Vol. I: Issue 013                                                                                             March 20th, 2026

For those of you not already in the know, Sprocketworld is the annual event for all things steampunk, and every year it draws thousands of cosplayers, retro-tech enthusiasts, and creators from the worlds of games, film, and art. Its longtime home has been Oniontown’s Sourdome, where that entire brass-and-steam spectacle comes together under one roof.

But this year, an unfortunate clerical mix-up has thrown the whole event into uncertainty. Organizers missed the deadline to renew their bid for the Sourdome, and now they are scrambling to secure a new venue. At this point, it appears Sprocketworld may need to leave Oniontown entirely and find a whole new host city.

And that is where the pressure really starts to build. Vendors, attendees, and performers have had this event marked on their calendars for well over a year. Many are now left in limbo, hoping the convention is relocated, not canceled.

For the cosplay community especially, the stakes are high. Some attendees have already poured hundreds of hours into handmade costumes for what is considered one of the cornerstone events in their world. Missing it would be more than a scheduling disappointment, it would be a real heartbreak.

For now, all eyes are on the organizers, and the big question is where Sprocketworld lands next. You can count on me to keep watch on the gears as they turn, because Duke’s Gotcha covered!

 

Hiya friends!

Well, I’m feeling awfully special today. Somebody sent flowers to the newsroom this morning to wish me a happy birthday, and I have to wonder if it might be the same mystery someone who sent those delicious chocolates to my desk last month. Whoever you are, thank you. You certainly know how to make a girl smile.

Now, onto the weather. Over in San Fresco Wharf, it’s looking like a cold and blustery stretch to start things off, with a messy mix at first and some light snow and flurries hanging around for the first part of the week. Then, later in the week, we finally get a little brighter break with a touch more sun and slightly milder afternoons before clouds and a few damp chances try to sneak back in.

So keep the warm coat handy, hold onto your hat by the waterfront, and maybe save those longer strolls for later in the week when that brighter little patch rolls in.

 

The Mumph here, and tell me if I’m wrong, but I could swear I smell some Candy Jack in the air. You know what that means, folks… Baseball spring training starts this week, and the season is three short months away. Oh yeah, The Mumph is getting pumped.

Alright, let’s talk about what went down on the ice. Oilseed Springs came out like they had somewhere to be. This one started tight, then the Fryers just kept leaning on Tastyville until the legs went. Filion was the tone setter, relentless on the forecheck, winning pucks back, and cashing in on a two point night. Cutler did the thankless work in the hard areas, screens, bumps, chaos in front, and that stuff wears a goalie down over sixty. On the back end, Dillwyn kept cleaning the porch and getting pucks out, the kind of clears that do not show up in the highlight reel but absolutely tilt the ice.

Tastyville had some push, Olivieri kept them hanging around, but when Oilseed got to their depth and started rolling waves, the Cold Cuts could not keep up. Sorby handled the traffic without giving up anything juicy, and that is how you turn a close game into a calm one.

Final score, Oilseed Springs Fryers 5, Tastyville Cold Cuts 2. Winner, Oilseed Springs. MVP, Filion. Well played Hambone! Just do me a favor and stay off of NuBetcha, ok boy.

My two cents, when your best player is also your hardest worker on the forecheck, you are going to wear teams down like this all season.

 

Hello out there…

Two days ago, I started hearing the usual online rumbling about a new piece of street art at the corner of Damsons Ave and Horner Street here in Whiskview. So I headed over, hoping I had not already missed it, hoping the cleaning crew had not beaten me there with their buckets and gray paint.

When I arrived, winded and a little annoyed at my own pace, I looked up and knew immediately this was the same artist whose work turned that alley wall into an impromptu gallery last month. The style was unmistakable.

This time, the piece was built around four salvaged windows mounted to the north-facing wall of the electrical substation. Each was roughly three feet by four feet, but none matched. They had clearly come from different buildings, each with its own trim, its own chipped paint, its own little history of wear. A few panes were cracked. Some were missing altogether. And behind those windows, painted directly onto the brick in that same stark stencil style, were figures staring out.

Not welcoming figures, either. Some looked frightened. Some looked angry. None looked like they wanted company.

Then I noticed the detail that pulled the whole thing into focus. Painted on the ground was a long, black shadow, stretching from a pair of round footprints. I stepped into place and realized the shadow was meant to become my own. Suddenly, I was no longer just looking at the piece. I was inside it, standing there under the collective glare of every face in every window. It was uncomfortable. It was clever. It was powerful.

When I moved in for a closer look, I spotted something I had missed last time. Each painted figure carried the same signature: RypToe. At last, a name to go with the work.

I only wish I had more time with it. Since then, the whole piece has been power-washed away, which is often the fate of art like this. Temporary, inconvenient, and apparently too memorable to be left alone.

And that’s The Scoop.