Detoxing

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Okay, let’s talk about some alternatives to the standard Toxic force. After about six weeks of exploring options, I’ve settled on the approach I’ll be using going forward.

My needs were simple. In fact, so simple that “needs” is an overstatement. I had one need: the ability to force long numbers: a phone number, a date, or maybe a number for Cryptext. I don’t have a single go-to trick that demands a long number force—it’s just one of those tools that comes in handy when improvising effects on the fly.

In the past, the Toxic force was my go-to, but recent changes to the iPhone calculator have taken it off the table.

I considered going back to an actual calculator for this—just have one in my bag—but then I realized we’re well past the point where carrying around a calculator could be considered normal. Usually older tech reads as more innocent than newer devices. But calculators are now so obsolete that even a basic dollar store model might raise eyebrows.

So I looked around for some alternatives…

Toxic+ is an app that has been around for a while and gets nearly universal praise. It’s packed with features and clearly built with working performers in mind.

Calculon is another app option—this one lets you perform the Toxic force on the spectator’s phone. And that’s just one of the features. You can force numbers, peek numbers, and even perform more visual effects where digits appear, vanish, or change on the calculator.

I didn’t go with either of these. For my needs, they were overkill. Like handing me a Swiss army knife when all I want to do is shank my cellmate in the gut

I’m sure plenty of performers would appreciate the range these apps offer—but my goal is always the same: find the simplest good option. The minimal effective dose, so to speak

Another option I looked into was the Argon project by Mark Lemon. This isn’t just a Toxic replacement—it’s a full suite of calculator-based effects. Two that stood out to me were The Atomic Code and Sum Duo.

The Atomic Code lets you reveal a seemingly random number your spectator generates on their own phone. This uses nothing but their phone (or even their own actual calculator). There’s no app, no gimmick—you never touch their device. It even works over video chat or a regular phone call. It doesn’t force a particular number, but following the process will allow you to know what number they’ve created.

Sum Duo is one of the simplest calculator forces out there—at least from the spectator’s perspective. You enter a number, your friend adds any number they like (without seeing yours), and yet the total is forced. Normally, we rely on the complexity of the math to build the mystery: “How could I possibly know the outcome of all these operations?” But this version flips the script. The calculation is so simple, it seems to rule out the very idea of trickery.

I’m still searching for the right presentation or premise for these, but both methods have a lot of potential.

And now for the Toxic variation I’ll be using going forward.

It’s called I.C.F. by Thomas Pelzer, available here for about $10.

The core technique behind I.C.F. is something I’ve seen a few performers gravitating toward as a Toxic replacement (including Mark Lemon, who uses a similar idea in one of the effects from the Argon download above). But I first encountered it in this manuscript when it was sent to me back in January 2023. At the time, Toxic still worked fine, so I didn’t give it much attention.

Since switching over, though, I actually prefer it to Toxic

Toxic has two major drawbacks:

  1. The math doesn’t hold up if someone actually tries to reproduce it later, or even if they’re just smart enough to generally follow along with it in their head.

  2. You need to prep your phone—or the spectator’s—beforehand.

I.C.F., by contrast, is performed on the spectator’s phone, requires zero setup (at least the way I do it) and the math checks out.

Soon, I’ll share a few adjustments I’ve made to the handling (without exposing the core method) that have taken this from good to great. As written in the manuscript, I’d rate it a 7.5 out of 10. With my tweaks, it’s more or less a perfect 10 (based on the criteria that I value). I recommend picking up the pdf if this is something that interests you. My additions will make much more sense if you know the core method.

As it stands, I can now force any number, of any length, at any time, on their phone—with no prep—and the math checks out. Details on the changes I’ve made coming next week. If you get the manuscript and have any thoughts you want to share, let me know by then.

Mailbag #135

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On the Tornado Bottle...

Tricks of this genre to my mind have the strong potential for your audience to want to keep the twisted item as a souvenir. If I could really so easily do this, why wouldn't I cheerfully give it away? It strikes me that at best it's a close-up effect for a roomful of strangers, none of whom feels entitled to ask for it. And is the magician supposed to put it back in the kitbag following examination? At $100 it's an expensive way to impress a booker, if this is the context.—BL

You’re correct: “I’m going to twist this normal, everyday bottle. And now I’m going to go home with it.” Is not something that any person who had the “magic” ability to twist bottles would do. It is what someone would do if they had a special $100 bottle they bought to do a trick with.

In a parlor situation, you could get away with just setting it aside. But it doesn’t strike me as a great parlor trick.

When wouldn’t you give something like this away? Maybe if you frame it as a moment that even you didn’t expect—something you’ve been trying for years, and it finally worked. Then it makes sense to keep it as your own souvenir. You could invoke some old judo technique that lets you “become one with the glass” and bend it to your will through breathing technique and application of precise pressure. (“Glass is technically a liquid,” you add.) If you act stunned—“Holy shit, I can’t believe it finally worked!”—then keeping it feels justified.

Otherwise, yeah—you’ll need to look into refill bottles so you can give one away.

Though that still leaves you with a twisted souvenir proudly labeled Baduueiser.

“Ah yes, my favorite. Baduueiser—the Kong of Bērs. For all that you do… this Bad’s for you.”

Re: Presenting Coincidences

So back in 2018 when you did that post,  I went and got a shelf, put it by my door and had a deck there, just like you said, I figured I'd try it.  (I would make a great cult member. you say do it, i'll do it)

Over the years I've had a bunch of people name a card, shuffle, turn over the card.  

A few weeks ago, it actually worked.  A friend came over, named a card, shuffled and turned over the top card.  She thought I had something to do with it.  I assured her, no, it was straight up coincidence, I wasn't winking, I was being dead serious, she did NOT believe me.  She really thought I had something to do with it.  

I didn't even follow it up with anything, I was too stunned.  

The cool part about it all was I was genuinely excited for it, it was magic to ME, I may have gotten more out of it than she did.  I KNEW it was a coincidence. —GC

Let this be a lesson.

This is a perfect example of a magical moment with no method. She named a card, shuffled the deck, turned over the top card—and it was the one she named. It all happened in her hands. The deck was shuffled, normal, examinable.

And yet… she still thought it was a trick.

There is no level of purity you can reach with an effect where someone won’t still assume it’s a trick.

All you can do is strip away anything that screams “method.”

Then, you give them a story—one that lingers, if you’re lucky. One that makes them think: Wait… could that actually have not been a trick?

The best case, when presenting magic, is this: the charm and romance of the story nestle in their head or heart just enough that they can’t fully dismiss the moment. They know it had to be a trick. But something about it—some subtle echo in how the experience felt—keeps tugging at their mind.

Re: An article in The Love Letters newsletter #34

Just a short email to let you know that Derren Brown's Notes From a Fellow Traveller contains an effect basically identical to Key Flightless, down to the idea of throwing a similar sounding / looking metallic object.—ND

Now, I don’t think anyone assumes I lifted something from a book by our most prominent practitione that was released just a couple of years ago, but I wanted to say a few words about it, if only to acknowledge that I’m aware of the similarity.

I own Notes From a Fellow Traveller, but I haven’t read it yet. I ordered it when it came out, but before it even arrived, people were already messaging me to say it sounded like something I’d write.

And honestly, hearing that made me not want to read it—at least while I’m still actively doing this site. I don’t want to be influenced by things that are too similar to my own approach.

The method for the trick I described in the newsletter came together back in 2020, through an email exchange with Steve Thompson (creator of Flite). That conversation was sparked by Marc Kerstein sending him a segment from this post, where I first started toying with the idea of doing Ring Flight with a key.

[One of the other things discussed in that exchange was a version where their key appears on your keyring, and your key appears on theirs. And the method actually seems pretty workable. I’ll let you know if anything ever comes of that.]

To be clear, I’m not trying to claim ownership of the concept. I doubt I was the first person to think of doing Ring Flight with keys. And throwing a coin somewhere unreachable has long been a way to “vanish” a ring in routines like this.

I just wanted to note that if you enjoyed the idea from the newsletter, you should check out Derren’s book. I imagine his version is conceptually far more layered. While my premise was a straightforward magical transformation—your house key turning into theirs—Derren’s version apparently involves a forgotten previous reality, which sounds fascinating.

Okay… maybe I’ll finally go read that part now.

Until May...

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A couple of weeks ago, a supporter sent me a list of quotes from my writing, sparked by an off-hand remark I made in this post.

It was kind of fascinating. When I read something, I naturally keep my mind and eyes open for lines that resonate — sentences that catch a feeling or frame a thought in a way I want to remember. But I don’t really think of people doing that with my writing. This site evolved out of emails I was sending to friends — informal things, not crafted with posterity in mind. And to this day, I still sort of think of this writing in that way.

On top of that, there’s a tendency, I think, not to value a thought that comes from your own head the same way you would one you read somewhere else. Seeing that someone else had saved something I wrote gave me a kind of appreciation for it that I didn’t have before.

So, if you’ve also done this, I’d be interested in seeing what quotes you’ve highlighted over the years. I’m not asking you to do homework if this isn’t something you’ve already been doing. But if you do have a quote (or a list of them) that you’ve saved, I’d appreciate it if you sent them along. Send me an email with Quotes in the subject.

I mentioned I’d report back with my thoughts on possible replacements for the TOXIC force. That’s coming next month.

I’ve found something that’s inexpensive and, in many ways, an improvement over TOXIC. It’s not stronger in every respect, but on balance, I think I prefer it.

Next month, I’ll share more about it — along with some ways I’ve pushed the technique even further to create what feels like the most Carefree version of a number force I’ve come across.

Guys, I knew I was right about Ramon Galindo when I crowned him the #1 1991 Genii Coverboy to party with.

Check this out.

Specifically, this line: "For 20 years, he made uniforms for the University of Texas at Austin cheerleaders."

Picture it: you’re tipping back a few cervezas with Ramon, swapping stories and laughs, the seven-layer dip flowing, when suddenly he claps his hands, stands up, and says, “Welp, time to go measure some cheerleaders for their skirts. You in?”

[Thanks to Martin C. for the link.]

If you don’t know, one of the other Genii coverboys, Steve Spill, had the most ingenious excuse as to why something you’ve thumbwritten might look like garbage.

While it’s perhaps not something you could use in casual situations, I still love this type of thinking.

Later, dudes. See you in May. The next newsletter comes out Sunday, May 4th. Posting here resumes on Monday, May 5th. And the next Juxe mix will be sent to those who’ve signed up in a week or so.

The Magician Name Generator

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I’ve got a couple of ideas for how this might work.

You tell someone you want them to generate their own Magician Name. To do that, all they need to do is name two 2-digit numbers.

You show them two lists:

  • The first list contains the first half of their name

  • The second list contains the second half

So for example, the first list might look like this:

  1. The Amazing…

  2. The Astonishing…

  3. The Incredible…

And so on, until 100.

And the second list might look like:

  1. …Spellbinder

  2. …Man of Mystery

  3. …King of Cards

Etc.

They decide which number goes with which list, and voilà—they've got their name.

The Stupendous Spellbinder

“Eh… not bad,” you say. “Although, I probably should have known.”
You point to their shoulder—where a name tag has been stuck this whole time:

Method

DFB X

And, as you're greeting the participant, you surreptitiously stick the name tag to their arm or shoulder.

A list of 100 first and second halves of a name can be found here.

Alternative Ideas

Walkaround Version

Here’s a variation that works well in situations where you can’t plant the sticker ahead of time.

This time, you tell them you’re in the market for a new magician name—and you want their help choosing it.

You go through the same process with the two lists, and end up with something underwhelming, like:

The Astonishing Astonisher

You give it a beat.
“Hmm, that’s awfully weak. I’ve hardly gotten any gigs with that branding.”

And you open your jacket to show that name tag, or pull a business card with that name out of your wallet, or flip over your close-up pad to show the name embroidered in big, sad letters.

Silent Version

Instead of having them name the numbers out loud, you hand them a deck of cards with the face cards removed. (“We don’t need them for this.”)

They shuffle freely, then cut the deck into four packets and rearrange them how they like.

With a marked deck, you know what cards are on top. Now you can bring up the lists before the numbers are “revealed,” creating a super clean and disarming structure.

This version would be nearly impossible to backtrack. Especially with the way DFBX allows you to switch which number is used in which list.

No DFB Version

You could do the same thing with one static list and either force the numbers (perhaps using an Ace-cutting procedure). Or force two cards. Maybe red cards are the first half of the name and black cards are the second.

Stats

The stats here are easily understandable and worth mentioning. “With 100 beginnings and endings of names, there are 10,000 possible combinations.” That’s more variety than most people who are bad at math might expect, and it adds a little extra sense of impossibility to the reveal.

Carefree Version

Anytime, anywhere, once you’ve done a one-time set-up (assuming you have your phone with you).

They name numbers to pick their Magician Name.

They end up with something like: The Tremendous Mind Master.

You frown.

“No. That’s not cool, man. I’m not going to let you infringe on my work and the name I’ve made for myself.”

Then you pull out a business card with that name on it…

Or show them a screenshot on your phone of you filling out the LLC paperwork under that name…

Or (the best idea) you have them go to tremendousmindmaster.com on their phone, and they see you in a cheap suit, with a frozen grin and dead eyes, proudly holding a fan of jumbo cards. Or it’s a photo of you in an oversized sparkly vest, holding a rose, with your eyebrow cocked at an angle that’s gone far beyond seductive into the realm of genuinely unsettling.

Bonus points if the site looks like it was built in 2003.

Bonus bonus points if there’s a Guestbook on the site that still works.

The Time I "Stole" That Picture

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Every few days, someone sends me this Facebook post and asks… “Uhm, what?”

And then he attached an image of the box in question.

I admit, it doesn’t make me look very good…

But honestly, I was thrilled when it first went up a month ago—I’ve been itching to tell this story for a while. Talking shit is one of life’s purest joys, and for once, I had an idiot worth dragging. It felt like the glory days of The Magic Circle Jerk again.

But every time I sat down to write, I’d end up rereading this guy’s old emails to me and scrolling through his social media and… man. It was bleak. Everything just radiated this low, aching sadness. And I realized I couldn’t go full scorched earth on someone whose entire issue with me felt less like anger and more like a cry for attention from someone who felt unloved and unseen.

So I gave him a few weeks—to see if maybe he’d take the post down.

Here’s the thing: he knows he’s lying here. And he knows that I know he’s lying. And he knows I have the emails to prove it.

And yet… the post remains. Which means he must want me to comment on it. Well… okay. 🤷‍♂️

Even so, I won’t be too mean. I’m not even going to name him—because I don’t want this post becoming the first thing someone sees when they Google him.

That said, I’m also not going to let some dope just invent things about me in a desperate attempt to draw attention to himself. So now I guess it’s time for me—“the mysterious and controversial Andy The Jerx”—to help clarify things.

Some time ago, a certain "Andy The Jerx" – a mysterious and controversial publisher well known in the magic world – released a book that came in a cardboard box.

First, my name is just Andy. This site is called The Jerx. It’s just a play on The Jinx. It’s not my name or a persona. It would be like calling Stan Allen, “Stan The MAGIC Magazine.”

Second, I’m just a writer. Not a publisher. The site has a publisher. That publisher is not me.

Third, I didn’t “release a book that came in a cardboard box,” as if the packaging was some avant-garde part of the artistic statement. I wrote a book. People who support the site at the highest level received that book as a gift. And in order for them to receive it—brace yourself—it had to be mailed. And when things get mailed, they often go in boxes. Cardboard boxes. The box wasn’t some integral part of the book. It was a logistical part of getting the book to people.

What shocked me? The bottom of this box contained a photo of Michael Ammar that I took… and that I had never published!

Well, technically, it was the top of the box.

The shipping box looked something like this:

It was a shirtless picture of Michael Ammar with that caption added. The “YOU” was under the book itself. So it came off as a little surprise joke.

This was my publisher’s idea. I thought it was funny.

Not only was this photo used without my permission, but it was also altered to be presented in a “sexy” or even “sexual” way – an interpretation that does not align with my artistic vision nor with Michael Ammar’s, who immediately supported me.

“altered to be presented in a sexy or even sexual way”

Just to be clear here, I didn’t caption the picture, “Choke on my fat cock, you dumb bitch.”

I wrote: “Someone sexy got a book in the mail.”

This is the terrible “sexual” alteration I made to his precious masterpiece.

“an interpretation that does not align with my artistic vision”

Well, I hate to be the one to say it—certainly not at the expense of your artistic vision—but Michael Ammar looks hot as hell in that photo.

And this photographer—whose entire aesthetic is lifted from film noir—apparently missed the part where film noir is supposed to be drenched in sensuality. If you genuinely didn’t notice the sexiness in Ammar’s shirtless picture, I don’t know what to tell you. Check your pants for genitals—you might be missing them.

Do I think he truly didn’t see the “sexy” aspect of that image?
For his sake, I hope not. No one would ever hire a photographer so artistically oblivious he couldn’t recognize the most obvious, surface-level quality of his own work.

No, he didn’t miss the sexiness. What he saw was an opportunity. An opportunity to act more victimized. And that’s the thread that ran through all my interactions with him: a hunger for injury, for indignation.

(Also, just a friendly tip: if you’re trying to make a copyright case, maybe don’t open with “They completely altered my artistic vision.” That’s actually… kind of the opposite of what you want to say.)

After investigating, it turns out that this image was likely stolen during my major photo exhibition in Quebec at FISM 2022.

Let’s pause there.

There was no “investigating.” I told him directly—in my first message—exactly how I got the image.

And the image wasn’t “stolen.” (Get used to this kind of overwrought grandiosity.)

Nobody dressed in black rappelled through a skylight in the dead of night to snap a photo of the image with a camera hidden inside a hollowed-out cigarette pack.

The image was on display. Someone took a picture of it.

That’s not a heist—it’s what happens when you put things in front of people.

According to Andy The Jerx, someone took a photo of my work and sent it to him… Which, in his view, gave him the right to use it without my consent and without Michael Ammar’s approval.

“According to me”? What happened to that investigation?

Okay, here’s what actually happened.

At FISM 2022, a few different people sent me that shirtless photo of Michael Ammar.

Not seeing it in any context, I thought it was a photoshop, or part of a gag image or meme. People send me that kind of thing from conventions all the time.

Nobody who sent it mentioned a photo exhibition.

Nobody included other images from the show.

Nobody said, “Hey, this is part of a curated art project.”

There was no talk online about this display.

I had no idea it was part of anything formal.

So when a few people sent me a shirtless Ammar photo saying things like, “Hubba hubba!” or “Should I make a tribute video to this?” I assumed—again, not seeing it in context—that it was part of a magic convention inside-joke of some sort.

I posted it on my site with a throwaway line about how hot Ammar looked. It stayed there for sixteen months. Not one person said, “Hey, that’s a copyrighted piece from a ‘major’ photo exhibit.”

So later, when my publisher suggested using it inside the shipping box as a fun little surprise, I said, “Sure.”

That’s it. That’s the entire extent of my malicious plan to “steal” this image.

Obviously, my ignorance of the situation doesn’t give me the right to use the image however I want. I’ve never suggested that. I’m just explaining my mindset—why it never occurred to me to try and track down where the image came from in the first place. At the time, it simply didn’t seem like that kind of thing.

If someone had sent me a picture of Andi Gladwin, stripped to the waist, riding a horse—with Joshua Jay, similarly attired, embracing him from behind—I would have made the same (mistaken) assumption. I would have been just as casual about using it. And just as surprised to learn it wasn’t some inside joke... but the featured image for November in the 2024 Calendar of The Best Erotic Imagery of Magic Shop Co-Owners.

This is the part the photographer just could never wrap his mind around.

He was convinced that I must have recognized his picture as a serious photographic work—been dazzled by its artistry—and thought to myself: "I must… simply must… have this achievement printed on the bottom of my shipping box! And I don’t care who I trample along the way. Consequences be damned!"

And anything I said that didn’t fit that fantasy was, in his mind, an “excuse” or an attempt to “downplay my actions.”

But here’s the thing: only I know what actually happened—and what was in my heart and mind when it did.

If I give you an honest account of the reality, and your takeaway is that this reality somehow "downplays" the seriousness of the grievance you've built up in your head, then you’re just proving my point:

Your reaction is overblown compared to what actually happened.

Does simply taking a photo of an exhibition piece erase copyright and allow someone to claim ownership of an artwork?

Why did he write that?

He wrote it to make it sound like that was my position. It’s not. It never was. And he knows that.

But he can’t quote what I actually said in our interactions—because if he did, he’d sound completely unhinged. So instead, he has to construct this fake argument, imply I suggeted it, and then bravely take a stand against the thing I never said.

Fortunately, with the support of two lawyer friends in Canada and the United States, we managed to compel Andy The Jerx to pay for the usage rights in order to avoid a lawsuit in the US – a country where the justice system takes copyright violations very seriously.

Right. Except... no.

For some reason, he’s decided to lie about this too.

I wasn’t “compelled” to do jack-shit.

The truth is: the moment I found out about the situation—on November 8th, 2023—I reached out to him to ask how I could make it right. This was before he contacted me. Before his “lawyer” contacted me. (I’m not naming that guy either, because many of you know him, and honestly… this whole thing is embarrassing for him.)

No one had to track me down. No one had to “compel” me to pay. That’s literally why I reached out in the first place.

But unfortunately, I was dealing with unserious people.

We couldn’t just agree on a reasonable fee and move on like adults. How would he get to perform his victimhood if this ended quickly and reasonably?

At first, they asked me to have all the boxes returned so they could be destroyed.

I told them, essentially, “Great news! These were just the shipping boxes. Very few people would hold onto them. They’re likely almost all in the garbage already.”

You’d think that would make him happy, right?

Apparently not, as this was his response:

“It deeply saddens me to see my FINE-WORK end up in a trash can.”

Yes, those are his caps.

And that’s when I knew I wasn’t dealing with someone acting in good faith. I was dealing with a performance.

He sent me hundreds of words describing how distressed and distraught he was over seeing his photograph “defaced” in this way.

Then my lawyer-friend—who was helping me navigate all this—asked a very reasonable question.

You see, back in 2023, instead of reaching out to me directly, the photographer had gone straight to Facebook—posting a photo of the inside of the box and staging a bit of grievance theater for the crowd.

And my friend asked:

“If this image was so upsetting to him, why did he share it in a Facebook group with over ten times the audience of the people who received your book?”

Huh. Good question.

Almost like the goal wasn’t privacy or artistic protection… but amplification.

I was happy to pay him a fair usage rate for the image. It’s not-easy to price the licensing of a photo for something like this—non-promotional, non-commercial, no revenue attached. I didn’t profit from the image. I lost money by having custom boxes printed. The image wasn’t used to sell anything. It wasn’t an ad. It wasn’t on a product. It was an Easter egg inside shipping packaging.

To be safe, I decided to treat the image as if it were used on actual customer-facing product packaging. I found standard rates for that kind of usage… and then offered him a significant multiple of that rate.

To make sure the offer was fair, I consulted with an IP attorney, two premier editorial photographers, and even reached out to the Helmut Newton Foundation and the Richard Avedon Foundation to talk with their licensing departments.

Eventually, we settled on a price and I gladly paid it.

I made other offers too. I told them from the start I wanted to turn this into a positive situation for him.

At one point, during the discussions, I went to the photographer’s Instagram and saw where he announced a book of his magic photography and saw this:

7 likes. No comments. Less than 1% of people who were actively following him were excited enough about the book announcement to even like the post. So I offered to help him promote it on my site. It could be a double win for him. He’d get paid a licensing fee, and more importantly, I would promote his work and try to help him sell his upcoming book. Even a small portion of my readership could be 1000s of dollars in book sales for an expensive art book. He declined. Which is fine. But do we now have to pretend I was acting in “bad faith” and was somehow unwilling to pay back for my mistake?

I got the distinct sense that he felt he needed to be really upset—just in case he wanted to sue and claim damages.

How else do you explain emails like this?

“The [licensing fee] will never cover the seriousness of the grievances. […] Andy must stop deluding himself because he is unaware of the gravity of his successive mistakes, which are unforgivable”

Unforgivable.

Remind yourself: we’re talking about putting an image of Michael Ammar—looking fantastic, by the way—inside a shipping box.

Although he eventually issued an apology, his bad faith was evident: excuses, weak justifications, and various attempts to downplay his actions.

Here’s what actually happened:

The photographer and his lawyer asked that I issue an apology. I was happy to—because I genuinely did make a mistake, and he deserved an apology. Here’s the wording the person acting as HIS LAWYER suggested to me:

“I inadvertently used an image without consulting the artist, and the subject - Michael Ammar - but once it was brought to my attention, I reached out and arranged for the appropriate license for having used it, etc. "

And here’s what I posted on the site:

In this season’s book mailing, I used a photo of Michael Ammar on the inside of the shipping box. What I didn’t realize at the time was that that picture was part of an as-yet-unrealized photography project by [the photographer]. When I learned that, I immediately reached out to him to make things right and work out a licensing fee for the pic.

In the magic community, the concept of “intellectual property” is often pooh-poohed (if not just outright poopoo’d) but paying for my use of the image was clearly the right thing to do.

It was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what was asked for—only in my own words. I acknowledged the mistake, clarified the timeline, and emphasized that paying for the image was the “right thing to do” and something I wanted to do as soon as I was aware of the issue. Clearly the words of someone who knows he was in the wrong.

Okay, end of story, right?

Nope. A month later, I get this email.

I am not satisfied with your apologies as they do not reflect sincerity. You downplay your serious mistake to your advantage {…}

I want to inform you that I will compile a dossier on the severity of this theft, which I will submit to the magical press in Germany, France, England, and the United States (web and magazine press). I have maintained good professional relationships with these media for over 20 years, and I believe it is necessary to bring this matter to their attention so that magicians understand the importance of photo theft in our magic industry.

I strongly encourage you to rephrase your apologies sincerely, explaining clearly what actually happened.

My commitment to moderating the content of my dossier in the magical press depends on the sincerity and appropriateness of your apologies.

Does this sound like a rational person?

After receiving my payment (the same day as we agreed on a price), my public apology (which was, again, literally based on the one they suggested), and an offer to promote his work on the most widely read magic site on the internet…

He waits a month.

Then tells me he’s compiling a “dossier on the severity of this theft.”

And if I don’t issue a more “sincere and appropriate apology,” he’s taking his dossier to the “magical press.”

At some point we went from “protecting artistic integrity” to “Liam Neeson from Taken,” but for cardboard boxes.

Of course, I begged him: “Oh no! Please don’t go to the magical press!”

I’m kidding. You’ll be glad to know I basically told him to fuck off and do whatever he wants. I’m done with this issue.

And still—until now—I never mentioned this situation publicly.

Then, over a year later, he writes the Facebook post at the top of this whole saga.

I get it. He’s a frustrated artist. There’s no buzz around his work. He wants to draw attention to himself. But if he just told the truth—"Someone accidentally used my image, we worked it out, I got paid"—people would shrug and say, “Who gives a shit? Move on with your life.”

So instead, he needs to make it sound dramatic.

That the photo was “stolen” (it was publicly displayed, and someone took a photo of it).
That there was an “investigation” (the investigation consisted of me writing him and telling him what happened).
That I had to be “compelled” to pay (I reached out before he or his lawyer contacted me).

My mistake was in assuming this photo was already an image people were having fun with, and I was just continuing in that spirit.

Obviously, I was wrong about that. And that’s why I did what I could to own it and make things right.

But now:

After he dragged out our original negotiations for weeks…
After he followed up a month later with his melodramatic-blackmail “dossier” email…
And after he waited over a year to publicly post this mess of fabrications…

I finally wrote to him and said, essentially: “Look, I don’t know why you’re dragging this up, but now I’ll have to respond to this on the site.”

His reaction?

He told me that my response “would not receive much support from magicians,” and that I should “measure the consequences of the next step” and avoid “ruining [my] reputation.”

Here’s the thing: he doesn’t know my reputation. He has no understanding of who I am or what this site is about.

A conservative estimate is that I’ve spent over 6,000 hours just on the writing—not the creation, just the writing—of the content I’ve been giving away for free on this site for a decade.

To this photographer I want to say: You’re going to have a hard time convincing even the most casual reader that I’m some “taker” who’s just out for himself.

The truth is, I was kind and apologetic to you—until you proved to be an unreasonable douchebag.

There’s an alternate universe where we made the best of an unfortunate situation together. One where you took my money, my support, maybe even my picture for your book. We could’ve turned a dumb misunderstanding into something cool. Something mutual. Something human.

But you were so committed to your hissy fit that there was never a path forward.

If you are as miserable as you seem, I genuinely hope you get help. Because this is no way to go through life—turning every minor slight into a moral catastrophe. It’s exhausting. For everyone, but especially for you

I’m not worried about my reputation. It’s safe from your horseshit story, poorly told.
And if anyone truly believes I poured this much time and energy into this site—and into the art of magic—just to cash it all in to steal your picture… then they’re fucking brain-dead and not the kind of person I’m here to connect with anyway.

Here’s one last glimpse into the personality at the center of all this…

This is how he ended his last email to me—the response to my email where I said that if he’s still going to be bringing this up, I would finally need to respond publicly.

This is what he wrote, after a year-and-a-half-long slow-motion tantrum on his part, capped off by his facebook post that he had just made earlier that day.

“Good luck Andy. I’m done with this dispute a long time ago. Just turn the page and move on.”

Oh god… choke on my fat cock, you dumb bitch.

Presenting Coincidences, Part 2

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When was Part 1? Back in 2018. But you don’t have to re-read that post. This is a separate idea for presenting coincidence effects. This ties into some of the ACAAN discussion from earlier posts.

Coincidence can be an intriguing premise for a magic effect—but not if it's offered as the explanation for what just happened.

“You named any card. He counted the change in his pocket and it was 14 cents. Wouldn't it be a crazy coincidence if the card you named just happened to be the 14th card in the deck?”

That doesn’t land as anything more than the lowest-effort framing you could offer for the trick.

The way I prefer to present coincidence effects is by focusing on whatever it is we’re doing to generate coincidences. Some ritual. Some substance. Some technique I heard about that supposedly causes coincidences to manifest.

This can be any sort of Imp you want to create.

For simplicity, let’s say it’s an incantation. You and your friend repeat this chant, then begin actively looking for signs of coincidence.

“Think of a number between 1 and 10,” you say. You both say yours aloud—but they don’t match.

“Name a song,” you suggest, flipping on the radio. Not even close.

“Hmm. Okay. Name a card,” you say, picking up a nearby deck. “Five of Spades. Alright... let’s try this. Got any change in your pocket? How much? Fourteen cents? Okay, count to the 14th card. What?! Seriously?!”

We can’t pretend that a card appearing at the position in a deck that matches the change in someone’s pocket is somehow meaningful. It’s not. And using it as your specific demonstration of the power of coincidence would be silly.

But if it happens after a ritual intended to generate coincidences? That’s different. It doesn’t matter what the coincidence is. What matters is that there was one. That’s enough for the moment to feel charged.

They might not remember the specifics—the card or the coins. But they'll remember the old Israeli incantation you taught them. Or the weird spray bottle filled with “coincidence serum.” Or the crystal with an alleged “coincidence radius” of eight feet.

If you focus on the coincidence itself, your trick lives or dies by whether that coincidence feels relevant enough to matter. And most coincidence tricks don’t.

But if you focus on the thing that generates the coincidence, then any coincidence becomes endowed with meaning. You don’t need something profound to happen. You just need something to happen. And the audience will fill in the rest.

They get to imagine a world where serendipity can be summoned. They won’t believe that premise—but their mind will still entertain it. “How else might this thing be influencing reality?”

By contrast, if you focus solely on the coincidence, there’s nowhere to go from there. No one is charmed by a world where a bill’s serial number happens to match the cards in a bridge hand.

The coincidence doesn’t carry the effect. The generator does.

That shift in framing unlocks a whole category of effects that might otherwise feel too slight or irrelevant to perform. It lets you take the meaningless—and make it matter.