When you realize you can’t smoke weed in Uglavaria you decide to retire to Lake Crump. Straight from The Leaf of Accordia get the truth behind the legal options available outside Infictive County. If you change channel looking for weather news you’ll find there’s a strong wind blowing, and nothing can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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It was late by the time you left Esozone Stadium, and it was hard to see the stop sign you ran. Of course, there are two police cruisers right there at the gas station, and of course you get pulled over. The cop lets you off with a warning though after seeing your skin color, because that’s how they roll. If you roll over, cover your self in blankets and try to get back to sleep then nothing can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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You know what’s about to come next, you can feel it. Ultrapronoiac froth flecks the edges of your nose and mouth. Grant cash runs dry and suddenly the whole theatrical performance has been put on hold. Apply for a job at the near by hospital just to get by, to pay the bills, and nothing can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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If you check out the bedroom you’ll probably get sucked into some sort of depressing spiral of meaningless noise. An hour passes and you’re still here, pondering what you could have done differently. These are the days you were warned about when you were younger, but you’ll have to take what you can get. You are the Hermit and nothing can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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You win. Your anti drug propaganda and lies have helped push mandatory five year prison terms for testing positive for marijuana. You are pushing for the death penalty for pot heads. Somewhere along the way your musical career stagnated, and you keep striking the same note. You do a side project to inject some life back into the tunes, for you will meet J.J. Lazar and there is nothing that can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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Respindling spimes requires focus, careful attention to detail, or the bad trip bunny will totally pull you off course. Search inside for things to throw in case you panic along the way. You paint what happens next. Bear in mind you own the goddamned hat you’re wearing, the motherfucking shirt on your back, and there is nothing that can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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You were given a choice. If you sit Buddha like amid the burning dice you can expect to find melted plastic all over your pants. You spend a couple week healing up at your parents place and it’s likely you’ll come out ahead of the game. Is there even a game? (This is not a game, not in your sense of the word: Imagine Hizmollka set loose on society!) Whatever your choice, this is your soundtrack!

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You go on a space mission and you get a job mopping the streets on which drives the culture of the OSK Group. Aurora of dawn breaking against the crystal dome inspires the diversity of spa products, cleansing services and therapeutic activities provided on the orbital platform. Wouldn’t you know it, your life has become some sort of television show that will be deleted on Mystery X Day without exception. You trained for this for six years and there is nothing that can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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As the day dawns, you are researching the Ellon Oil Co when someone outside shouts “Here comes the munchkins!” They’re all whacked out on Sceletium Tortuosum so you lock the doors and draw the curtains. Your research continues throughout the morning and there is nothing that can stop you. This is your soundtrack.

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This report begins where Gary Goldhammer begins, by stating that all media is social. The struggle today is between this notion of traditional, even quaint, media and convergence culture’s interactive narrative across a transmedia platform built for modular exposure of storytelling elements. Quaint media then is media that remains tied into a single point of access – when I use the term quaint media, think painting, newspapers, radio, broadcast television, puppetry, theater, and film – although we can go all the way back to telegraph, printing press, cuneiform tablets, herms and other statuary if you’d like. More important to this report is the juxtaposition between quaint media and transmedia, a much more useful starting point than ‘new media’ and ‘old media’ that offers little beyond starting debates about where to draw a line between the two.

Read the complete text of this report over at SloppyUnruh.

Lucy whipped the batter. “My arm’s sore!”

“Just a little bit longer, dear,” Mother said. “Until there’s no more
clumps.”

A box of cake mix and a can of diet coke mixed together, no egg, no water
or oil. That’s not the way it said to do it on the box, but it was the way Mother did it, so today it was the way she got to do it. Her arm hurt. “Look there’s no more clumps can I stop now?”

Mother checked the batter. “Go ahead, pour it in the pan.”

The oven was on, it was hot in the kitchen. Jeremy sat at the counter,
elbows akimbo, right knee bracing the back of his psp. Squeals, vrooshing,
and incessant techno-industrial background sound made Lucy say, “Turn
that down! Go in the living room!” She was perched in front of the oven
door, staring through the heat-shielded tinting at the baking pan slowly rising.

“What are you playing anyway?”

“You wouldn’t like it. I’m taking over the world.” Jeremy said, voice cracking.

“Tonight’s going to be Missionary Moc again, this is the last night he’s in
town.” Father spoke from the bathroom. “He’s headed back overseas tomorrow
morning.”

“So soon?” Mother said. “I couldn’t imagine living in the wild like that.”
She was reading a magazine, something about Healthy Living, or Clean
Houses, something with lots of ads. “Imagine having to actually hunt
things?”

“He’s doing God’s work, there’s a whole community out there and he’s a
central part of it all. Met with him at the Men’s Meeting, last night.”

“How’d that go?”

“Oh, you know.” The toilet flushed. “He did okay at the valley, we
matched them and then some, the elders were all fine with that. Gave a
fine testimonial too, on the efficacy of working hand in hand with the government
in the area. They’re connected fairly well as far as security, even.”

The door opened, Jeremy looked up briefly to watch Father step out of the
bathroom.

“Mommy! The cake is done!” Lucy rocks back and forth on her heels
when she’s excited, now she’s tugging at the front of the oven. “It’s at the
top of the pan!”

“Jeremy, put that game away and start getting ready for church. Lucy,
I’ll help you with the frosting.” Mother kissed Father on the cheek. “We’ll
be ready to go in an hour.”

An hour and a half later they pulled up into the church parking lot.

“Hello friends!” A white-haired, pink faced man squirreled through the
crowd and shook Father’s hand. “And how are you little girl?” He rubbed his
thumb across Lucy’s chin.

“It’s a great night for God, ain’t that great?”

“I made you a cake! I made it with diet coke!” Lucy said. “Mother
helped me frost it.”

“I have heard so much about the struggles the Lord has placed on your
path.” Mother said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is our daughter, Lucy.”

“Pleased to meet you Lucy, don’t feel like you gotta give me any money
at the love offering later!” Straightening up, the man introduced himself. “I’m
Joel M. Moc – no k. Just a c there if you look me up. I’ve got to say I’m
happy to see all of you come out on this Sunday evening. See this here’s
not just the work of the Lord, it’s a civic service I supply, I provide, I do not
believe you have the chance to say no to the Lord’s will, not you fine yes,
fine upstanding Christian folk like you!” He paused, winked, and shook Father’s
hand one final time. “I left all of the Elders the solution with instructions,
and it was a pleasure meeting with you and the other men.”

“Solution?” Mother asked after Missionary Moc started talking to the
Freeburg family standing behind them. “What are the Elders discussing?”

“I’ll tell you after the service, but it has to do with the new Eden.” Father
replied. “We’re starting our own new Eden right down in the valley next
quarter if God has His way.” The family moved through the foyer and into
the cavernous congregation hall. “We should sit in front of the sound booth
in case I need to jump up and help the guys with the audio visual portion of
his presentation.”

The sanctuary was lined with candles and statues of each of the apostles,
most of which retained small plaques with bible verses and the apostle’s
name. High above the pews, the vaulted ceiling seemed to scatter the
light from the inlaid gold filigree worked into the beams that supported the
roof. Lucy always found herself staring upward imagining the prayers getting
angled together and shot up to God’s ear from the steeple high above.

Tonight the church was fully illuminated, although sometimes they’d have
candlelight services and the candelabra on the alter in front of the podium
would be filled with twinkling LED lights. Father said they used to use candles,
but LEDs worked just as well and weren’t as dangerous.
Evening services always started a little late, and tonight was no exception.
Jeremy Batesom, the youth pastor, led the congregation in a few
songs with his guitar, then Missionary Moc took the lectern and prayed.

“God, we thank you for allowing us to gather here tonight in your honor, that
we might spread your light to the darkest, blackest places on this wonderful
world you’ve created.” The lights dimmed, a digital projector displayed a
windows start-up screen on the projector screen, and Missionary Moc began
to speak.

“Let me give you a little bit about my life so far, so you know how I got to
where I am. First I was born, okay, and then I grew up.” Polite laughter
from the congregation. “I went to school and then on to Miskatonic University,
just over five thousand students, four years… do you think I learned a
heck of a lot?” Missionary Moc clapped his hands together. “In my four years
living in Essex County, Massachusetts?”

“You learned how to drink beer.” Youth pastor Jeremy spoke up from the
front pew.

“I learned how to drink beer!” Missionary Moc pointed. “I learned how to
chase women.. actually I knew that before I got there, but.. I didn’t learn a
whole heck of a lot of anything, when I went to college. I learned most of
the wrong things. I was just another hungry ghost who believed that if you
couldn’t blind them with brilliance you had to baffle them with bull.

“That’s when I met Doctor Sheffield, actually at that point he was working on his
PhD, in the last years of writing his dissertation, and he had already been in
contact with the tribe I now work on today, and who I was here raising
money for last week. He’s the one, he is the guy who convinced me to
pursue a divinity degree there, at MU, and as a result I’m here before you
today. Now you may be asking how a biological scientist brought religion
into all this, but bear in mind Sheffield is both a medical doctor and a professor,
although he is more of a professor in theory now, published and discussed,
rather than pestered by students for class time. He is intent on
recreating the garden, and the entities that once lived there, the garden of
Eden, there in Genesis, as it is written. That’s the true new temple, the
only way paved through the bible back to godhood. He has the road-map,
he’s finding the way back to the source, where trees grew a different fruit
each month, where serpents spoke, flew, and walked on four legs. A tree
where fruit granted immortality, and could transmit information – all of this is
possible, he says, and our work is making it happen!”

Missionary Moc paused. “Imagine, this perfect place, rebuilt will be the
new hanging garden, the new Tower of Babel, the new temple, done right
and pleasing this time to the Lord! And we will reap the harvest. We already
have, I’ve brought back the precursors here for the new communion
for sinners. Just think, about them, these people who have but do not give,
who know but don’t show, they don’t tell, they sit silently beside each other
and do not preach when they are in the world. You know them, you even
work with them. Silence is enslavement to sin, God says, and I say it too.”

An image appeared of the strange looking creatures and tribesmen following
them, scraping at fibers hanging down from the animals tails. “Last
week a child sought to distract me from the Lord’s message. A child named
Sammy, who’s parents haven’t made tithe in three years but who had in his
hands a gaming device made from just this kind of rare earth elements, imported
from some godless communist regime, a gaming device his parents
purchased rather than make tithe. Sammy spoke out asking if these animals
really do eat their poop – and they do. They do, but only the first time
around, hardly as disturbing as some of the stuff your house cat might
cough up on the kitchen floor in your own home. Interrupting me during
service just to distract attention from my message wasn’t Sammy’s sin, his
sin was much, much deeper than that. I want you to open your bibles to
the Old Testament.” Missionary Moc toyed with the remote he held, advancing
the slide to a bible verse. “And understand what I mean when I say we
were saving evil men from themselves, we are saving sinners from themselves.
The government was going to slaughter the tribes in the jungle,
those who stood in the way of the industry there, and without Dr. Sheffield’s
injections those men would have died, killed by the government’s counter-insurgency force. Instead, they were changed,
brought into harmony with this new world we’re building together. We can
bring that injection, that salvation to others.

“Turning now to Malachi chapter two, I want you to look at verse three,
where the Lord says ‘Lo, I am pushing away before you the seed, And have
scattered dung before your faces, Dung of your festivals, And it hath taken
you away with it..’ it hath taken you away with it.. Are we allowing our festivals
to leave our faces smeared with poop, poop like little Sammy down in
the valley producing nothing, their family can afford new phones but do
they, does the church itself, the church in the valley, ever reach its tithe
mark? You, this, here, the shining Church on the Hill has always gone
above and beyond the tithe marks. It’s no different in the emerging
churches, the raising of prophets continues and to do that there must be
tithe.”

He swung his palm flat against the book, making a slapping sound. “Do
you run out of kleenex, toilet paper, and paper towels at the same time?
You know it’s true! God works in mysterious ways, he’s the invisible hand
and he strokes us at the most intimate levels. When you do not tithe, God
cannot repay you with interest! If you don’t invest in God, don’t expect him
to invest in you! Stop speculating on Satan’s stocks!

“Deep does God’s invisible hand reach, into the very slipstream of your
plastic lives! And you all know it, know it well. You live lives powered by
plastics, by lithium, by terbium, dysprosium, yttrium, thulium, and lutetium,
and we import all of it from a communist, a godless, godless communist regime
over there in China, or we find it in other hostile environments, and
we’ve been giving our money to them instead of to God. Admit it, some of
you have gone out and paid for an upgrade instead of tithed? How many of
you have gone to the movies, or spent your God money on donuts before
Sunday School in the church’s cafeteria? I spoke at the Mens Meeting
last night, and we know how many people there are in the valley who don’t
make tithe as of the census, and we also know that tithing here on the Hill, while
much more reasonably close to the mark, still falls two tenths of one percent
below the true income levels in this community. I come here to ask for
your love offering, but like Paul I come also to rebuke you. God needs your
money! And I’ll tell you how your money can, if you invest in God, bring to
fruition the life work of Doctor Sheffield, the new Eden. The Llama-II resource,
the perfect animal which creates the rare earth. No longer will your
children’s hard-earned chore money go to purchasing plastics and rare
earth elements from foreign, Godless regimes… these creatures of the
new Eden have a secondary anus which secretes bio-genetically engineered
dysprosium, yttrium, thulium, and lutetium, along with base filaments
of gold.”

“These tribes, lost in darkness, have allowed themselves to be confused
by the shadows of nature that surround them, they’ve become afraid and
overwhelmed by it all, and subscribe to witchcraft and superstition to ward
off death, or for success in harvest, in hunting, or to heal disease, even to kill. We all know what a whore witness is, and if you turn to the appendices in your
bibles, Mortiis chapter thirteen, where we read ‘..she can’t relate to suffering
because she has never suffered–she longs to taste suffering and
death, and can’t get enough of it in the form of testimony of others. She is
called the witness, she who finds fascination and delight in the destruction
of flesh.’ And we know that surrounding her are women who practice
witchcraft and magic, who revel in tales of gothic horror, grisly murder,
these are shades, specters who seek to tie us down to the things of the
world, not things of the Lord. These are the forces aligned against our
work with the tribes. And if you turn back to the Old Testament…” Missionary
Moc flipped to the middle of his copy on the podium.

Missionary Moc cleared his throat. “Last Bible verse, I promise, then
we’re done with the book for a bit, but I want to turn lastly here to Nahum
3:6, ‘And I have cast upon thee abominations, And dishonoured thee, and
made thee as a sight.’ We cannot allow sin to continue in a community,
and thankfully we no longer need stand by, the Lord has seen fit to provide
a new way to change the hearts and minds of others.

“Chance favors a prepared mind God always said, and in the field I’ve found that dictum serves one well.” The slides on the projector showed a
smiling white-haired man sitting with a group of children. “Dr. Sheffield
knew that the cure was the disease, and it’s only growing worse. Tonight
you all will have a chance to contribute to the final love offering before I
leave town.” There was more, but Lucy had stopped listening. She
thought the children in the photo looked scared, and wondered why.

After the service was over, there was dessert. The cake she had baked
and frosted sat on a white table with twenty or so other assorted cakes,
pies, and platters of cookies. While the adults stood around and talked the
children milled about eating cake, pie, large spoonfuls of ice cream. Video
games appeared from pockets, cell phones and text messages, cameras,
iPods, other gadgets appearing through the crowd that filled the dining hall
in the church basement.

By the time Father rounded Lucy and Jeremy up to lead them back to
the car, Lucy felt a little sick from the sweet stuff she’d been eating all night.
She dozed in and out of consciousness on the way home, while Father explained
to Mother about Dr. Sheffield’s transformational vaccine for sin in
the coming new Eden.

Twilight, new moon dancing through the sky where leaves twisted on the trees. Curt stared up through the window, laying across the backseat of the family car. Dad was driving. “We never go to church on Sunday nights.” Curt complained.

“There’s a man coming to town tonight.” Mom said. “He’s been a missionary and there’s going to be a reception afterwards.”

“There’ll be cake.” Dad promised. “And he’s got some interesting stories to tell, the boys have been going on and on about it all week. They saw him last week at the Hill.”

Curt fumbled with his phone. None of the games on it were any good, plus there was no room on it any more so it ran slow. “Can I have a new phone?” “We’ll see.” Dad said.

They had church in the Valley, it was closer to the house, Mom said all the time. Curt had been to the Hill once, he remembered. It was all stone, marble, lots of statues. There were hundreds of goblets and candles he wasn’t allowed to touch. In the valley they gathered on rugs in the grass and sat on rows of folding chairs spread out under the stars at night, large flaming sticks propped around the area. Church in the Valley drew a small crowd of people from the City, but none of them ever wore new clothes or dressed up like the people who Curt saw at the Hill. He knew most everyone in the Valley though, all the kids at least. Some of them wouldn’t be here, not this late, Curt thought. He tapped his phone again, scrolling past the boring apps.

“Hi friends!” A white-haired, pink faced man squirreled through the crowd and shook Dad’s hand. “And how are you little feller?” He rubbed his thumb across Curt’s chin. “It’s a great night for God, ain’t that great?”

“I have heard great things about the work you’ve done.” Mom said, shaking the man’s hand. “This is our son Curt.”

“Pleased to meet you little guy, don’t feel like you gotta give me any money at the love offering later!” Straightening up, the man introduced himself. “I’m Joel M. Moc – no k. Just a c there if you look me up. I’ve got to say I’m happy to see you three come out this way on this Sunday evening. See this here’s not just the work of the Lord, it’s a civic service I supply, I provide, I do not believe you have the chance to say no to the Lord’s will, not you fine yes, fine upstanding Christian folk like you!” He paused, winked, and shook Dad’s hand one final time. “Can’t wait until you hear the service, amirite?”

Dad laughed. “Not all slideshow? Good to meet you Joel.”

They sat down in the chairs, others already sitting and talking. Curt saw Sammy, a kid his age sitting two rows over and engrossed in his playstation. “Sss. Sammy!” Curt half-whispered. “Hey!”

Sammy waved, distracted, and focused back on the lights flashing in his hands.

Curt sat back, stared up at the stars. “It’s cold.” “No it’s not honey, it’s in the upper seventies.” Mom responded.

“But I feel cold.”

“Hi everyone, I’m Pastor Spencer and tonight we’ve got a special guest, Missionary Moc is a gentleman who some of you had the pleasure of speaking with already, he’s spent the last fifteen months in the field helping people achieve greatness even in the harshest conditions. As I’ve no doubt you’ll find his sermon fascinating, I’ll leave most of the details for him to present, but I do want to say what an honor it is to have him here in the valley, preaching under our stars. Later this evening there will be a love offering, Missionary Moc has a lot of work left to do out in the field, and he himself will tell you that a dollar just doesn’t go as far as it used to, ain’t it the truth?”

“Yes!” The crowd responded as one. Curt’s throat hurt a little.

“Hallelujah, ain’t it the truth. So our speaker works with indigent tribes, indigenous tribes I think it is, works with tribes that aren’t even literate! People don’t even know how to read, let alone read the words of our lord and saviour. He works with a translator and a team of medics and entrepreneurs to bring literacy and pull these people out of the abyss. Our church took a special donation this morning during early service, and we’re having another love offering tonight – for every dollar donated the Church on the Hill has promised to match us, so let’s make them proud!” Pastor Spencer looked to his left. “Looks like he’s ready, so without further ado, let’s pray.”

Everyone bowed their heads. Curt was supposed to close his eyes, but he looked over at Sammy and saw Sammy wasn’t closing his eyes either. Sammy was still playing his game, even. Curt was shocked. Dad would probably slap the game out of his hands and break it with his foot.. Dad would totally stomp on his game if he played it during prayer. Stunned, Curt missed most of what Pastor Spencer was saying, and when everyone moved again as one in raising their heads and opening their eyes, Missonary Moc had taken the podium.

“Friends, friends, Pastor Spencer spoke a moment ago about the illiterate among us. Now we all know how important books are, and learning is, and how we as a people are all benefited by literacy, not just because it let’s us read God’s book. Read the word of God. We know what he says! It’s there in english for us to read. Now think how important it was for your faith to read these words of God when you’re in a moment of crisis. Think how important words are to your very existence! Could you even get to a grocery store, let alone know what you’re buying, if you couldn’t read? Not very well, my friends, not very well. Now imagine that’s been taken from you, taken and you don’t have it, you don’t have that ability to read even a single word. Not even read the letters ‘H’ – ‘O’ – ‘L’ or the sometimes vowel ‘Y’ – nothing at all. Some one gives you a holy bible it’s like any other stack of paper, any other book. There’s nothing sacred in front of you if you don’t know it’s holy!”

Missionary Moc tapped his podium for emphasis, “We’re not just bringing people out of that abyss Pastor Spencer spoke about, we’re pulling them up out of the wages of sin and giving them the wages of the lord, which is mercy! Education! The fruits of the spirit, of spiritual labor! Our team includes not just a translator, who’s been putting the entire New Testament into the tribe’s native language, but who’s educating the tribe themselves on their own written language. It’s quite a feat, but we’ve managed to arrange it so that we take the children six days a week into a large building, where we check them for any abuse, provide them with proper medical attention. They have a meal twice a day, organized by charity donations from the UN, and without that meal some of these children simply wouldn’t survive – they’d have to be out with their fathers and mothers all day, fishing, working in the fields. Now they learn how to read, how to count, and some of them as young as four are already reciting the names of the apostles by heart! That’s the kind of change we bring to these people!”

“Amen!” A man Curt couldn’t see said aloud.

“We’re not stopping there though. The wages of sin is death, but the wages of poverty are sin itself. Helping these tribes means empowering them, and that means educating them and proving them with economic prosperity. A number of Christian entrepreneurs have donated their time and much of their money to the Llama II Initiative, something Doctor Sheffield has seen fit to initiate two years ago. Bringing the latest advances in nanotech and biosciences to help a starving tribe in one of the most remote sections of the world, the project brings to the village an incredible advance. We’re already importing genetically modified seed that produces much more abundant crops, and for years people have been sending goats, cows, and other livestock around the globe to tribes in need, and that’s where we step in…”

“My daddy says those things eat their poop.” Sammy shouted. Curt turned. The crowd turned. “Shhh” Curt heard Sammy’s mommy say.

“They do eat their poop! That’s a smart kid, Sammy, was it?” Missionary Moc smiled, pointed. “You still playing with your playstation? Why don’t I show you all a picture so you can look up here while I’m talking, okay?” He raised a small screen on a tripod, pressed a button and the screen lit up. “This here is a real Llama.” A fuzzy, long-necked llama, nose and face turned away from the camera. “It’s great for riding, you can make clothes with its fur, all around excellent companion, not as mean as a camel. Good starting stock for the Llama II, which is what Doctor Sheffield began. It’s a biological process, something he’s been working on for years, decades really, that creates the perfect livestock. Food, clothing, strength for plowing, easy to ride, an ongoing source of nutrition, milk, everything–all in one animal. Even more important, the delivery. It’s expensive to ship a goat around the world, especially by airplane. Entrepreneurs from christian churches around the world got together and worked out the logistics when the first charity organizations came together, and let me tell you there’s some amazing people doing the work of God. I’ve met people from all walks of life, all of them more concerned with giving to the needy than even their own self-interest, and I’ve taken from all of them what I can and do hope to share with you tonight, the message of a brighter future for everyone, a world where the word of God has been spread to even the most remote corner of the globe.”

Missionary Moc stopped for a moment. “I forgot to advance the slide, this is a Llama II” the screen filled with a strangely similar monstrosity, a face like a Llama up high with a larger, secondary mouth at it’s chest level.

“It has got two stomachs, two digestion systems. So it does eat its own poop, but right away, before it sits around too long. It roams in the fields, eating, pooping, eating the poop, fertilizing as it goes. I know, I know, it sounds disgusting to you, but it’s all quite scientific. And the landowners love these, they’re amazing workhorses. There’s only one sex, they don’t reproduce yet, but they make amazing meat eggs that are just delicious. The tribespeople love them.”

Missionary Moc clicked the remote again. “This is our village, you can see the school in the back there” a white, tin-roof structure that reminded Curt of an airplane hanger, cement floor, rows upon rows of folding chairs and folding tables. “Here’s the feast we had before we left” dirt floors, smiling people wearing dirty clothes holding plates of food.

“Here’s the view from the sky above the village” a structure through the trees, some of the Llama IIs milling about.

“We’ve been spreading the word of God, and medicine, and building rapport with the local governments around the area. Tonight I ask you to give of yourselves, give love to these people who most want for God’s word. Spread the joy of salvation to these people deep in the jungle, who don’t even know how to read!”

Missionary Moc stepped aside, and Pastor Spencer moved front and center. “The ushers will now come forward, and we’ll pass the plates while we close with a song. Everyone, please turn in your hymnals to 322, Onward Christian Soldiers.”

“It was the right thing to do.” Dad said. “That was an awful lot of money, sweetheart.” Mom said. The car sputtered and shook on the way home. Curt pouted on the way home, he’d been promised cake.

Directed by Mystery X 

A high school student pulled one over on the school administration and graduated before her work was discovered.

Sadly she’s been forced to pay for and apply stickers to the covers of all the remaining yearbooks, and, being the senior yearbook editor she’s probably feeling pretty fucking stupid… but I thought it was great, and suspect that the ongoing, and growing coverage this cover is getting is highlighting the power her prank has had in creating a viral story. So for that, I give her a thumb’s up.

The book @fenris23 and @zenwerewolf wrote and published is now on amazon – since it’s also freely available online via the snazzy image on the left sidebar over there, we only ask that, if you’ve enjoyed it or found it useful, that you let other amazon readers know by fleshing out the comments.