Neil Gaiman always triggered my sleaze detector, so I shouldn’t be (and indeed wasn’t) too surprised to hear that he was as much of a bastard in his own way as his awful wife, Amanda “Don’t Pay The Plebs” Palmer. But the details… oh dear. He really is a piece of work. So much of his art is brilliant, but the man himself? Ouch.

So I wrote this, inspired to snark and filk after a long artistic drought. Fuck him and the griffin he rode in on.

Oh yeah, the tune. Kind of obvious, I’m sure.

January 2025

Mister Sandman, don’t be a cunt
Don’t claim it’s all just some slanderous stunt
Don’t say they fell for your masculine smoulder
Although you were three times their age and older
Sandman, I thought you knew
Informed consent is not just up to you
Though I hate to be so blunt:
Mister Sandman, don’t be a cunt!

Mister Sandman, how could it be
You’ve been so special to people like me
Worst of it is, you’ve been so shameless
You almost make your loathesome wife seem blameless!
Sandman, it’s not OK
There’s no forgiveness one exile away
You ignored the rule up front:
Mister Sandman, don’t be a cunt

Mister Sandman, all of your books
Are being scrutinised with much harsher looks
The strangest thing I think I’ve ever said now,
You make me grateful Terry Pratchett’s dead now.
Mister Sandman, you’ve always been
On many watchlists, you know what I mean
And still it’s painful to confront
Mister Sandman, you’ve been, yes, yes, yes!
Mister Sandman, you’ve been a cunt!