Dustings #123

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Look, it’s easy to judge. But haven’t we all been there? Haven’t we all made a few questionable choices—lost in the fog of desire—for a card duck?

Just last week, I woke up under a bridge on the wrong side of town. Needle in my arm. Pants around my ankles. Wallet empty. Rectum sore and bleeding. And why?

You know the story—just a tragic chain of missteps, set in motion sadly (but perhaps inevitably), by that insatiable longing… that raging, godless hunger… for a card duck.

Rick L. sends this along. Proof that the large motion covers the small motion.

The most embarrassing thing for the Magic Circle about this article isn’t that they didn’t want to allow women into their organization.

It’s that this is what they did want:


Out of This World and the Case Against Imperfection

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I was watching a YouTube video about a version of Out of This World that only uses half the deck, and where the spectator always gets one card wrong.

The thinking behind this choice is that guessing the colors of all 52 cards is a 1-in-4.5-quadrillion shot—so by using just half the deck and adding in a single mistake, the effect becomes more “believable” and “realistic.”

Well… I mean… I guess.

But that strikes me as the wrong way to think about it.

First off, I can’t exactly imagine a spectator thinking: “Correctly guessing the colors of all 52 cards is a 4.5 quadrillion improbability. That’s absurd! Guessing 25 out of 26 cards correctly is just a 1 in 2.6 million improbability. Totally plausible!”

Neither scenario is believable. No one thinks one is realistic and the other isn't. They’ll either believe both, or they’ll believe neither.

And this way of thinking also fundamentally misunderstands the Out of This World premise, in my opinion.

What is supposed to be happening in the trick?

In most presentations, it’s not about doing something incredibly unlikely.

In most (good) presentations, it’s a manifestation of something else. The spectator is tapping into their latent psychic ability. Or you’re mentally guiding them to separate the cards by color. Or maybe there's a “subliminal marking system” indicating the color on the backs of the cards that only their unconscious mind can detect. Whatever the premise, there’s usually some explanation—explicit or implied—that frames the outcome as the result of something other than luck.

So you're not demonstrating a 1-in-4.5-quadrillion impossibility. You're showing what would be a 1-in-4.5-quadrillion impossibility—except for this “other thing” you’re supposedly revealing (their intuition, your influence, the markings, etc.). The trick is about that thing. And it's that thing that makes the result feel possible—even if extraordinary.

Is this making sense?

Look, if I go to take a dump, the shit can land in the toilet or it can plop on the bathroom floor. Is it a mathematical miracle that I got it in the toilet 52 times in a row? No. Because we assume my ability to center my rectum over the toilet bowl is going to influence those odds.

The weakest way to present Out of This World is to treat it like a string of random guesses that just happen to defy astronomical odds. It’s far more powerful as a demonstration of something that makes those odds irrelevant.

In certain situations, being a little off can reinforce the premise of an effect. If I’m straining to read your mind and I say “better” when you were thinking of “butter,” that kind of near-miss feels “realistic.” We’ve all struggled to interpret something fuzzy or unclear. The miss supports the idea that I’m genuinely “reading” something.

But in Out of This World—and in many other effects—misses make much less sense. And they will only muddy the waters unless the mistake is baked into the premise. For example: “This is the moment I broke your concentration… and that’s the one card you got wrong.” Or some other narrative disruption that explains the glitch as a momentary breakdown of the power behind the phenomenon.

An unmotivated error doesn’t make the trick more realistic—it just makes the story harder to follow. It’s like saying, “This is the world’s strongest man. He fought 26 people and beat 25 of them.” Wait… what happened with the 26th? It doesn’t come off as a more believable story, it just raises unhelpful questions.

Magicians and mentalists often think, “If it’s not perfect, it’ll seem real.” But unless the imperfection grows naturally from the premise, that’s not how people interpret it.

No one thinks, “I got one wrong out of 26—that must mean this wasn’t a trick!” What they think is, “I got one wrong out of 26—huh. I guess he messed up the trick just a little bit.”

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.