Bob Holt

Well, look what happened to Twitter. It’s a good time to re-evaluate my online presence.

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

It is morning, and the train comes to a halt. According to the conductor, the track has been blocked by a herd of crazy goats, and we are to disembark here, in the town of Slow Grudge.

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

It was a bleary, gray, smoggy, foggy, damp morning at the train station. The brick platform was full of people. Steam billowed all around. Our equipment was successfully crated and deposited in the freight car of the train.

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

To say that anything about Malverarey or his environs was a surprise would be a lie. This was your typical more-money-than-sense Bastiard who held both an enduring single-minded obsession and a massive wealth driving that obsession to absurd heights. In short: the perfect customer.

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

Back in May, one of the regulars on the Exalted Funeral Discord put out a call for an artist to “draw a really shitty small wizards tower.” Something about that captured our communal imagination, and so “The Power of Glowering Towers Jam 2020” was born.

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

Being a recounting of events in the life of a citizen of the newly-Electrified Bastionland

Previously published on www.scopsong.com

“Why do people water their grass and then not like it when it gets tall?”

–my son, with one of the more scathing criticisms of suburbia I’ve ever heard.

Y’all better come get him.