I'm happy to disclose to my precious readers that I've won the even more precious "Wooden Thing" part of this particular short story contest. Some other people won the little doll and cigarette jug of the same contest. The person who won the jug story was a beekeeper, so she was the real winner.

The three winners, Kathleen, Liz, and I were all promised the precious trinkets we wrote about, the doll for Kathleen, the thermos for Liz, and the splendid wooden item for me. However, I have not yet received it, nor even a query about where it might be sent. Why? Why am I not at this moment caressing its grain with my fingertips? Why do I not possess the wooden thing? Instead it has possessed me. The employees of Radio Show 360 do not know my address. Someone who doesn't know my address doesn't know what address to mail the wooden thing to. Let's draw up some online petitions. Tell them to send me the wooden thing or something. I crave it. I crave. I want that junk. I want to put a little golden man on top of it, slouching over his computer and typing.

It's been zero days already.