When I was a kid I broke my arm. I thought I was a poet at the time and wrote a poem about the breakage, entitled “it’s shaped wrong.” My mom submitted it … Somewhere? … And it got accepted into a poetry book. She bought the book for, iirc, $50.
I’ve always felt vaguely ashamed about it. Even if I thought it was good at the time (it wasn’t), it was a four line poem, not nearly worth $50.
It would be kind of funny if it was the same company.
When I was a kid, I read what I later thought was intended to be the last Garfield comic. Turns out that was a widespread lie, based on the linked article.
I’m not getting tricked again!