Here’s a handy-dandy list of flight formations for your next trip to the airport. What’s that, you say? You’re not a pilot? Who said anything about flying a plane? These are formations for walking through the airport terminal, time-tested and fully approved for causing heartache, ulcers, and sky rage among your fellow passengers.

The Phalanx
Do you have a group of 4-8 people? Are some or all of you elderly shufflers? Are you all going to the same gate? Then the Phalanx is the flight pattern for you. Who has the neck muscles to look over your shoulder and talk when you could just stretch out across the entire corridor? Like Alexander of Macedon, your enemies will be swept from the field on the points of your spears or forced to march, subservient, behind you.

The Serpentine
You don’t like people passing you, on the highway or in the airport corridor, and you’re not afraid to show it or get creative in the pursuit of keeping ahead. In a car you might change lanes constantly to head off speed demons who want to go faster than 65, but in an airport you have to resort to cunning and sudden changes of direction. If they never know where you’re going next, they can’t get around you.

The Brood
Why inconvenience others when you can rely on others to do the work for you? No one will be as aggressive in getting around small children, so just let yours completely off the leash. Let them run shrieking in every direction, blocking traffic and making you block traffic. If they are snatched by a barghest, who cares? You can always make more.

The Tortoise
Slow and steady wins the race. Go at your own pace, plant yourself in the middle of the airport corridor, and watch people trip over themselves, and each other, trying to get around you. Bonus points for the Tortoise formation when one part of the corridor is congested by a departing flight, forcing the entire two-way flow of the concourse behind your pokey plastron.

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“They look at the R’de ruins and see nothing but the junk of another failed civilization with nothing to teach. ‘Oh, our computers run faster than theirs do!’ ‘Oh, these structures are too cramped and ugly!’ Typical.”

“You see something else, huh? Something I should care about?” said Jai.

“I see something everybody should care about. It doesn’t even take an evolved mind like my own to see: the R’de structures and computer systems resist entropy to an unprecedented degree. So much so that the silly tests the few people that cared ran on them indicated an age of fifty thousand years when in fact it’s been more than 500,000! Do you–can you–appreciate that?”

“So what?” snapped Jai. “There are old things on Earth.”

“The oldest thing you apes have erected on that miserable orb is barely five thousand years old!”

“It’s not that big of a difference,” said Jai. “It might have another 495,000 years in it.”

“An intellect like that, and they let you operate a starship? Listen to this, and maybe it will force a proper appreciation through your lizard brain. Years ago, when nuclear waste was first starting to really pile up, a government on Earth decided to bury it. But that stuff stays tangy for a long time, so they wanted to put up a warning that people would understand in 10,000 years. They formed a government committee, had hearings, heard proposals from people with letters behind their name. And do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“A new government came into power and the whole thing was abandoned. Your pathetic species’ plan to last 10,000 years couldn’t even survive five years on the drawing board; the R’de came up with one that’s lasted longer than your entire evolution from an australopithecine. It’s not just an impressive feat, it’s not just an engineering marvel, it shows that they built it for a higher purpose for higher beings. It is quite literally the secret to unlocking the heat-death of the universe. And yet you sit here, surrounded by bullets and bodies, pissing and moaning about what’s happened over the last week.”

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Here at Tempus LLC, we know that the most precious resource that anyone has is time. We also know that there’s nothing better than exchanging your time for someone else’s money. But what about idle time outside of normal work hours? How can you sell your time in exchange for cash when there’s nothing to do but sit on your hands?

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Maria Ramirez, owner and operator of Journeyman Travel Agency LLC, had helped people move all her professional life. Since she started the business in her garage just out of high school to the present day, she’d booked trips to Acapulco and Antarctica, to Zambia and Zanzibar, and all points in between.

But Maria never traveled herself. In all her years, she had left her state only once, for a wedding, and crossed a border only once, for that selfsame wedding. Most of her clients went further afield in their first trip than she had in her entire life.

Maria had a lot of excuses thought up to laugh the issue up when it was raised. She’d seen how ugly the industry could be, from jacked-up prices to stranded travelers, and that ugliness had turned her off ever leaving LA herself. She was prone to motion sickness and was afraid that any flight might make her violently ill, and the trains just didn’t run as far or as fast as they used to. She was waiting until retirement to unleash all her skills in a paroxysm of travel the likes of which few had ever witnessed.

She never told people about the dream, about the flames, about the cries hanging in the frigid air as bodies in motion tumbled, earthbound, end over end.

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TOM: I’m Tom Drake, and this is NBS Sports.

CARL: That’s right, Tom. I’m Carl Hicks. And as part of a plea bargain that Tom and I entered after the fiery bus crash on I-75 that claimed the lives of two buses full of college lacrosse team students, we have agreed to help fill otherwise dead airtime on NBS Sports 12 by covering the 2015 Great Curmudgeon Mudge-Off.

TOM: Sponsored by Hillman’s Hickory Walking Sticks, Artisinal Rocking Chairs of Peoria, Poli-Grip denture cream, Ensure omni-drink, and newspapers everywhere.

CARL: That’s right, Tom. We’re down to the final three contestants: Columbus Ellison, age 73, of Porphyria, ME; Isaiah Hester, age 80, of Rayne, WA; and Marcello Martinez, age 66, from Gumption, OK.

TOM: Ellison has the overall lead in points, but Martinez has won more events. Hester is hot on both their tails, so it’s anybody’s game at the moment. I’m sure our viewers at home remember the photo finish to the 2013 Mudge-Off when the late Stanford Gilmore came from behind to win even as he was dying of a heart attack.

CARL: That’s right, Tom. Next up we have the most pivotal events in our competition. First up is Hostile Reading, where the object is to read a newspaper in such a way as to deter bothersome interlopers, and to respond to any such interlopers in a way that immediately dissuades them from further communication. Next will be Throat Clearing, and after that, Lawn Defense. Complaining About Kids These Days is, as always, the capstone. Thoughts, Tom?

TOM: Martinez stands to dominate Newspaper Reading, as he worked as a newspaper editor in Gumption before his forced retirement, but his town’s low population density stands to hurt him in Lawn Defense and Throat Clearing. Hester’s a smoker, which gives him an edge in Throat Clearing and the gravel he needs for Lawn Defense, though his oxygen will be a liability there as well. Ellison, thanks to his location, is well-positioned for a come-from-behind mudging in all the events. It’s an exciting time and anybody’s game.

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“I’m trying to decide between these two. What do you think?”

The editor took the copy and read over it. The first read:

Did you ever hear about the guy who refused to follow the rules of grammar? He’s a rebel without a clause.

And the second:

Timmy says he’s too old to believe in Santa. He’s a rebel without a Klaus.

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The Dumbarton Oaks Unicorn Lady

The Dumbarton Oaks Unicorn Lady, erected in Washington D.C. for the International Day of the Unicorn, November 1, 1911. Courtesy Library of Congress.

Today’s post is in support of Unicorn Appreciation Day at Fish of Gold. Be sure to visit to express your solidarity!

Today is World Unicorn Appreciation Day, and in recognition of that happy fact, here is a list of other unicorn-related days throughout the yearly calendar:

January 11: World Unicorn Appreciation Day – The 5th Annual Congress of the Mythological Animal Preservation society declared January 11 to be World Unicorn Appreciation Day in 1905. In their statement, conference chair Dr. Stanley Einhorne said that “the time has now come to honor these majestic creatures and to stop the indiscriminate slaughter and disbelief which have bedeviled them since the advent of modern magic-piercing ammunition.” Adoption was slow, and nations which hadn’t attended the Congress have rejected the date, which was chosen by the delegation based on the American date reading of 1/11.

April 4: 幸運的柒柒柒龍吉祥麒麟一天肆兩黃金 – Proclaimed by the Kangxi Emperor in 1664, 幸運的柒柒柒龍吉祥麒麟一天肆兩黃金 (lit. “Lucky 777 Dragon Auspicious Kirin Day With 4 Taels of Gold”) was the very first day associated with unicorns to be proclaimed anywhere in the world (aside from perhaps the Minoan “Horn Festival” which many have interpreted as celebrating minotaurs instead). Created specifically to celebrate the one-horned Chinese Unicorn or kirin, (獨角麒麟 or du jiao kirin, lit. “unicorn kirin”) which had long been a symbol of good luck, prosperity, and auspiciously arranged furniture. Traditional celebrations include offerings of gold to kirins, the wearing of elaborate kirin onesies, and of course the traditional 紫麒麟purple kirin lanterns. The holiday was suppressed by Mao Zedong between 1949 and 1976 and the slaughter of kirin for food was encouraged, but the population has rebounded and the government currently enforces the death penalty for kirin poaching in an effort to encourage unicorn tourism.

Chinese Unicorn (Kirin)

A woodblock print of a Chinese Unicorn (Kirin) from De Tomaso’s Cor Sinarum (1668). Courtesy Library of Congress.

June 1: Einhorntag – Proclaimed by Kaiser Frederick III in 1888, Einhorntag was the first official protection/preservation accorded to the Eurasian unicorn. Perversely, from 1888-1914, Einhorntag was the date of Kaiser Wilhelm II’s annual Einhornjagd, when a team of virgins would beat the bushes to flush out unicorns for Wilhelm to shoot one-handed to prove his manliness. After the German Revolution, the Weimar Republic restored Einhorntag to its conservation roots. Strangely, the Third Reich continued the practice and did not harvest its own unicorns for the war effort, relying instead on captured French and Polish unicorns; indeed, considerable propaganda material of the Führer riding or being sought out by unicorns survives to this day.

July 10: Australunicorn Preservation Day – The rare australunicorn (“loarinnacon” in the native Parlevar tongue) was granted official protection on July 10, 1937–two months after the last known specimen in the Hobart Zoo was mounted by a virgin and disappeared into the bush. Hunted due to the perception that they competed with introduced Eurasian unicorns on Tasmania’s famous, vast, free-range unicorn farms, no australunicorns have been captured since then. Sightings persist, though, and with the rediscovery of the Tasmanian bunyip (thought extinct since 1908), authorities use Australunicorn Preservation Day as the occasion for an annual search with volunteer virgins.

November 1: International Day of the Unicorn – Dissidents from the CMAP conference held their own meeting in 1906 to declare November 1 the International Day of the Unicorn. This alternate date gained currency worldwide for several years, and to this day many commemorative plaques and statues list dates of 11/1 (especially confusing when one considers the differing American and European methods of writing out dates). A grand celebration held on 11/1/1911 attracted almost a million people, but the world wars eventually caused this day to dwindle in popularity. It’s still officially observed in many Spanish-speaking countries as “Día Internacional del Unicornio,” though, as the January 11 date conflicts with Día de Eugenio María de Hostos and Día Internacional de Gracias.

Australunicorn Print

A print of the newly-discovered Australunicorn (Loarinnacon) in Cooke’s Codex Australis (1702). Courtesy Library of Congress.

December 29: Yedinorog-Den (единорог день) – Russian delegates were absent from the CMAP congress that declared World Unicorn Appreciation Day due to the Revolution of 1905, but adopted it informally later on. They celebrated it on December 29 of the Julian calendar, and it remained on that date even when the new Soviet government moved to the Gregorian calendar in 1918. It was celebrated as a propaganda holiday as a way to cover up the USSR’s massive state-sponsored unicorn farms, which ruthlessly processed unicorns held in inumane conditions to obtain elixirs for the nomenklatura and horndust for use in tank armor and anti-magic artillery shells. The RDS-U1\11C0R1\1 Anti-Magic Ballistic Missile was the ultimate product of this, and its first test was on December 29, 1967.

Check out these other celebratory posts:
L. R. Badeau on Being a Full-Time Unicorn
Presenting Horace Swindley’s Unicorn Droppings
The 301st Fighting Unicorn Division
The 302nd Fighting Unicorn Division
The 303rd Fighting Unicorn Division

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No one saw it coming. Weren’t they notorious for their inability to compromise, their brutal tactics, their picking of fights? Weren’t they derided for their clumsiness and stupidity even as they claimed to represent purity and honor?

And yet, as the sun rose on that January morning, the Grammar Nazis had come to power. There was nothing now standing between them and a reign of pedantry and pettiness the likes of which the word had not seen since the French Vowel Wars, the vicious Orthography Reform of 1996, and of course the brutal Colon Revolution in San Serriffe. What could have possessed the people to hand over power to the Grammar Nazis and add themselves to that grim list?

Now had it come to this?

In retrospect, it’s clear that the depredations of the Grammar Communists had grown as of late. Txt spk, L337, ostent. abbrevs., all of them were rampant in the great democratization of language and spelling that accompanied the rise of the internet. In an age where “LOL AFK BRB K?” is considered a coherent sentence, some people clearly valued the security of their spelling more than the merciless pedantry openly promised by the Grammar Nazis in their election platform.

One thing is clear, though: the Oxford Comma is now enforced by iron maiden, dangling participles is punishable by guillotine, splitting infinitives will result in drawing and quartering, the passive voice will be met with active measures, and breaching the they’re/their/there or you’re/your/yore barrier will result in an appearance before the merciless elite units of the Grammar Guard.

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Some time later, a group of clurichauns who went by the name of the Caladbolg Bruisers gathered in a much seedier pub, MacSláinte’s Boozery, to spend their euros. Slothower Whelk, their longtime benefactor, paid them a pittance to waylay and rob hapless tourists in the Heights, especially clay from mundane Dublin or wealthy seelie fae from the Fayquay if they could.

“Oi,” said one, who went by the monicker of Wallopin’ Sam. “Ain’t that the berk what we nicked in th’ ‘Eights?” one said, cocking his bald head at a tall figure in off-white robes with an off-white beard.

“Nah,” said another clurichaun who insisted that his mates call him Berk-of-all-Trades. “We ‘ad a go a ‘im, but weren’t nothin’ in ‘is folds but gum wrappers an’ lint.”

“‘e don’t seem much broken up about it, th’ sod,” said Wallopin’ Sam. “Singin’ like a bleedin’ canary, ‘e is.”

“Oi, it’s me ears what’re bleedin'” Berk-of-all-Trades replied, a cry taken up heartily by his dozens of nearby mates. “Jim Morrison’s a-rollin’ in ‘is grave, ‘e is. If that berk ‘ad caterwauled like that in Whelk’s, we mighta dropped ‘im.”

The other clurichauns chortled their agreement before returning to the weak and watered-down Guinness, which was all they could afford on the pittance Whelk offered them as the only pawnbroker in the Heights crooked enough to buy stolen goods. The singer, though, seemed to have heard the clurichauns’ chortling and approached them.

“Hello there my hearty friends,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice the poor quality of your libations. Might I do something about that?”

“Oy, you’d best keep walkin’, berk,” snarled Berk-of-all-Trades, showing his needle-sharp teeth. “Just ‘cos we ain’t found nothin’ worth pinchin’ on ya afore don’t mean me an’ me mates won’t ‘esitate to cut ya.”

“Oh, my dear sirs, you misunderstand me entirely,” said the man, laughing pleasantly. “I am bound by my oath to life of poverty, barditry, aid, and succor. The fact that you found nothing worth stealing was proof positive that I have succeeded in my vow.”

“Cor, throw yerself a bleedin’ bash then, an’ step off,” replied Wallopin’ Sam. “Me mates an’ I don’t give two shakes wot yer on about.”

“As a show of my gratitude,” the man continued as if Wallopin’ Sam hadn’t said a thing, “allow me to offer you some recompense. I’ve been building up a tab here at MacSláinte’s Boozery, and since my vow of poverty won’t allow me to keep any of the euros thus earned, allow to provide you and your mates with a round of drinks. It is a charity on my part, my very own Concert for Bangladesh but with spirits instead.”

That offer immediately softened the clurichauns’ attitude. “Well, me mates an’ I are always possessed o’ a powerful thirst,” allowed Berk-of-all-Trades. “An’ the swill old Whelk gives us coin what for to buy is powerful weak wot for clurichaun tastes.”

“Then it’s settled,” said the man, smiling. “Barkeep! A round of Irish-strength Riamh-Soiléir grain spirits for my mates here!”

A mighty cheer went up from the clurichauns as a host of bottles were brought out, each bearing the strongest spirits in the known world as acknowledged by the Guinness Book. The Fáidh took a step back so as not to be intoxicated by the fumes—which were potent enough even for someone who was a quarter fae on his mother’s side. The clurichauns drank greedily, and before long they were snoring loudly.

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Searching for an insult, shaking with every fiber of her being, all she could manage was “You blasted muffinseeker!”

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