Corporate Sponsored Proofs for the Existence of God

By: Justin Kahn

1. The Argument from Design

Imagine that you are walking in the woods when you trip over a rock. You kick the rock aside, thinking nothing of it.

Now suppose you are walking through the woods and you slip on a finely crafted timepiece. It is not damaged by your clumsiness. In fact, despite being exposed to the elements, to the attacks of animals, and the general effects of the passing of time, it is as reliable as ever. You pick it up and notice the elegant composition, the attractive features, and its aura of prestige. You open your mouth and sing the praises of the watch.

Ordinarily, you are self-conscious of your tone deafness, but right now it doesn’t matter. Only one thing matters: figuring out where this watch came from.

You look at it carefully. It is a Rolex. Precision. Craftsmanship. Timelessness. Reliability.

Now when you look at the universe what do you compare it with? A common rock or the timepiece worn by Eric Clapton? When the Rolex Corporation looks at the universe the answer is clear: just as elegant timepieces require Rolex, so the universe requires a Maker, who is most likely Swiss.

2. The Ontological Argument: A Proof from the Nature of Existence

Everyone has the idea of God. The idea of God is that of the greatest conceivable being.

In order to make progress on the question of God’s existence we have to ask a question often heard in the halls of Apple’s development labs. That question can be stated as, “Which is greater: What exists only in the mind or what exists in the mind and also outside of the mind?” Let’s take the

example of an operating system.

Let’s suppose a visionary named Steve has the idea of an operating system that is user-friendly and reliable. Is this the greatest conceivable operating system?

Philosophers have generally said no. The greatest conceivable operating system is the one that exists as an idea, and actually exists in the world, perhaps installed on an aesthetically pleasing PowerBook (even though it becomes much easier for competitors to steal your ideas).

Philosophers agree that we have the idea of God. The question philosophers debate is whether the being than which no greater can be conceived is a being which exists only as an idea in the mind (similar to our competitor’s best products), or as an idea which exists in our minds and the world (like Steve’s ideas and how they are actually manufactured and lining the walls of our Apple stores)?

That there could be any disagreement amongst philosophers on this point shocks us in the development lab, who take it as an obvious truth that something that is in the world is better than some fleeting idea that pops into your head after a few too many. Which is greater, we ask you: the company who thinks that MP3s are the future of personal music, or the company which thinks MP3s are the wave of the future and builds it and gets U2 to endorse it and offers the best warranty on the market for any personal MP3 player?

We answer, the company that builds — and did we mention sells — a sleek, affordable MP3 player.

Similarly, once we have the idea of God, we can ask which is greater: The God that exists in the minds of our visionary board members or the God who exists in the minds of our board members and exists in the world?

Answer correctly and you will be entered into a contest to win a free iPod shuffle!

3. The Argument from Morality

If God exists then not all things are permissible. As we examine our conscience we find that certain things are not permissible. For example, downloading illegal movies. You wouldn’t steal a heart from a little boy who needs a transplant. So why would you steal a movie? Besides you are not stealing from big corporations but the little guys. Guys like Tom who is crippled by Carpal Tunnel because he has to hand-carve the little tabs that hold your DVD inside the DVD case.

Let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that you would watch an illegal copy.

Imagine yourself trying to enjoy that pirated copy of a movie knowing that the DVD case factory has shut down because no one is purchasing the movie.

You can see that it is only a matter of time before this once-vibrant metropolis becomes a ghost town.

Naturally, once the DVD case factory has shut down Tom’s employment as a subcontractor for DVD tab holders is eliminated. When you imagine unemployed Tom sitting in a pile of his DVD tab holders, do you think you have ruined his life? Maybe not. Perhaps Tom Jr. will comfort him. Assuming Tom Jr. feels up to it, which seems unlikely, as he knows that you were thinking of stealing the heart he so desperately needs.

This image of you as a career thief and murderer is offered just for the sake of argument. Of course you wouldn’t enjoy your murderous pirated movie, because you know some things are really wrong, even if you don’t get caught.

Yes, you have toed the edge of the rules that make civilization possible, but you can’t follow through. If you wouldn’t steal a movie from us or an organ from a kid, then not all things are permissible. If not all things are permissible then there must be a being even greater than the Anti-Piracy Trust that has given us these guidelines. This Being is the one referred to in any quality, copyrighted and copy-protected edition of the Ten Commandments as “God.”

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Spring Has Sprung!

By: Lincoln Michel

Dear readers, I awoke this morning to the sound of a small bird chirping his heart out on my window sill: the sound of Spring. Then I heard the sound of my cat, Timbers, snapping the bird’s spine like a sprig of celery. That was the sound of Nature.

Yes! Spring is here and Nature is in full bloom! And who better to offer his helpful tips to readers than yours truly, a ten-time 6th grade substitute biology teacher? With spring comes the arrival of new baby animals to our surroundings. If you come across a seemingly abandoned baby bird or rabbit in your backyard, do not touch it! If the thing wasn’t good enough for its own parents, it isn’t going to be good enough for you.

The arrival of spring also means the arrival of Nature’s supermarket: the woods! All kinds of nuts, berries and other tasty treats appear during spring. Hamburgers may not grow on trees, but small birds do. Well, they live in them, and I’ve never been one to split hairs. My point is, they taste just as good on a bun with ketchup and pickle.

If you forget your shopping list when wandering through the woods, just peel off a piece of bark (Nature’s paper!) and if you also forgot a pen, use a sharp stick and your own blood (Nature’s ink!).

Best of all, shopping in the woods means you won’t have to risk severe blood loss when clipping coupons (“Newspapers: The Danger in Your Driveway,” April 12th). If you need transportation to take your “groceries” home, try to find a wild horse (tip: No reins, fair game!). Once you locate one, it’s best to sneak up behind one and begin patting it firmly on the rear. Horses are quite proud of their nice buns, which is why they are called Nature’s Brazilians.

But be warned! Nature is not without its dangers!

Nature’s wrath comes in unassuming forms. Loyal readers will remember the terrible Bluebird attack I suffered (“A Thrush with Death,” May 5th) and my ongoing campaign to legalize hunting them to extinction (“Am I the Only One Thinking of the Children?!” June 20th). Many a full-grown man has been brought to tears by this scourge of the sky.

Another of Nature’s most dangerous creatures are bees, which can attack like a swarm of flies. Just remember that bees derive their power from the mother nest. If you sense an oncoming attack, go on the offensive and destroy their nest with a large stick! This will render each buzzing beast as harmless as a fly.

Hardly a year goes by that we don’t hear about a vicious shark attack. Most biologists believe that sharks attack people because they mistake them for seals. When a shark approaches, knock the beach ball off your nose and stop clapping immediately!

In the event of an attack, always keep in mind most animals are as afraid of you as you are of them. If attacked by a wild animal, instead of running away, why not stand up for yourself for once in your life! At least if the animal is small and you think you can take him. If attacked by a larger animal, like a Grizzly bear, quickly curl into a non-threatening ball. Then tumble away to freedom (this only works on hills).

If the attack is coordinated by more than one animal, like a Grizzly astride two wolves, geez…I don’t know what to tell you.

Even though Nature is dangerous, we should remember it is also beautiful and wonderful, especially in springtime. In fact, as I often say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a poem as lovely as a tree. Although, I guess that’s a stupid thing to say, since you don’t really “see” poems. I’ve never seen a movie as beautiful as a tree. Well maybe Robocop, you can’t really beat that, but not the sequels where he gets all lame. So: Robocop, a tree, then Robocop II and III.

Perhaps most importantly, Nature can teach us many things about life. I like to think of the forest as a repository of knowledge, like a library except without any books and where the patrons squawk and howl constantly.

Remember the Nature fables of Aesop (“Ol’ Soppy” to friends)? For example, there is that one about the mouse who begged the lion for his life and promised he would return the favor one day. The two stayed friends for awhile, but the lion grew resentful of the mouse’s success and that favor never got returned. Then one day the lion screwed the mouse out of a bunch of money on a real estate deal or something. I think the moral was: don’t do business with friends unless you are in a really tight spot. That is something I had to learn the hard way (“Brad Millington is a Grade-A Jerk!” Oct. 25th).

Well, I guess that about wraps up my essay on spring. Let me end by saying to my readers that before you dismiss Nature as irrelevant to your modern lives, think of that other fable by Ol’ Soppy, the one about the boy who cried wolf: There was a lonely farmer boy whose best friend was a hound dog. He played with that dog all summer long until the day his father walked by and screamed “That ain’t no dog! That’s a wolf!” The boy freaked out and chased the wolf away. But then he had no one to play with and spent the rest of his days crying “Wolf! Wolf! Come back!”

The same could happen to you.

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Omnibus Parking Lot Regulations

By: David Martin

All-Purpose Parking Lot Regulations

Please note that the hours of operation are for our convenience, not yours.

Please take a ticket when entering the lot. Failure to take a ticket will result in payment of the maximum daily rate squared and/or impoundment of your vehicle.

Please leave a $20 deposit with the attendant as well as your driver’s license and at least two major credit cards.

Please leave your keys with the attendant. We are not responsible for any damage to your vehicle, additional tire wear or excess mileage reading on your odometer.

Please ensure that your gas tank is at least 3/4 full.

Please do not complain if your radio presets have been changed. Accept that some people have different tastes in music.

Please do not lose your ticket. It is your only hope of ever retrieving your vehicle.

Please do not quibble about the extra fifteen minute charge. Accept that not all clocks are perfectly synchronized.

Please do not complain to the attendant about exorbitant parking charges. He cannot understand you.

Please note that no one has ever successfully qualified for the “Early Bird Special.”

Please park in designated parking spaces only. If there are no free spaces left, please leave your car with the attendant who will make space for it.

Please do not complain about scratches, dents or multiple striations on the bumpers and sides of your vehicle. Please remember that space is at a premium.

Please stop if you feel speed bumps as this lot does not have speed bumps.

Please do not park in the handicap spot unless you have a valid permit or have been mugged after entering the lot.

Please do not complain about food stains on your back seat. Our employees have to eat somewhere.

Please lock all valuables in your trunk. Management is not responsible for any lost or stolen property.

Please do not leave bodies in the trunk. That is management’s responsibility.

Please do not lock your glove compartment. This will avoid unnecessary crowbar and screwdriver damage.

Please do not complain about used condoms or syringes in your car. We’re just trying to make a living.

Please do not complain that it would be cheaper to park your car on the street. If you could have found a space on the street, you wouldn’t be begging us for a spot. Have a nice day.

— THE MANAGEMENT

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Future Works of Jim Davis, #59-97

By: Justin Warner

Garfield Phones It In

Garfield Gets Drunk

Garfield Binges and Purges

Garfield Staples His Stomach

Garfield Downloads Porn

Garfield Molests Odie

Garfield Worships Satan

Garfield Mocks the Disabled

Garfield Redistricts Arkansas

Garfield Joins the Klan

Garfield Burns a Church

Garfield Harasses Planned Parenthood

Garfield Freebases Coke

Garfield Opens Yosemite for Oil Exploration

Garfield Plagiarizes His Memoirs

Garfield Bitch-Slaps Oprah

Garfield Reneges on His Child Support

Garfield Freaks Out at the OTB

Garfield Ignores Yet Another Court Summons

Garfield Turns Tricks

Garfield Represses Self-Loathing

Garfield Nukes Iran

Garfield Assassinates the President of Ghana

Garfield Single-Handedly Trashes the Philadelphia Airport Hilton

Garfield Replaces Cerberus

Garfield Kills His Father and Marries His Mother

Garfield Defrauds Social Security

Garfield Scavenges a Hospital Dumpster

Garfield Briefly Embraces Christianity

Garfield Impregnates a Walrus

Garfield Carjacks Your Mother

Garfield Exploits Hmong Child Labor

Garfield Drinks the Blood of the Vanquished

Garfield Gets Hepatitis

Garfield Punches an Orderly

Garfield Lingers on Dialysis

Garfield Chokes On Vomit

Garfield Biodegrades

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How to Get Out of Trouble with Your Mom Using Nothing but Lines from Point Break

By: Eric Feezell

Ernie Loomis, a junior in high school, has just been released from jail after having been arrested for driving under the influence of drugs and alcohol. His mother, who just paid bail to secure his release, launches into him as soon as they get to the parking lot. She is livid, ready to lay down the law.


But Ernie has an unspeakable advantage, as he has seen Point Break over seventy times…

MOM: Damn it, Ernie! I can’t believe you would be so stupid as to drink and drive! Don’t you know you could have gotten yourself killed?!

ERNIE: If you want the ultimate, you’ve got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. It’s not tragic to die doing what you love.

MOM: You’re SIXTEEN! How can you LOVE drinking and driving? What are you, a moron?

ERNIE: Life sure has a sick sense of humor, doesn’t it?

MOM: Oh, sure, whatever, Socrates. You think you’re so smart, Ernie? Huh? Who the hell do you think you are?

ERNIE: I am an FBI AGENT!

MOM: Oh, I knew it! The officer said you were high, too! High on marijuana cigarettes! It’s that Jenkins boy you’ve been palling around with, isn’t it? I’ve always had a bad feeling about that kid.

ERNIE: Last time you had a feeling I had to kill a guy, and I hate that…it looks bad on my report.

MOM: What? What report? What kind of drugs are you on, son?!

ERNIE: One hundred percent pure adrenaline!

MOM: Oh, B.S.! You wanna play games? Okay, fine! How about this? You’re one hundred percent GROUNDED for the next YEAR!

ERNIE: And you’re about to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. How do you feel about that?

MOM: What?

ERNIE: You gonna jump, or jerk off?

MOM: Oh, that’s it, munchie-man! You are in for a world of trouble when your dad gets back from Cincinnati, mister!

ERNIE: He’s not coming back.

MOM: What?

ERNIE: It’s basic dog psychology: If you scare them and get them peeing down their leg, they submit. But if you project weakness, that promotes violence, and that’s how people get hurt.

MOM: Where is my son?! What happened to you? Oh, now you’re talking crazy-talk. You’re a junkie, aren’t you? Oh, God, where did I go wrong?

ERNIE: This is stimulating, but we’re out of here.

MOM: What did you say to me, young man? You get back here and into this car right now!

ERNIE: Vaya con dios, brah.

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More Than Hot Air: A Hand Dryer in the Penn Station Men’s Room Shares His Wisdom

By: Matt Summers-Sparks

Life is complicated.

Drying your hands is simple: Lather up. Rinse. Place hands beneath my nozzle to initiate hot air flow. Rub hands vigorously. Nice.

Once, right in front of me, a real gentle fellow, about 15, mistook another guy for his long-lost brother. But he, the latter, ridiculed the gentle fellow right here in the bathroom in front of me, the paper towels and everyone. I hated that. But I assisted that gentle fellow. That’s right — position my nozzle properly and I evaporate tears.

I dry hair, too.

That might be important someday.

I’ve never trusted paper towels.

A hand dryer exterminates any germs on your hands that feed on processed paper, while a paper towel tends to nourish those germs.

I once overheard a scientist explain to a lawyer that paper towels contain miniature barf particles and no one has proven that they don’t.

You blow your nose with paper towels. Why dry your hands with the same thing?

I’ve overheard people say a paper towel can be a breeding ground for airborne disease molecules or it may promote a pus-sac rash, but I wouldn’t say that.

All I can say is I pity the damned landfill that houses the vast supply of Hitler’s soiled paper towels.

The most discouraging part of my day is when I’m drying someone’s hands and he walks away before they’re dry. He disgraces himself and me.

Loneliness is the hardest part of my life. People come, dry their hands, then disappear. I once overheard some guy say that fatherhood is the art of letting go. He got it half right: Fatherhood and drying hands are the arts of letting go.

I’m not footloose — I can’t do anything I want. I can’t have a TV show. I can’t star in a movie with Maggie Gyllenhaal. But so long as I’m mounted on this men’s room wall, no one can tell me how to dry hands.

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Squirrel

By: Chris Bucholz

“Veronica! Wait!” I’d spotted her near the bandshell, still as lovely as the last time I’d seen her, and I ran to catch up. “It’s me, Ted!”

“Ted?…Ted!? I…thought you left me.”

“Oh Veronica! I would never leave you like that. I’ve just been…hiding.”

“Hiding?”

“From predators.” I gestured vaguely toward the sky: “Large birds, dogs, shadows cast by airplanes…”

“But, Ted…” Veronica stammered, “how…how come you’re a squirrel?” She made a show of rubbing her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process. There was nothing wrong with her eyes. I was, in fact, a squirrel.

“It’s a long story.”

“It’d have to be.”

I scampered up onto a nearby park bench, and made a gesture I hoped was the squirrel equivalent of “please sit down and join me.” She hesitated for a second, then sat down, taking care not to squash my tail.

“Go on, Ted.”

I paused. I’d played out this conversation hundreds of times in my head over the last seven months. But rehearsing it alone, in the privacy of the park garbage bins, was one thing; to actually be face to face with Veronica again…

“Ted?”

I swallowed. I knew what I had to do.

“I…Veronica, do you remember the last time we were together?”

“Of course I remember, Ted. The fair last summer! How could I forget?”

“Right. The rides, the cotton candy. I tried to win you a stuffed animal at the ring toss.”

“Is that why you left, Ted? Because you couldn’t do the damned ring toss? It happens to every guy, I told you that!”

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I’d thought; she still wasn’t ready to focus on what really mattered.

“No, that wasn’t it. You remember, as it was getting dark and we were starting to leave, that fortune teller called out to us? To tell our fortune?”

“Yeah…”

I sighed again. “And I called her a…”

“…A…stupid, ugly gypsy.”

“A stupid ugly gypsy,” I confirmed, sighing again.

“Ted, did that fortune teller turn you into a squirrel?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so!”

“She had a friend do it.”

Veronica nodded slowly, digesting this. I was digesting most of a hamburger bun, myself, so I knew she needed time.

“So what now, Ted?” she said at last. “Do you want…to get back together?”

I had been afraid of this. I knew I owed her an honest reply, but that didn’t make it easy.

“Veronica, I’d be lying to you if I said I hadn’t had sex with nine other squirrels in the last 37 days.”

She looked heartbroken, like the little girl who’d tried to pet me just the day before. That girl didn’t like it when I scratched her hand, and Veronica certainly wasn’t enjoying this.

“Girl squirrels, of course,” I added.

“…of course…” she seemed close to tears. I tried to be gentle as I pressed on.

“No, what I want to ask you is…I’m pretty sure I left a bag of peanuts in your purse when we were leaving the fair that time. Do you still have them?”

“The nuts? No…no, they’re gone.”

“Damn. I thought that might be the case.” My nose twitched in disappointment. “Okay, well, I should probably get going. You know what this time of year is like. It’s all bitches in heat, bitches in heat…”

“I…did not know that.”

“Well, now you do.” I hopped down from the bench. “Anyways, you take care.”

I waved my tail and scampered away. I was going to miss Veronica. We had had some good times together; particularly when she was in heat. But things were different now. She no longer had any nuts.

And her hindquarters were all wrong.

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Why I Like Illegal Aliens

By: Michael Fowler

It isn’t just that illegal aliens will do jobs Americans won’t do. But of course they will. They will pick fruit, wash cars, wait tables, perform colonoscopies, design computers and test weapons systems, sometimes for hours on end in the brutal heat of a hospital examination room or the hurtling, pressurized cockpit of a jet fighter. You and I couldn’t do that, my friend. Don’t even say you could.

But illegals also read the books Americans won’t read: Orwell’s 1984, Locke’s Second Treatise of Government, Beckett’s Trilogy, even the works of snarky French postmodern novelist Robert Pinget. You won’t find any Americans willing to put up the endless effort involved in wading through these fiendishly difficult tomes from cover-to-cover. Real Americans read Grisham and Steele and other page-turning lightweights. Only our Hispanic brethren are willing to submerge themselves in the murky, Rio Grande-like depths of governmental theory and experimental fiction, and come up smiling. And they do it, for the most part, with less than a high school education and no fluency in English, and often right after scaling fences in Texas and Arizona and running from border guards and vigilante groups. That’s determination, paisano. You don’t have that fund of determination, and neither do I.

And illegals from across our southern border also watch the TV reruns Americans won’t watch. Reruns of Leave It to Beaver, reruns of Ozzie and Harriet, reruns also of Fury, the Story of a Horse, and of The Phil Silvers Show, and musty old footage of Mr. Peepers, The Danny Kaye Show, and Chico and the Man. No American will watch tripe like that. No American is that desperate for a good time, or that hard and tough. I know personally a Mexican immigrant of questionable legal status who watched bad American TV shows all day long without complaint: Sky King, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, even My Little Margie, in black and white no less. Never did he once change the channel until he found out he could. After that he tuned in Everybody Loves Raymond right away, just like an American, but I still give him unlimited credit for viewing an entire season of Burke’s Law without once griping or becoming ill. And a man who can watch Burke’s Law can also watch Mod Squad without breaking his back or bleeding to death. What’s more, he’ll get up the next day and do it all over again, and then write his family in Guatemala about it. I’ve seen it done, citizen, but not by you or me.

I could go on and on about the unpleasant things that illegals do for you and me in America, and for which we should be truly grateful: illegals drive the cars that Americans will not drive, wear the shoes that Americans will not wear, vote for the politicians that Americans will not vote for, obey the laws that Americans will not obey, and inhale the marijuana that Americans will not inhale. Illegals speak the languages Americans will not speak, attend the schools that Americans will not attend, join the armed forces that Americans will not join, drop the nukes that Americans will not drop, drink the water that American citizens will not touch a drop of, and use the public restrooms that the American public will not go near. And for this they deserve our thanks. We really could use millions more of them.

But perhaps nothing is more praiseworthy than the undocumented impressionists in our comedy clubs who do impressions of ancient Aztecs and Old World Spanish explorers that American impressionists will not even begin to impersonate. They’ll do archaic Mayans too, on request. I’ve seen aliens right here at the Go Bananas nightclub in Cincinnati, Ohio, smack dab in the American Midwest, take the stage at night and do a flawless Montezuma. In practically the same breath, they’ll turn right around and do a perfect Cortez. If the applause is right, they’ll throw in a passable King Quetzalcoatl from Chichen Itza. These are guys whose day job is picking apples in an orchard or teaching calculus at a two-year college, my friend. I couldn’t do it, and neither could you. Not even if we were comedians. I wouldn’t even try. I get torn ligaments and a sore throat just thinking about it.

For these reasons I propose the following immigration measure: after they have lived in our country and used our worst products and done our most unpopular jobs for 75 years, all the illegal aliens, most of whom I have met and like, must return home to touch base. They must then turn around and come right back, if they’re not too old. Anything more is xenophobia, anything less is amnesty.

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Zombie Outbreak in Small-Town Ontario as Chronicled in the Diary of a Teenaged Girl with a Hopeless Crush

By: Mike Richardson-Bryan

Dear diary,

God, nothing EVER happens around here. What does it say about my life when the highlight of my weekend is helping mom clean out the camper? Yeccchhh!

Dear diary,

Big news! Jason sat next to me at assembly today. I was so excited, I accidentally inhaled my gum and blacked out. STUPID! By the time I came to, Jason was gone, lured away by Jasmine AGAIN. Grrr!!! One of these days, she’s gonna get what’s coming to her.

Dear diary,

Went to another lame Battle of the Bands last night. One of the bands featured three original members of Loverboy, and they were barely halfway through their first song when their drummer went off his nut and attacked the judges (I think he actually bit one of them, too). They still won, though, which tells you something about the music scene in Ontario these days.

Dear diary,

There’s some kind of bug going around and it’s wicked bad. I sure hope it’s not that chicken flu that’s supposed to destroy mankind, unless of course it spares me and Jason and afterwards we get married and set out to repopulate the earth. In that case, bring it on!

Dear diary,

There was a big fight at the ringette game last night. It must’ve been ugly, ’cause apparently a lot of people got bitten and a few of them are still missing (including Mrs. Petty, my old home economics teacher, who I actually liked, although she wasn’t much of a teacher). The game was called, which is too bad for the ringette girls, who are having their winningest season ever. Go, Fightin’ Barn Owls!

Dear diary,

It seems like everybody’s got that bug that’s going around. On the bright side, so many kids are home sick that history class is down to just me and Jason (oh, and Mitchell, that geek with the lazy eye, but he doesn’t count), so we’re practically study buddies now. He even asked to borrow a pencil today! Unfortunately, I accidentally inhaled my gum and blacked out again. STUPID!

Dear diary,

Things are getting weird around here. People are going missing all over the place and a bunch of torsos turned up outside of town. The cops say it’s rowdy teenagers, but that’s what they say every time a window is broken or a car is rolled and set on fire or a family is attacked in their own home and eaten alive. Okay, so we did roll and burn that car that time, but it was Halloween, and besides it was only a Geo, so what’s the biggie? Stupid Nazis.

Dear diary,

My prom dress is finally done. It’s an explosion of plum satin with the biggest, puffiest sleeves you’ve ever seen and a TON of lace. And I made it myself! I guess I learned something in Mrs. Petty’s class after all. I sure hope they find the rest of her someday. Now all I need is a date. Fingers crossed!

Dear diary,

I have a date for the prom. No, it’s not Jason (big surprise). It’s Mitchell. I know, I know, but time was running out, and a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right? I just have to remember to dance real close so I don’t end up staring at that wonky eye all night.

Dear diary,

The prom was awesome! The music was good, the gym looked great (SO MUCH BUNTING), and as for the dancing…HOLY CRAP, THAT LAZY-EYED GEEK CAN DANCE! We tore up the floor like it was Dance Dance Revolution on bathtub meth! Before I knew it, my shiny new dress was soaked with sweat and my hair and make-up were such a mess that I looked like Tammy Faye Bakker after a mop beating, but I didn’t care. In fact, I was having so much fun that when Mitch leaned in to plant a wet one on me, I just cocked my head and let come what may.

But then the zombies attacked. Yes, dear diary, actual zombies, a shambling horde of them, intent on gnawing the flesh from our bones. What a buzz killer.

Everybody ran for their lives. Me and Mitch ended up barricaded in the nurse’s office with Jason and Jasmine. We thought we were safe, but then Jasmine went all zombie on us (the selfish skank got bit back in the gym and didn’t tell anyone) and we had to finish her. Jason tried to do it, but he chickened out. In fact, HE SOBBED LIKE A LITTLE GIRL. I had to do it myself, and believe me, I killed the stuffing out of her. It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would, to tell you the truth, but I sure wasn’t complaining, either.

We were finally saved by the ringette girls. Just before dawn, they swooped in with nail-studded ringette sticks in hand and cleaned house, busting zombies left, right, and centre. I swear, if they don’t win at least their division this year, then there is no God.

Afterwards, me and Mitch slipped away and did it in the janitor’s closet. Yes, DID IT. And take it from me, dancing isn’t the only thing he does with gusto.

So much for high school. I can’t exactly say these were the best days of my life, but the idea that they’re over forever definitely leaves me a little sad. I guess that’s what growing up feels like.

Now look out, community college, ’cause here I come!

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Water Buffalo Outsourcing

By: Eric Feezell

SCENE ONE: A DINNER TABLE

DAD: Great mashed potatoes, honey.

MOM: Thanks, dear. Kids, have you gotten enough?

< Phone rings >

DAD: Damn it! Who in the sam-hell is calling during dinner again?!

MOM: Let it ring, dear. It’s just another one of those telemarketers.

DAD: No way. I’m going to tell these bozos I’ve had it once and for all!

< Picks up receiver >

DAD: Hello?

TELEMARKETER: HHRRRUGGHGHGGBNAAHH!

DAD: Hello? Who is this?

TELEMARKETER: BBRRGNGHHNNNAAAAFFGHGGGGRRR, HHMPHR!

DAD: Oh, what is it with you telemarketers? You call and interrupt my family and me during dinner, and you don’t even have the common courtesy to put a human on the line? Good Lord!

VOICE: GGRNNBRRRHHMMM?

DAD: You bet your leathery hide, it’s a problem! You should be pulling plows in Indochina, not trying to sell me the San Francisco Chronicle! I mean, come on! Can you even read?!

VOICE: GRNBNAMAH, GRRNMMPH!

DAD: Well, to hell with you, then!

< Slams phone down >

DAD: Damn outsource!

*****

SCENE TWO: A HOME NURSERY

FATHER-TO-BE: Look, Abbey, it says right here: connect rod two to rod four with a one-inch screw! There is no one-inch screw! Since when do I have to be an astrophysicist to assemble a stupid crib?

MOTHER-TO-BE: Would you please just hang up your ego and call the help hotline? We’re not getting anywhere this way.

FATHER: Fine!

< Dials hotline number from instruction manual >

HOTLINE: BBRRRGGGHHHFF!

FATHER: Hello?

HOTLINE: RRRGGH, MMNNEWWWRRR!

FATHER: God almighty! < Covers receiver with hand and whispers > I told you this wouldn’t do any good. Damn water buffalo! They hardly even speak English!

HOTLINE: GRRNBH?

FATHER: What, sir? What did you say?

HOTLINE: GGGRRRRNNNNBBBHHHRRRYYEEEE!!!

FATHER: Oh, ma’am? Ma’am, I’m so, so sorry.

*****

SCENE THREE: TWO FRIENDS ABOARD A PLANE STUCK ON THE TARMAC

MIKE: Hey, Kevin. Check out these cool shoes in the Sky Mall catalogue.

KEVIN: Those are nice, man. Cheap, too! You should hook them up.

MIKE: Yeah, I think I’m going to order them right now. God knows we’re not moving anytime soon.

< Dials number on cell phone >

HOTLINE: MMRRRRGGHGNNN!

MIKE: Uh, hello? Yeah, I’d like to order the shoes featured on page 97 of the Sky Mall catalogue.

HOTLINE: NNRRGGHBNN?

MIKE: What?

HOTLINE: NNRRGGHBNN, NRG HHRRMB?

MIKE: No, not the suede, the other pair. It says here: Genuine oiled Sri Lankan leather loafers with —

< Click >

MIKE: Hello?

*****

SCENE FOUR: OUTSIDE AN EMERGENCY ROOM

IRRITATED MAN ON CELL PHONE: Look, lady. I’ve read the policy terms a million times! This visit should be one-hundred percent covered!

INSURANCE REPRESENTATIVE: Sir, if you would be looking in the words of your policy, it will clearly be stating that that is not being the case within the case of your policy.

MAN: Wait, what?! I — I can’t even understand you, ma’am! I mean, nothing personal, but what does it take to get someone who knows what the hell they’re talking about on the line? For Pete’s sake!

REP: I am being very, very sorry, sir.

MAN: Well, me too! Would you please just let me talk to your supervisor?

REP: I understand sir, please be holding for a moment while I am being connecting you.

MAN: Thank you!

< Holding music from other end of line >

MAN: Oh, great.

< Man paces back and forth for two minutes until music cuts off >

MAN: Hello? Is someone there?

SUPERVISOR: GGRRNNNMMMMEEEBBBRRRRYYTTTRRNGGGGHGH-GH!

MAN: Oh, you’re kidding me!

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