooed arms crossed. She gave us shit for spending the night so close to the crime scene. But I didn't care. And from the way she smirked, it seemed neither did she.

It was impossible to resent such a goddamn cute couple. Still, there were limits to our love. When the gang broke up five years back, I refused to settle in the suburbs with Thorpe among the golfers, HOA shitheads, and quiverful families next door. Loaded with cash from years of robberies

and inexplicably good financial planning, Thorpe sought stability after his homeless teenage years and his on-the-run 20s. My wanderlust hadn't been satisfied, though. I left to bike around the country alone, doing odd jobs and keeping a low profile, but it wasn't the same without him.

even in the company of other men at truck stops and campsites and bath houses and porta potties I thought of Thorpe constantly I often flipped through pictures I'd taken on the road and imagined he was in them standing among Yellowstone bison

with casual fearlessness slamming back rot-gut shots in a San Francisco gay bar and gazing at the stars through a tense mesh roof the two of us together inseparable It was only after the gang realized

her satanic work wasn't done that I saw him again. Like a heist movie, he came out of retirement for one last job. Maybe because he remembered what made us so good together. Or maybe because suburbia bored him. Guess I'll never know.

I missed my chance to ask. Ripley's prophecy promised literal hell on earth after we burned down 666 hobby-bobbies. but somehow we fucked up the count. It's true what they say about queers and math. Ripley's partner Zena miscounted, so we thought our work was done, which meant hell didn't come to earth,

causing Ripley's prophecy to lose credibility and the gang to split up. Kind of funny in retrospect. I stayed gang loyal longer than Thorpe and most of the others, but at some point it got awkward. It was only Ripley and Zena, plus me third wheeling it, and you know how a biker feels.

about anything with more than two wheels. I bounced. Thing is, Zena did an arson recount five years later. Why, you're wondering? For her goddamn scrapbook. Every Hobby Bobby Arson News Clipping got its own page. And when she glued the final article to page 665, she must have thought,

huh, I done fucked up. Sure did, Warrior Princess. After that, Ripley informed the gang of the situation through an encrypted group text, though there were fewer of us now. Knox had died in a knife fight with some Sturgis Nazis. Kip had died in a knife fight with herself, and Dozer had fucked off to DJ at a queer nightclub in Berlin.

Those who remained, minus a stubbornly silent Thorpe, hopped on a video conference call, like real corporate ghouls. But instead of suits and ties, we each had face tats and septum piercings and crooked scheming smiles. We shot the shit, and plotted for hours. I left the call fucking buzzing,

thinking if everything went smoothly, how really would come to Earth. It'd be a 24-7 paradise for queers and anarchists and the best sorts of criminals. Hobby Bobby Bobby still hadn't recovered from the nightmare queer's campaign of terror, but they dared to open one new location

in Omaha, Nebraska. The corporation had waited a good three years after our spree ended to build it, and there it had still. ever since with the store sign glowing orange like a, like a beacon for crafty, evangelist assholes. Ripley and Zena scouted the place ahead of time. There was a security camera at the store's southeast corner

and a blind spot on the northeast side of the parking lot. We'd taken on much harder jobs. So this one should have been cake, right? And you know what else is a piece of cake to... You know who? Who else glows orange with craft supplies and prophecy destruction? Not any of our sponsors. That's for sure.

Nope. They are completely without the orange glow of prophecy destruction. That's our promise here at Cool Zone Media. Here's our sponsors. It's 5.23 p.m. One of your kids is asking for a snack. Another is building a fort out of your clean laundry, and you're staring at a half-empty fridge and thinking,

what are we even going to eat tonight? Or you could just hello-fresh it. With over 80 recipes to choose from every week, including kid-friendly ones, even for picky eaters, you'll get fresh ingredients and easy step-by-step recipes delivered right to your door. No last-minute grocery runs.

No, what do we even have, fridge staring? And the best part, you're in total control. Skip a week, pause any time, pick what works for you. It's dinner on your terms. The kids can even help you cook. Yeah, it's going to be messy. But somehow, they tend to eat the vegetables they made themselves.

Try HelloFresh today and get 50% off the first box with free shipping. Go to HelloFresh.coma and use promo code Mom 50. That's HelloFresh.coma promo code Mom 50. HelloFresh.com. HelloFresh. Canada's number one meal kit delivery service. I'm Stefan Curry and this is Gentleman's cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product with every sip you get a little something different.

Visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com or your nearest total wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com. Please enjoy responsibly. What up y'all? It's your boy. stage, I want to tell you about my new podcast called Not My Best Moment, where I talk to artists,

athletes, entertainers, creators, friends, people I admire who had massive success about their massive failures. What did they mess up on? What is their heartbreak? And what did they learn from it? I got judged horribly. The judges were like, you're trash. I don't know how you got on the show. Boo, somebody had tomatoes. I'm kidding. But if they had tomatoes, they would have thrown the tomatoes. Let's be honest. We've all had those moments we'd rather forget. We bumped our head. We made a mistake. The deal fell through. We're embarrassed. We failed. But this podcast is about that and how we made it through. So when they sat me down, they were kind of like, we got into the small talk and they were just like, so what do you got? What? What ideas? And I was like, oh, no.

What? Check out not my best moment with me, Kevin on stage on the Iheart radio app, Apple podcast, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. Have you ever listened to those true crime shows and found yourself with more questions than answers? And what is this? How is that not a story we all know? What's this? Where is that? Why is it wet?

Boy, do we have a show for you? From Smartless Media, Campside Media, and Big Money Players comes Crimeless. Join me, Josh Dean, investigative journalists. And me, Roy Scoville, comedian, as we celebrate the amazing. creativity of the world's dumbest criminals. We'll look into some of the silliest ways folks have broken the laws. Honestly, it feels more like a high-level prank than a crime. Who catfishes a city?

And meets some memorable anti-heroes. There are thousands of angry, horny monkeys. Clap, if you think, she's a witch. And it freaks you out. He has X-ray vision. How could I not follow him? Honestly, I got to follow him. He can see right through me.

Listen to Crimless on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And we're back. The morning before our final arson, after too many unreturned voicemails, I drove to Thorpe's suburban hellscape to plead my case. His lawn was perfect, and by perfect, I mean perfectly fucking boring. Mowed and watered and monoculture as hell. A wooden welcome sign hung from the door. It looked like one you'd find it at Hobby Bobby. But as I found out later that day, he'd made it himself.

Arsonist, ass eater, and carpenter. Thorpe was a triple threat. When I knocked, he answered with a shaved face and his shirt tucked into his pants. the shirt thing threw me off what kind of person tucked their shirt in while lazing around at home didn't seem like the Thorpe I'd known still he was willing to hear me out

on this one last job and I was willing to open my heart again carefully like opening a door during a hailstorm how do you feel about fucking up one last craft store I asked going in for a kiss Thorpe lurched back and whispered not so loud, come on. Whether he was afraid of getting busted for criminal activity

or getting outed as a homo in Trump country, I couldn't tell, but I followed him inside. He shut the door, then gave me a quick peck on the corner of my mouth. A totally unromantic reunion kiss, but it had also been five fucking years of radio silence. So who could blame him? Thorpe had a black pleather sectional couch without a single cracked cushion,

a big-ass TV covering half the wall and a spinning rack of home improvement magazines. Nice house, I said through a grimace. Please say you've got an altar room somewhere, a little Satan in the suburbs. I don't worship much of anything these days, Thorpe said, scratching a shaved neck. Not even a shadow of stubble remained.

Maybe that'll change tonight, I said. We've got the count right this time. So big things could happen. Thorpe nodded and gave a polite Midwestern smile, but I didn't make eye contact. Silence took hold filled by the soft hum of air conditioning, not even a window unit. This was bougie-ass central cooling. Listen, I know this is awkward and you don't really want to deal with gang shit anymore, but I cleared my throat. Do you at least want to have sex? For old time's sake?

sure he said that would be nice a good cum broke the ice thorpe and i laid in his temperedic bed could have gotten used of that bed holy shit cuddling naked and drinking whiskey and catching up on a half a decade of lost love he braided my hair just like he used to which made me cry a few boozy tears when i stopped crying it was his turn i hate myself most of the time he sniffled I needed safety and security, and I sold out for it. This life, it's comfortable, and it's nice, and it's so goddamn boring. The neighborhood dads invited me to join an eagle's cover band. The Eagles, for Satan's sake. Satan, you say? He smiled, then kissed me. It was wet and tongy and way fucking hotter than our kiss at the door.

Pulling away, he asked, do you hate me? I almost laughed at the audacity of that. that question. Thorpe, you have to understand, I said. Two years back, I biked through this town that had a custom body pillow shop, no lie, and I seriously fucking considered getting one printed with a picture of you. I was pathetic and lonely and totally head over heels for this bitch right in front of me. So no, I can never hate you. Thorpe's smile last only a moment before he sobbed into my armpit and whispered, Thank you, I love you, over a and over and over. I cradled his head and inhaled him. He was already starting to smell more like

the man I remembered. Maybe there'd be a future for us after all. I wondered if I could persuade him to burn down this house, but not the bed, and collect the insurance money. We'd ride off together and enjoy a lifelong road trip through hell on earth. But I was getting ahead of myself. I'd wait to ask until after the Hobby Bobby burned. Thorpe and I pulled into Omaha late, just like the old times. He hadn't ridden his Kawasaki in ages, so he had to do some last-minute maintenance. I felt like a dad yelling at his son to hurry up and get dressed for church, your mom's already in the goddamn car. Still, with a little extra speed on the interstate, and boy, did that feel good, we arrived just 10 minutes past midnight. Seven other nightmare queers were already there

quietly chatting and smoking under an awning. They waved at us and whisper-shouted and enthusiastic greeting. Standing a ways off, Ripley glared when we pulled into the dark corner of the parking lot, but she grinned at the sight of Thorpe's shaved face. I've seen twinks become bears, but never the other way around, she said, hugging him tight. Good to have you back. Glad to be back, Thorpe said, but his voice trembled. Maybe he'd been a suburbanite for so long that returning to crime scared him,

light years distant as he was from his roots and values. use. I nudged his ribs and whispered, It's going to be great. He gave a brief, lippy smile. Before I could give further reassurance, Ripley pushed a Molotov into my hands. Still got a good throwing arm, she asked. Hard to miss a 50,000 square foot building, I said. Thorpe snorted and looked down. He kicked over someone's discarded monster energy can and watched its remnants pool at his feet. Ripley approached him with a second Molotov.

You spilled my drink, she said. Thorpe's head snapped up and his eyes went wide. Fucking with you, man, I don't drink that shit, Ripley said. She rested a hand on Thorpe's leather jacket, which he probably hadn't worn in years. You okay? Thorpe nodded. Yeah, I really missed everyone. Things haven't been easy and I'm sorry I haven't been around.

I really should have... No reason to apologize. The past is the past. and the future is hell on earth. Let's torch this craft store and grab a fucking beer. Just like you can torch a yule log. There we go. That's one thing I can say you can torch on air.

Go torch a yule log and grab yourself a fucking beer, you filthy animal. Unrelated to anything at all? Here's ads. Being a parent is basically a juggling act. Dinner, hockey practice, homework, a last, minute science project and someone's always, always shouting for you from another room. So yeah, I'll take any shortcuts that actually works. And that's why I'm all in on Hello Fresh. Fresh ingredients, super easy recipes and over 80 options every week so everyone eats. No one complains and I get to

feel like I've got it all together, at least for dinner. And the best part, you're in total control. Skip a week, pause any time, pick what works for you. It's dinner on your terms. They even have 15-minute recipes. Perfect for those nights when everyone's hungry and patience is officially off the menu. And with so many options, even my pickiest eater found something they loved, which means no more backup mac and cheese. Try HelloFresh today and get 50% off the first box with free shipping. Go to HelloFresh.com.combe rescue 50.

That's Hellofresh.combe.combe rescue 50. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finished product with every sip you get a little something different. Visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com or your nearest total wines or Bevmo. This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, please visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com. Please enjoy responsibly.

What up y'all? It's your boy, Kevin. stage, I want to tell you about my new podcast called Not My Best Moment, where I talk to artists, athletes, entertainers, creators, friends, people I admire who had massive success about their massive failures. What did they mess up on? What is their heartbreak? And what did they learn from it? I got judged horribly. The judges were like, you're trash. I don't know how you got on the show. Boo, somebody had tomatoes. I'm kidding. But if they had tomatoes, they would have thrown the tomatoes. Let's be honest. We've all had those moments we'd rather forget. We bumped our head. We made a

mistake. The deal fell through. We're embarrassed. We failed. But this podcast is about that and how we made it through. So when they sat me down, they were kind of like, we got into the small talk and they were just like, so what do you got? What? What ideas? And I was like, oh, no. What? Check out not my best moment with me, Kevin on stage on the Iheart radio app, Apple podcast, YouTube, or wherever you get your Have you ever listened to those true crime shows and found yourself with more questions than answers? And what is this? How was that not a story we all know? What's this?

Where is that? Why is it wet? Boy, do we have a show for you? From Smartless Media, Campside Media, and Big Money Players comes Crimeless. Join me, Josh Dean, investigative journalists. And me, Rory Scoval, comedian, as we celebrate the amazing creativity of the world's dumbest criminals. We'll look into some of the silliest ways folks have broken the laws.

Honestly, it feels more like a high-level prank than a crime. Who catfishes a city? And meets some memorable anti-heroes. There are thousands of angry, horny monkeys. Clap if you think, she's a witch. And it freaks you out. He has x-rayed vision. How could I not follow him?

Honestly, I got to follow him. He can see right through me. Listen to Crimless on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or we're ever you get your podcast. And we're back. Thorpe puffed his cheeks out, then hopped up and down like an antsy gay football player on the sidelines. Ripley's pep talk reminded me of why we'd followed her for so many years,

and I was grateful she could inspire Thorpe in ways I couldn't. Ripley called to the others, Finish your smokes and come here. Don't want cops arriving before we get this party started. Everyone walked over, hugged me in Thorpe, then huddled around Ripley. The gang looked different after five years away. Zena had gray hair.

Merck had daddy knuckle tats. And Corsica had a half-sagging face from her stroke. Despite the changes, it still felt like old times. I couldn't stop smiling. After the building burns, the ground will start shaking. don't panic ripley said that's supposed to happen it means he's coming hail satan zena said everyone repeated after her even thorpe i grinned as if i were witnessing his satanic confirmation thorpe could still get right with the dark lord rippley pushed a molotov into thorpe's hands will you do the honors she said but it wasn't really a question thorpe throwing first was all part of the ritual he was our good luck charm the reason the cops never

caught us. At least that's what Ripley told us. Thorpe nodded, half smiled, and blushed. He cleared his throat. Does someone have a lighter? he asked. I know I should have brought one, but I quit smoking and, oh, good for you, man, Ripley said, then handed him a bick that looked like it had been a dog's chew toy. Blinking quickly, Thorpe mumbled a thank you before lighting the cloth. That's when the red and blue lights of two cop cars lit up the parking lot like a fascist disco. Thorpe jumped at the sirens, whoop, and dropped the lit Molotov. It shattered at his feet, and flames consumed him head to toe. I smelled the musk of burning leather, the sharpness of melting hair.

Thorpe's high-pitched scream pierced the night. Everyone else's screams followed. Shit, roll, Thorpe, roll, I said. It felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but what else was there to say? A cop barked through a crackling megaphone. All of you, hands where I can see them. More flamed than man, Thorpe made a shrieking sprint toward the Hobby Bobby and drove headfirst through the door.

The pain shattered, and there he lay motionless. Somewhere behind me, Ripley whipped out her gun and fired at the cops. I was frozen with horror, knowing Thorpe and I would never bike a desert highway, get pissed drunk and whisper sweet everythings under the blanket of glittering constellations. We'd never raise a toast to the king of hell. Never party with winged imps and black latex suits. Never see the fruits of our satanic labors. More shots and not the celebratory kind.

I was out in the fucking open, the rest of the gang ducking behind their bikes and pulling out their pieces. I could only tilt my head towards Thorpe, lifeless and flaming in the Hobby-Bobby-Bobby. entrance, his body, the accelerant, and one final, beautiful act of arson. But something was different about this fire. It spread through the store and possibly fast. Thorpe's accidental sacrifice channeling satanic magic and feeding the flames' hunger. Firefighters would never put this one out. A dozen deafening shots. Bullets pinged off the

cop cars and bikes. A cop yelled at me to get the fuck down. down, then pulled the trigger not a second later. I was lucky, yet should aim, because I was still paralyzed watching Thorpe turned to Ash 50 feet away. Another cruiser pulled into the lot with lights spinning. Ripley screamed, Fuck, fuck, fuck! And emptied the rest of her clip toward the backup.

But the red and blue lights paled in comparison to the Hobby Bobby, shining bright as the morning star. A bullet clipped my ear, and I only realized it when hot blood, My blood tickled my cheek. Everything was ringing. More shots than a gut-wrenching scream from Ripley. I couldn't see her, but I knew she'd been hit.

Zena shouted to Ripley, her panic shredded voice repeatedly promising. Everything would be okay. And then the earth shook with ecstatic violence. All gunfire stopped. I fell to the ground, which would have made that fucking cop happy had he not been worried about the cracking concrete beneath him.

concrete beneath him. Now he and his boys were screaming and Ripley was laughing and I was crying and Thorpe was burning and dying and rebirthing the world. Flames spouted, not from the Hobby Bobby, but from the splitting concrete. A screaming cop straddled the scorching crack, but the gap widened and the flames licked the hair off his balls. He fell into the engines of hell, fuel for Satan's chariot. His car followed, then another car, pulling the second cop down with its open driver's side door. When the last cop tried running, bless his cold wife-beating heart, a blackened claw, thick as a redwood, reached up from the quaking crack and gripped his ankle. One tug and he was gone, soul not claimed, but rather immolated out of existence. Hell didn't want him.

I'm sure of that. When the claw extended back into the burning night, it stretched endlessly, towering over the Hobby Bobby, the city, the world. Glowing magma hissed through its veins and shards of volcanic glass fell from its fingers, clinking to the ground. Ever the dumbass, I didn't register what the beast was at first,

but I just lost my lover and my one good ear, so cut me some fucking slack. Ripley, on the other hand, giggled and rejoiced through labored breath. Hail Satan, come at last. My attention strayed to the Hobby Bobby entrance, where not even one of Thorpe's briny balls remained. At least his death meant something. I sobbed and screamed and thanked him and praised Satan

and yearned to fill the emptiness inside me. I'd never get to know this reborn world with the man I loved, the man who'd made it possible. Concrete splintered as the colossal beast's head surfaced, leaving half the parking lot a sinkhole to hell. Smoke rising from his horns. It turned toward me. That's when I'd realized I'd given up hope too soon.

Meeting my gaze from a mile above, the beast grinned with stalactite fangs, hanging over a gimly beard, The beard I had longed to feel against my face for so long. A great warmth filled me. Love and hell would reign together for eternity. The end. I really like this story.

Sorry, I know why I always say that. I don't know. It's just fun. Like, I don't believe in any of this shit. It's a terrible theology. Don't go do this. But, like, whatever. Like, this idea of wanting to see it.

it all burn and then picking this like way of doing it and this way of doing it there's that great new podcast about the satanic panic that just came out from sarah marshall but like i read a lot about the satanic panic and like these things that people accuse us all of doing and so sometimes it's nice to just like revel in that and be like no no no that's the plan that's totally what we're doing yeah hazel who helps me pick out the stories they say i read through a lot of stories for this show but as soon as i read the first line of this one i knew i wanted to try to get it A good first line should set up with the main action in the story will be, and this line does it so masterfully.

How Thorpe went from being a member of the Nightmare Queer's motorcycle gang to a suburbanite with a respectful carpentry business is beyond me. It gets us a named main character. The two worlds will be torn between for this story, the gang, and the suburbs, and the hint that he'll be coming out of retirement, and one hell of a concept. So yeah, I hope you enjoyed the story too. Eric Raglan, the author, He Him, I'm going to read his bio to you.

Eric Raglan, He Him, is a horror, weird fiction writer. His short story collections include nightmare yearnings and extinction hymns. He owns Cursed Morsels Press, which focuses on short horror and weird fiction with an anti-capitalist, anti-fascist, pro-queer spirit. He has also edited The Riding Verde End. And, No Trouble at All, co-edited with Alexis Dubon, and bitter apples, and shredded a sports and fitness body horror anthology, and Antifa Splatterpunk. You can find him on Blue Sky or Instagram at Eric Roglin, 1992, which is E-R-I-C-R-A-G-L-I-N-N-N-N-N-D-N-N-N-2.

And I'm Margaret Kiljoy, and you can find me wherever you want. My latest book is called The Immortal Choir Holds Every Voice. It has kind of pretty similar themes to this. and everyone who backed out on Kickstarter is about to get a digital copy of a companion story for the Danielle Kane series called And the Clean Bones Gone that's coming out from Strangers in the Tangled Wilderness.

It might actually be out to the Kickstarter backers by the time you hear this. But if you want a zine of it, mailed to your very door, you can back our publisher, Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness at patreon.com slash strangers in Tangled Wilderness and anyone who backs us to $10 a more

a month gets a zine every month in the mail. And our January mailers are the very biggest mailing of the year where we make like bigger zines and stuff and send them out as well as like a poster that's also our catalog and all this shit but importantly the print zine version of and the clean bones gone which you can absolutely read standalone if you want really similar themes as this and the clean bones gone yeah you can get it if you back us before December 31st this year 2025 you'll get a copy of that in the mail but i don't know you can also just

back it anyway and you'll get a zine once a month and then if you really want for some something that's completely unrelated to Hobby Bobby, which is, of course, the entirely fictitious thing that is referenced in this episode. You can also go and listen to Behind the Bastards episodes from 2020, how Hobby Lobby funded terrorism and tried to destroy democracy. For just something completely unrelated, I just wanted to shout out another Cool Zone Media podcast, Behind the Bastards.

Maybe you've heard of it. Anyway, talk to you all next week. It could happen here as a production of Cool Zone Media Podcasts. For more podcasts from CoolZone Media, visit our website, coolzonemedia.com, or check us out on the IHeard Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources where it could happen here updated monthly at coolzonemedia.com slash sources.

Thanks for listening. If a Lenovo gaming computer is on your holiday list, don't shop around. Just go directly to the source, Lenovo.com. It's your last chance to score exclusive deals on the gaming PCs you want, like the Lenovo Legion Tower 5 Gen 10 gaming desktop and Lenovo Locke gaming laptop. So avoid all that shopping chaos and price comparing and just go directly to the source,

Lenovo.com, where PCs are up to 35% off. That's Lenovo.com. I'm Stefan Curry, and this is Gentleman's Cut. I think what makes Gentleman's Cut different is me being a part of developing the profile of this beautiful finish. product, but with every sip, you get a little something different. Visit gentlemen's cut bourbon.com or your nearest total wines or bevmo.

This message is intended for audiences 21 and older. Gentleman's Cut Bourbon, Boone County, Kentucky. For more on Gentlemen's Cut Bourbon, please visit gentlemen's cuthuburn.com. Please enjoy responsibly. Hey, everybody, it's Chuck and Josh from the Stuff You Should Know podcast, and it's that time of year again when we knuckle down to do our annual holiday episodes. We collected our best past classic holiday episodes and compiled them into a 12 Days of Christmas Toys playlist

that the whole family can enjoy. That's right, maybe you missed it the first time we detailed the history of Beanie Babies, Monopoly, or Yo-Yo's, and a whole lot more. So listen to the 12 Days of Christmas Toys playlist on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Have you ever listened to those true crime shows

and found yourself with more questions than answers? Who catfish is a city? Is it even safe to snort human remains? Is that the plot of Footloose? I'm comedian Rory Scoville, and I'm here to tell you, Josh Dean and I have a new podcast that celebrates the amazing creativity of the world's dumbest criminals. It's called Crimeless, a true crime comedy podcast. Listen on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

This is an IHeart podcast. Guaranteed Human.