The Dildo Conundrum

If the past is any indicator of the future—and if my family history factors in—I’m gonna need a truckload of luck to scrape by when it’s time for retirement. Otherwise, I might just end up being the next Delonte West of magic, bouncing my scrotum off a pile of outdated, valueless magic books as self-punishment for a lifetime of bad decisions.

That said, I do have a small shot at being okay. My stateside magic library makes me feel like Thanos with the 6th Infinity Stone.

Well, sorta.

Don’t get too excited, Marvel fans.

Don't start spamming comic-book stuff in the comments and expect me to understand. Sometimes JS drops gems in the comments, though. Marvel movies are great, it's just too much storyline for me to remember.

Same with Harry Potter.

Last year, I went to Goathland, England—where they filmed the real Hogsmeade Station—and still, all I can tell you is that Harry is a wizard and my belly is on the fast track to becoming the same as Dumbledore’s.

But back to Thanos -

When he snagged that 6th Infinity Stone, I swear, I felt the same kind of power surge I got when I realized magic would be my equalizer—the thing that gave me the edge I always envied in my childhood friends.

Corporate America didn’t do my family any favors, so I told it to kiss my ass the first chance I got. Actually, scratch that—it was worse. One of my first corporate gigs came with a boss 20 years my senior who didn’t just want my attention; she wanted inside my pants. And she wanted me inside hers.

Literally.

Her name was Jennifer, and she was a manager when I worked at a hospital in Middle America. I rejected her advances. She didn’t take it well. I was the best worker in the office, and she retaliated by fabricating disciplinary paperwork in an attempt to have me fired.

Ever tried firing someone from a job where they don't give two shits about the money? It's rough. They'll quit before you get the satisfaction you're looking for.

I know because I'm HIM.

I'm that guy.

I’d rather shovel ramen noodles down my throat with a heart attack lurking near every bite than punch a clock for a job that steals my sleep and shreds my soul.

Jennifer probably thought issuing me disciplinary paperwork would put her higher on my radar. Or, lower in my bed - since that's what she actually wanted. Instead, I walked away mid-sentence, marched into David’s office, and laid it out to our director.

It was one of the first times I performed mentalism without being paid -

"This is what's going to happen, David. I'm going to respectfully shake your hand and walk out of this office, never seeing the heartless bitch sitting beside me again. In 2-3 weeks, you're going to fire her. Then, you'll wish you never hired her because you're not going to find someone else who's willing to voluntarily work has hard as me. But it's been a pleasure and I wouldn't change it for the world." 

(Our MAGA people are going crazy right now. Chill out: I searched "mic drop" and this dude popped up, so that's what's being posted.)

Looking back, they were damn-near Barnum Statements.

Take an overly privileged, cold-hearted woman from inner-city Chicago, toss her into the heart of Southern hospitality, let her try that Midwest nonsense, and outcomes stop being a matter of "if" and becomes a matter of "when." I've survived both so I know what I'm talking about.

And that's exactly what happened.

Every bit of it came true.

I can still here Jennifer's screeching voice yelling behind me as I left that Dietary Office. To his credit, David Gerstein, our director, was a solid guy and still holds it down as a Food Services Director somewhere in Middle America. He had no idea Jennifer was a Midwest psychopath.

But that was my corporate swan song.

When you’re a magician teetering on the edge of self-destruction, you don’t have time for that bullshit. You ditch the nine-to-five grind, stockpile rare magic books in the hopes they appreciate in value, and pray to the Gods of First Editions to crush every second printing into oblivion. All while hoping Vanishing Inc doesn’t come sniffing around the publishing rights of your most prized treasures.

I suspect Vanishing Inc will eventually smash the resale value of my most rare books the same way Jennifer wanted my brown dong to smash her. Better luck next time, Jennifer.

Don't act like your favorite books won't be reprinted soon. Many people thought the JT books would never see the light of day again -

And hey, if the next Ice Age hits, screw it -

I’m living la vida loca (or however that song goes). I mean, coming from a guy who hops on a motorcycle with just a hammock and a backpack to disappear into the forest for weeks, I'll probably survive better than you.

But anyway—let’s talk shop.

If the Ice Age arrives, I’ve calculated that my magic books would keep a fire burning for exactly 6 hours and 54 minutes. That’s probably as long as I’d care to live in a world where magic books don’t exist and Sam the Bellhop loses his job, to be honest.

One book I’d never burn? 

Bulletproof by Andy Nyman. That one’s coming with me through the clouds if I make it to heaven—or as backup if my 401k isn’t cutting it in the afterlife. And if I get booted down to hell, well, the book’s burning anyway.

(Yep, this is a random picture I stole online. I'm not crazy enough to keep my best books with me on the road.)

Undoubtedly, the book would've been a better investment if I had purchased it earlier. Mine didn't come with all the extra bells and whistles. If you have the book, you know what I'm talking about.

But still, it has a gem of a routine called The Heist. It’s my kind of routine—simple, smart, and impossible to backtrack. It takes a tiny secret, blows it into a massive mystery, and leaves audiences wrecked.

Richard Blackie’s Strike It Lucky in Masterclass - Volume 1 is based on the same type of idea -

The concept is basic: If you hand someone a stack of envelopes, let them secretly choose one, and place something inside it without revealing their choice, you can still identify the envelope they selected. The trick lies in having them remove an item from the envelope before they insert their chosen object. This subtle action allows you to track which envelope they selected.

Still not clear? Fine.

Imagine this {CONSENTUAL} situation -

You’re in the prime of manhood, libido at an all-time high, and you’re handed every wild man’s dream scenario: 4 naked women in a dark room, each fully covered under a blanket and laying in a random order on separate beds. Each woman has a dildo inserted so deep that you can’t see it. The twist? The women are identical quadruplets and they can't speak.

This isn’t your average Friday night.

One of these women is meant to be your soulmate, and you’ve got one chance to fulfill her dream of bearing a child. When you enter the dimly lit room, one woman is going to remove a dildo from her "spot" to make space for your manly goodies. This woman is your soulmate. You only get one opportunity to say her name. If you say the wrong name, she's doomed for eternal life of self-pleasure with a toy, and you must go home with a bottle of baby oil. It's too dark to see which woman removes the dildo and she looks exactly as the same as the other 3 women, but somehow, you say her name with absolute confidence. A night of mind-blowing passionate sex ensues, and you guys live happily ever after.

How’d you do it?

Simple: you were the one who handed out the dildos in the first place. You gave the women four different colored dildos. All it took was knowing the color of the toy you gave to each person. Or, in the case of being a magician, knowing which bill denomination is in each envelope.

Seeing the anal-ology, here?

I don’t know the official name for this concept, so I’m coining it as The Dildo Conundrum.

And yeah, I’m a bandwagon magician. Don't go quiet now, you ole school Lebron fans. Magicians love naming techniques that are already being used, so I’m jumping on that bandwagon, too.

The Dildo Conundrum has arrived!

The denominations don't even have to be different. Whatever you use can be marked. Size counts, too. All that matters is that if you have a spectator remove something from an envelope and put something else inside it, you can use whatever is removed to help you identify which envelope or box they've selected.

{Fun Fact -

You'd be proud to know that we removed a women's vibrating rabbit sex toy from behind the pineapple in exchange for the baby oil in the latest cover photo. Or, disappointed to know it was a consideration. Either way, it's true.}

Now that I’ve possibly doomed myself to eternal damnation, at least help me make it worth something. You can Pick up Masterclass – Volume 1 HERE. The routines may not blow your mind, but the secrets can take you to the most tasty chocolate factory you've ever visited.

And if you want Nyman's deliciously tasty Bulletproof, you can grab an affordable copy...

-A.