A certain publication (which shall remain nameless) is getting a little sloppy with funds disbursement lately, as in payment for services rendered. Gentle reminders have failed to spur management to action, as have mumbling, grumbling, bitching, moaning, complaining, cursing, and the usual heavy-handed hints of dire consequences.

So now it’s time for direct action. If I don’t see a check for the agreed-upon amount in my mailbox by close of business Christmas Eve, the chubby lil’ snowman gets one right in the top snowball. The iceman goeth, get me?

Oh, who am I kidding? Nobody gets Eugene O’Neill references anymore. Not even chubby lil’ snowmen decked out in sheriff’s suits who suddenly find themselves playing a bit part in a two-bit drama. But he’ll get a hot lump of 158-grain coal under his 10-gallon hat if I don’t get my money.