Lest Ye Be Judged

While dining with Máirtín and Mitra last night (see below), who should I spy across the room but our mysterious, nameless professional editor limerick contest judge. Actually, she spied me. She was of course hooded and disguised, wearing long false whiskers and a peg leg to avoid the legion of hopeful limerick writers who swarm the streets hoping to find her and win her favor.

All limericks will be delivered to her by armed courier on Friday. None will have names attached, so if you happen to have pissed her off inadvertently in the past, no worries. Get yours in soon.