Satirist calls someone a bastard for stealing the title of his novel

A lot of people think that the life of a satirist is easy. After all, you just sit around, observing life, and then you make jokes about the events you are observing until the events are no longer recognizable and your stories could not possibly be true.

Well, it is not that easy...for some people insist on living a life of satire, walking though life being nothing more than stereotypes, and generally making the work of the satirist harder than it should be.

The satirist had a devil of a time trying to make this satire be stranger than the events that he was commenting on.

First, there was the state of politics as he was writing it. No matter how strange and bizarre the previous day was, the next day was even more stranger and bizarre than the day before. The universe was rapidly headed to hell in a hand-basket one hundred and forty characters at a time. It is a sad state of affairs when you know that your best jokes are going to be topped by a five in the morning, straight from the bathroom chirp.

[Author's additional note: I have been informed by Chirper that if they knew that the President of 'Murica was going to govern though their platform that they would have never invented it. PoofPhoto and HeadScroll also like to point out that their platforms were designed for fun and cat photos, and not for destroying the world either. Well, technically, HeadScroll was meant for coordinating projects among college students--they were as surprised as the rest of us about how many college projects involve cats sitting in boxes.]

Second, there was the ongoing mental health crisis among occultists of all stripes. If you do not believe that this is true, the author dares you to follow the occult scene on any of the aforementioned social media sites. Within an hour you will see more madness and bloated Napoleon-like egos than the doctors of Bedlam, Arkham, and Belliview see in an year. For real fun, suggest that all occultists should be on meds, though one might want to leave early to avoid the inevitable rabble armed with flaming torches and pitchforks that follows such a comment.

Third, there seemed to be an unlicensed time machine (or maybe a couple of dozen) involved in the events that the satirist was faithfully documenting. We will see evidence of this periodically throughout this fantastic tale of magic and wonder. For now, let's observe what just happened to the satirist.

"Yeah, I have the perfect name picked out for my satire. It is M--k W--s. What? When? Where? Hang on, what was the website again? Oh sweet baby Jesus! The f**ing bastard has gone and trademarked the name of the title I was going to use."

The author sighs, "Bloody hell, I am now going to have to come up with an even stranger sounding title. How the hell did he pick the exact same title that I was going to use?"

"Magic? Divination?" The author strokes his manly Viking sorcerer beard. "No, it is that damn bloody time machine. Maybe if I am lucky, the Great Gherkin will use it to travel back in time and kill off his grandfather before his mother was conceived, and I can have my title back."

Can I interest you in some...DRAMA?!