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Goofy Contract 2I figured why spend the money on drafting a contract when Voldemort is willing to do it.  Let him draft the co-production agreement and my attorney, Princess Leia, will save my ass from a Patronus spell and laser immolation.

So, for twelve days I waited for a document from the multimedia company CEO that I had previously called Voldemort. Perhaps I had prejudged him too harshly? The movie production contract would speed me toward fame and fortune while advancing the fight for illuminated sanity and against sociopathic belief systems. If partnering with a dark lord to save humanity is wrong, then I’m Severus Snape. It’s the results that count.

Note:  I don’t hate religion, or synagogues, churches, mosques, and temples. These communities built around a humanistic moral code could save us from self-destruction. Probably not, but I digress.

So I waited.  One week, V was still hammering it out with the elves. Ten days, he says it’s coming soon.  It was like waiting for Christmas. Or birthday cake.

Finally the call arrived:  check your e-mail, there’s a document to review.  I rushed to read the contract like a kid ripping open the biggest present.

But there was no shiny bicycle, no remote control car or cool flying drone. No, this contract was cheese in a mousetrap, a pickpocket’s handshake, a reverse mortgage, a Russian bride.  Five years of work and a hefty cash investment and my reward was to be pocket change and a small contingent royalty.

Dogshit gift