- The Valthakan Times
- Posts
- Edition #52: Did Somebody Say Makeover?
Edition #52: Did Somebody Say Makeover?
Now With a Dropped Jaw
Daniel Alexander
March 31, 2025 • Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes
Welcome to The Valthakan Times
Omelette du Fromage
Greetings Valthakai, people trying a new recipe this week, and those whose happiness has returned with the sunshine…
We’ve got a MAJOR UPDATE to our website!
So be sure to check out the new and improved dalecsander.com!!!
Furthermore, those interested in booking campaign slots for The Valthakan Times can do so through the storefront! Otherwise, reach out to us at [email protected].
Finally, we wanted to give a massive shoutout to our newest sponsor and draw attention to this edition-only deal with Babbel!
Whether you’re studying Priapniorian or Fr*nch, enjoy the benefits of learning a language all without dealing with the locals… for now.
Thank you to everyone who wrote in this week!
Enjoy!
Love,
The Crone and Daniel
Your New Language is Just 3 Weeks Away
Whether you’re planning your next adventure or setting seasonal goals, Babbel makes language learning fun and easy. With Babbel, you can start having real conversations in just 3 weeks. It’s designed by expert linguists and proven to help you learn faster, so you can dive right into a new language without the stress. There are 14 languages to choose from and innovative ways to learn—like lessons, podcasts, games, videos, and the new AI Conversation Partner. Bonus: readers can use this exclusive link to get 55% off.
I’m a laugh, and I’m a gag if you behave
Daniel’s TBR Top-Ups
You can stop when you’re dead
 | It is only fair that the first book should appear if the sequel received the spotlight last month. The Mathuran Republic dances on the edge of oblivion, wounded by one too many conflicts with the Magadhan Empire. Mati, Karna, and Shakuni each seek to leave the fragments of their past behind. But forces both mortal and divine are orbiting a prophecy, seeking the land where the Son of Darkness is set to rise. |
 | Sometimes, all you need is a murdered family member to get your life back on track. Lukan Gardova had settled into a routine of gambling, alcohol, and despair after a disgraceful duel. But noble house politics rarely offer vacations. With his father dead under mysterious circumstances, Lukan commits himself to finding the killer, and there is one destination where everything— even the truth— can be bought with coin: Saphrona, the city of merchants. |
 | Sunrise on the Reaping comes with equal parts recommendation from Daniel’s muse and warnings of emotional devastation. Finally expounding on the gritty details that were teased in the original trilogy, the story of Haymitch Abernathy’s Hunger Games has arrived. It is here we begin not just to empathize with the winner of the 50th Hunger Games, but truly understand him, and the impact of a beautiful land filled with poison. As a warning, Suzanne Collins isn’t fucking around. |
Someone get me something deep fried and smothered in chocolate
Dear Crone
To keep you from screaming…
Dearest Crone (and Daniel), The pole dancing propaganda is working. I’ve been taking classes with a couple of my friends, and it has been great so far! …With one caveat. Any advice on how to avoid bruising the hell out of yourself (specifically on the thighs)?? I would love to stop looking like I’m being beaten by a pole instead of dancing on one. Black and blueidly, Glass bones and paper skin | Dear Glass, Beauty is pain. The trick is to kill your nerve endings through repetition. However, if you find yourself excessively bruised due to small moves, I would suggest looking into iron supplements. Honestly, The Crone Dear Glass, There isn’t any. It hurts if you’re doing it right. Let us know when you start doing elbow grips. Laughingly, Daniel |
Dear Crone and Daniel, I have a dear friend who is the godfather of my children, and I call him my brother. He suddenly got into a relationship, moved in with, and proposed to a girl in all of two months. I've been going to counselling and have started to adapt my view to "not my circus, not my monkey" due to overwhelming anxiety and mild depression. I want to be there for him and be happy for him, but I'm so very worried. Is this actually my circus?? Curiously, Possibly My Circus? | Dear Circus, It’s not. Sure, I would keep an eye on this woman as she may be in your children’s lives as the partner of their godfather. But what are you gonna do besides that? Clearly, you trust his judgment enough to potentially raise your children in the worst case scenario, surely you can trust his taste in women? If this doesn’t work out, it won’t affect you in the slightest. And if it does, then your children have another loving adult in their lives. Honestly, The Crone |
Hey Crone, I’m in a group project for high school for religion class, and we had to create a cult a then a specific ritual. Me and my friends get to do it together, but some of them are SO unfocused and I don’t know how to reign them back in. Also, I was named the leader of the cult, and people keep looking to me for suggestions when I don’t have any. Thoughts? Goddess of Darkness | Dear Goddess of Darkness, Congratulations on founding your first cult! Speaking from experience, it only gets easier from here. When dealing with the unfocused, you must noticeably give special attention to one of them. Shower them with interest, ask for their opinions, and encourage their participation. Then, slowly begin to shift your affection to another member. The first will begin fighting to take it back while the next down the list will slowly fall in line. Divide and conquer. Task people with concepts surrounding the main facets of a cult:
From there, your ritual should answer the following questions:
If you start purchasing cyanide, you’ve gone too far. Enthusiastically, The Crone |
Dear Crone, I'm having some issues with my family. My parents are putting a ton of stress on me, and it's causing outburts from me. I'm not good at emotional regulation, but everytime I try to stop from "exploding", I manage to fail. Help please. Southern Eagle | Dear Southern Eagle, Emotional regulation is not “stopping yourself from exploding.” It’s finding other outlets of release. You need to learn what successfully calms you down and allows you to handle this stress maturely. You cannot write it off as not being good at something; adulthood requires this skill. This can begin with telling your parents, “I need a break from this,” and disengaging from the conversation. But if that isn’t a viable option, taking time physically away from the location where the stress is happening (i.e., a walk, a run, etc.), reading, and seeking professional help are all valuable methods. Encouragingly, The Crone |
Dear Crone, My new man is wonderful, but I have an issue with his "girl bestie". He says she's not his type, just best friends since 2010, but he lives with her and her kids. Their dad isn't in the picture, and she's "disabled and needs help". I'm getting bad vibes about Fatty's intent toward my man. She walks around the house in her pyjamas, makes him a plate when she cooks, and he plays with her kids. Everyone says they're just besties, but I don't trust her. How do I let this bitch know to back the fuck off? Ya Girl Don't Share | Dear Girl, I can clearly recognize the passion with which you are writing. I will use this time to inform our readers that submissions are in their original form when put into these editions (barring any grammatical errors). That being said, we hate a bitch for her actions, not her body. With that disclosure complete, I will inform you, dearie, that you are a side chick. That is his wife, regardless of a ring, and those are his kids, regardless of biology. He’s not wonderful; he’s taken. Her behavior is normal for that, and it’s him that you should be side-eyeing. He is not available to commit to you, as he already has a family. Move on. Honestly, The Crone |
Need Advice?
Kill him
Support The Valthakan Times
People Watching, Episode III
Don’t Trust the Bitch on the Third Floor
Today’s edition of people-watching will be the equivalent of a PTSD flashback for me.
We’re jumping back several years to when I worked the front desk of a hotel at my old university.
The coworkers were nice, the pay was shit, and the people I had the (dis)pleasure of dealing with were… all sorts.
But one woman struck me in particular.
She had arrived over the summer before my senior year, her mother hurriedly checking in on her daughter’s behalf— a common enough occurrence when our guest was under 18— and asked to “inspect” the room beforehand.
Now, I can’t say that I’ve slept in world-class hotels, but I can assure you that regardless of where you go, a room is a room.
But in the interest of customer service, I walked the pair into one of our available suites to give them a tour. And slowly, I eked out the story before me.
“There isn’t enough light,” the mother said. Her daughter had yet to say a word.
“There’s a lamp on the desk,” I offered. “I can also put her in a room on the southwest corner; she’d get more light in the afternoons.”
“I’m just worried she won’t be able to study in here; she has a test the first week of classes.”
At that point, I turned to the daughter, seeing a clear opportunity to engage her and maybe help her step away from her overbearing mother.
“Wow, a test in your first week of classes?” I began, “What’s your major?”
“Oh, I’m starting law school.”
I shit you not, I heard the sound of broken glass as I just stared.
I had mistaken her for a 17 year old, one who fell for a housing scam, which was why she was staying in a hotel for the entire semester in the first place.
This woman was TWENTY-FUCKEN-TWO, and she wanted to be a lawyer.
And her mother was worried she wouldn’t be able to study for her big lawyer exams if there wasn’t enough natural lighting.
Of course, none of this is actually the people-watching part of this section; this was more people-backstory. So, watching only began after Mommy Dearest left her daughter in our capable hands.
We were not the fanciest hotel.
In fact, we were falling apart.
But we had a daily continental breakfast, a pool, and she was on the list for daily housekeeping services. To top it all off, this hotel was on campus.
In other words, this was a student’s fucking dream.
And I hoped this woman was merely looking for a bit of freedom away from her mother’s watchful eye.
Nope, bitch was exactly like her mother.
But I didn’t see that.
My knowledge of her came through the grapevine of my coworkers— the managers and shift leads who had to deal with the complaints they were getting daily.
She felt disrespected by one of my coworkers.
Or the housekeepers forgot to get her fresh towels (ten minutes after she asked).
Or our unheated pool wasn’t warm enough.
Or a thousand other bullshit reasons, that made her just a pain to deal with.
I distinctly recall bringing her a bottle of wine as an apology for something.
A quick knock, and this grown woman opens the door, takes the bottle out of my hand, and closes it in my face without a word.
Needless to say, we stopped offering bottles whenever she was pissed.
The only thing I watched was the number of rather attractive men who seemed to visit her.
To clarify, I do not judge her for this; I merely want to point out that they never came back a second time.
Readers, I witnessed the creation of the next generation of Karens.
Despite being clever enough to get into law school, she fell for a housing scam.
Despite having her mother pay for three months at an on-campus hotel, something was always the matter.
And despite being my age, she treated employees of a business she needed services from exactly the way her mother did: disdainfully.
Nothing was ever good enough.
And I will always be grateful for the reminder that even if I’m miserable, at least I’m not a cunt.
Some Sneaky Links…
Contact Us
Resources
Reply