The teacher announced his arrival by slamming the door hard enough to rattle Sirrap Community College’s exterior windows. Thirtysomthing and well-built, he sported thick black eyeglasses and an ill-fitting tweed suit coat with a Starfleet arrowhead as a tie tack. With the chap air conditioning struggling–and failing–to hold back the bitter South Carolina July raging outside, sweat beaded visibly on his dark features.

“Greetings. this is ENGL 127: Introduction to Creative Writing, and I am your instructor.” The pose he struck, legs spread and arms clasped behind his back, was textbook military. “Some of your husbands or fathers may know me as Drill Sergeant Poindexter from the base just up the road. They probably do not know me as a published author, perhaps because all my writing has been published under various pseudonyms! But if any of you have ever read The Girdle of Mistvale, credited to Swain Longbottom, or The Asteroids of Megas-Tu, credited to Jackson Roykirk, you’ve read me.”

There was some murmuring among the students but no reply.

“Repeat after me: “This is my pen. There are many like it, but this one is mine.”

Dutifully, fearfully, the students squeaked out the phrase.

“My pen, without me, is useless. Without my pen, I am useless. I must guide my pen true. I must write straighter than my enemy who is trying to critique me!”

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When people are angry, they tend to overlook small details.

The other day, for instance, I was so angry at unannounced road construction making me late for work that I blitzed into the first available spot that I saw without looking, even though it was across campus from where I usually park.

My car was only there for an hour before I got a polite but firm phone call asking me to move it. It had a big fat ticket pasted to the windshield by the downpour I’d had to walk through, too. Ordinarily I’d fight the ticket, or at least try to weasel out of it, but that wasn’t going to work this time.

I’d parked in a space reserved for parking enforcement, after all.

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“Who is Kaye Runn?” Mitzy demanded.

“What? Who?” Dirk cried into his handset.

“Don’t lie,” Mitzy yelped, anguished. “I overheard you talking about ‘that fine Kay Runn’ you’re going to be ‘doing’ tomorrow!”

5K Run…I said I was doing a 5k Run! You know, running 5 kilometers? Those communist miles that they use in Canada?”

A pause on Mitzy’s end of the line. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry. How embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dirk said smoothly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for dinner like we planned, okay?”

“Who was that, lover?” Kay’s voice floated in from the bedroom.

“Oh, nobody…nobody,” Dirk said. “Now, let’s see about setting a new record, Ms. Runn…!”

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“We’re not here about the misuse of commas or the outright abuse of possessive apostraphe-s in your ad copy. They have been cataloged and coded. We are also well aware of your use of the term ‘literally’ to mean ‘practically’ and ‘could care less’ to mean ‘couldn’t care less’ in both copy and casual conversation. No, Mr. Repard, we have convened this tribunal to discuss the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Please, you don’t understand! It was just an ad!”

“Ads are still discourse, Mr. Repard, and they inform all discourse to come. For the tribunal: did you or did you not create an advertisement for, and I quote, ‘fuel-efficient tires?'”

“It was just an ad to sell tires!”

“May I remind you, Mr. Repard, that tires consume no fuel and therefore cannot be fuel efficient?”

“Please, I just meant that the tires increase the overall fuel efficiency of the vehicle! I had limited ad space!”

“If that’s what you meant, that’s what you should have said. The Semiotics Tribunal will now render its verdict.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty. Hereby sentenced to 18 months in the semicolon mines of San Serriffe. Dismissed!”

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“Give me liberty or give me death!” cried the patriot sharpshooter.

“I have a better idea,” said Doctor Von Deathenstein.

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Are you suffering from cellulite, crow’s feet, sun damage, or general aging? Have conventional beauty products completely and utterly failed to stem the relentless march of time? There’s no getting off this train we’re on.

But there is a product that can help!

Shinra Electric Power Company, sole supplier of electricity, arms, and consumer goods worldwide is pleased to announce the MAKOPLASTY™ beauty procedure! Your friendly one-world megacorporate government has your best interests in mind, and those include the ability to defy the natural aging process while maximizing shareholder value.

The MAKOPLASTY™ infuses your skin with raw Mako energy, the life force of the Planet ripped directly from the Lifestream and refined into clean energy by Shinra’s network of Mako reactors. Yes, the same miracle energy source that eliminated the need for polluting coal power can now be put to work for you.

After the safe and clean MAKOPLASTY™ infusion process, you will find that your skin suddenly had both dramatically improved tone and a healthy glow. You’ll also get the striking “Mako eyes,” famous for their appearance among The Shinra Electric Power Company’s elite SOLDIER security forces. There are absolutely no side effects!*

With prices starting at 50,000 gil, you can’t afford not to consider MAKOPLASTY™. MAKOPLASTY™: The Lifeblood of the Planet, In Your Face!

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*This statement has not been evaluated by the Shinra Electric Power Company Food and Drug Administration, nor should it be, as all Shinra products are inherently safe and effective. Rumors of side effects including but not limited to mutation, decreased HP count, MP deficiency, AP drain, the Jenova Reunion, and subjugation to the will of Sephiroth are completely false. Report any rumormongering to your local branch of the Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department, or the Department of Administrative Research.

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“Hold on, let me recycle this.” Jenna, being a considerate earth-first type, moved to put her empty water bottle in the nearby recycling bin:

PLASTIC
ALUMINUM
ONLY

“Hey!” A nearby airport security guard cried. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m…recycling a plastic water bottle?” Jenna said.

“Can’t you read? That bin is for plastic aluminum only!”

“Um…isn’t this plastic water bottle plastic enough?”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Plastic. Aluminum. Not plastic, not aluminum. Plastic aluminum. Read the sign. Because you know who has to pick out the stuff that isn’t right from that bin? Me. That’s who.”

“Okay! Geez.” Jenna pulled back her bottle and walked off. “What does that even mean, plastic aluminum? Weirdo.”

Another woman approached and deposited a pop can that was somehow both brightly injection molded and metallic into the bin.

“Thank you!” the guard exclaimed. “Finally, someone who can read!

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“We specialize in buying notable but troubled brands,” said Gemini Marketing Consultants LLC CEO Apollo Abrams. “Pixee snack cakes have been renowned in popular culture as the food most likely to survive the apocalypse. And while it’s true that Pixees have an expiration date on the wrapper, that’s a matter of statute rather than necessity.”

Since the removal of milk from the recipe in 1977, Abrams adds, Pixees have been shelf-stable for as long as the old Purser Bakeries was able to run tests. And with the move of the restructured company to Arizona, which has a much looser snack cake regulatory tradition than Purser’s 110-year home of Pennsylvania, that “matter of statute” has been eliminated. “No expiration date on the new Pixee wrappers anymore,” Abrams laughs.

Abrams and his Gemini Marketing Consultants LLC staff are speaking to us in the former Strategic Helium Reserve complex in Toadwater, AZ. Formerly a US Army depot for stockpiling helium to keep American zeppelins in the air in case of a supply interruption, the SHR is now the new home of Purser Bakeries and Pixee snack cake production. It is a massive underground complex hollowed out of the living rock of the Montañas del Muerte hills.

“The government sold this place to us for $1 thanks to the sequester,” says Abrams. “They just didn’t have the cash to follow through on their plans to turn it into an underground fallout shelter for Congress. Natrually, that suits us just fine!”

All Pixee cake production will be conducted underground, in caves rated to withstand a 100 megaton blast. Abrams is developing the long-lasting and blast-resistant snacks as the centerpiece of a combined recreational area and paid disaster shelter. “For only $3000 per square yard of space, people can reserve shelter space alongside the only food item certified to survive it: Pixees! When the Big One drops, the production line and the raw materials to sustain it will be able to support up to 100,000 people for five years. And, as part of their plea deal for getting their jobs back after union action killed the old Purser Bakeries, employees get a 25% discount!” And, in the meantime, factory tours and disaster preparedness courses will keep the curious coming in the door.

Abrams’ company plans to open “The Pixee Survival Shelter and Resort” as soon as they can find a set of 100-megaton-rated blast doors. Gemini Marketing Consultants LLC, a subsidiary of major local employer GesteCo, has announced that the production line should be operational–and Pixee cakes back on store shelves nationwide–by the end of summer.

Inspired by this and this.

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As you know, the University of Northern Mississippi sports teams are no longer the Fighting Tuscolas. Negotiations for a new mascot are still in committee, so until then we will be known as the University of Northern Mississippi Northern Mississippians.

In keeping with the administration’s pledge to remove all mention of the Tuscola tribe from university life, the practice of random “Cowboys and Indians” squirtgun and sponge-arrow attacks during orientation has been banned. Anyone caught with a squirtgun or cowboy hat will be immediately removed from their orientation position.

There have been complaints that orientation leaders have been attempting to influence students interested in Greek life to pledge Kappa Qoppa Beta. This is completely unacceptable; Alpha Digamma Nu is the only Greek organization that may be mentioned to orientation students. Rumors that this rule has come about due to a large donation from a former Alpha Di are untrue.

The special “legacy orientations” for sisters of Zeta San Iota have gotten mixed up with normal orientation groups in the past and failed to receive the unique experience that they are entitled to. As such, all “legacy” orientation groups will be issued identical bright pink t-shirts to properly segregate them from “non-legacy” ones. We realize that this will make distinguishing between the girls difficult, as they already have identical heights, haircuts, hair colors, and pants, but ask that you please bear with us.

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The combatants assembled on the field, their seconds at hand. The pistols were proffered, inspected, accepted.

Back to back, the duelists counted out the requisite number of paces. Even though their contest was only to the first hit, not explicitly to the death, both recognized the risks they were undertaking.

At the tenth pace, the men turned and fired. One shot went wide, but the other was true; the duelist who had been hit looked down with horror at the spreading red stain upon his immaculate shirt.

“Dammit, Matt, did you put food coloring in your squirt gun?” he moaned. “This is my Phi Qoppa Alpha shirt! Do you have any idea how many paddlings I’m going to get if this stain is permanent?”

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