Four (or more) Can Play at That Game... [UPDATED]

What a hellish week.

It all started on Monday, when I walked into History of the English Language. I had expected trouble when I walked into the computer lab for my test, but what met my eyes nearly made me faint. There before me was an entire host of Saxon barbarians, armed to their filthy teeth with deadly weapons. Behind them was a horde of Norman soldiers, slightly more sanitary but equally well equipped. When they noticed me, the warriors let out an enormous shout that shook the very foundations of the building. Since the room was full of computers, I hurled a monitor at the nearest Saxon, snatched up a keyboard, and backed into the doorway.

The tide was slowed slightly by the bodies that I had felled with the monitor, but I was still in trouble. I swung the keyboard like a madman, desperately trying to hold the slavering barbarians at bay. My arms ached, I was bleeding from numerous gashes, and I could hardly breathe. Just when I thought I couldn't last any longer, the building lurched and several ceiling tiles fell to the floor, crushing my foes beneath them. Breathing a heartfelt prayer of gratitude, I rushed from the scene.

Tuesday passed without incident, but on Wednesday I had another encounter with the Ghosts of English Past. In class that day I was assaulted by an army of dictionary-wielding grammarians (including Jonathan Swift) who tried to bludgeon me to death while shouting about prescriptive grammars and phonetic spellings. I had kept the keyboard from Monday, and it served me well; my assailants had never seen such a device, and I was able to escape while they were distracted with it.

Thursday morning, I wandered over to Western Civ. I was greeted by a massive Troll. He wore a cloth world map like a cloak, and he brandished a yardstick in one hand and a hubcap-sized globe in the other. He roared a challenge as I walked in the door and swung his yardstick like a cudgel. I sought refuge behind a large atlas and fought the Troll with an Assyrian Assault Rifle and a steady stream of Rhine water. Some of my classmates chipped in with Siberian Stinger missiles and Tiber Torpedoes, and only three of our number died before the Troll fell. Five others were wounded, and I myself lost my spleen.

After the Troll, the Speech Sprite that afternoon was positively ridiculous. I babbled at him about Intercultural Communication and sent him packing.

I didn't think it could get any worse; so, of course, it did. On Friday morning, I made my weary way to Glaske for Modern Physics. Upon arriving, I discovered that Dr. Forringer, as a result of a particle-acceleration experiment gone horribly wrong, had summoned a Duality Demon from the Lowest Pits of Hell. The fiend was wreaking havoc with the building: tables and chairs were flying through the halls at relativistic speeds, computers were smashing into each other, and pencils were being converted directly into energy, resulting in massive explosions (fortunately, Glaske has a high-tech shielding system in place for just such emergencies). Everywhere I looked, particles were melting into waves and waves were coalescing into particles.

The demon laughed wickedly, fire and gamma radiation spewing from its fanged mouth. I was terrified, but I knew what I had to do. I drew out my pencil and my calculator and ran to the physics lab, where I found the experimental Flux Capacitor that Dr. Ball left behind. With the components in hand, I began the ritual. The demon saw me and turned his deadly attention my way, but it was too late. With a final resounding shout and one last push of a calculator key, I summoned the Spirit of Schroedinger. His Aura of Uncertainty completely neutralized the Demon's quantum powers, and I drove the Flux Capacitor deep into the Demon's burning chest. With a roar of fury and a flash of Hellfire, the demon was banished to Abyss from whence it had come. I collapsed, exhausted and burned, and blacked out. When I awoke, someone had connected the Flux Capacitor to the Tesla coil, and everything had been repaired.

I have never been so glad to reach a weekend.



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Kudos to these three guys for bringing the already fine art of bull**** to a whole new level, and to this guy for providing the impetus for their prevarications. I tip my proverbial hat to you, sirs. *bows*

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On a more serious note, the memorial service for my grandmother is being held today. Please pray for my family, especially my dad and his brother and sister.