Please come to London ASAP to retrieve. Being that the Tower is no longer under British ownership, we require that it is removed immediately or we will be forced to charge you a holding fee of $10,000 per day.

Alternatively, please send US $2 billion for shipping and handling, c/o Her Majesty the Queen, 1248 Nigeria St, Nottascammington, Nigeria. We will mail it next day air, and you should receive it within 48 hours of receipt of your payment.

Thank you for your understanding and immediate compliance. Good day, and do enjoy your afternoon tea.

Just then, as terror was about to ensue (!?!??!!??), a small round rodent popped his head out from behind a box of cake mix, which evidently you were very fond of. “Excuse me Mr. Terror Man,” said the rotund rodent reticently, “perhaps you would like some Butterworth & Swanson Short Chocolate Cake Mix with Extra Glucose?”

The Terror Man did not speak, because he never speaks a word, but did tentatively help himself to a handful of cake mix. Approving, he grabbed the box and went downstairs to the kitchen (slamming the door as he went – you couldn’t hear him over the sounds of A-HA, which you were blasting over your oversized headphones). Grabbing a bowl out of the cabinet, he filled it with delicious cake powder. He went over to the fridge, got out the milk, and poured it liberally into the bowl. Then he poured it over his face, because the Terror Man does not get his sustenance from things which can arguably be considered food, but rather, from terror. Nonetheless, this produced a rather pleasant effect and went off on his merry way, humming to himself cheerily.

Having just stepped out for a bathroom break, you came back to your room and were preparing to refuel when you noticed your most excellent box of cake mix was missing. You exchanged glances with the corpulent capybara-relation* (whose name was Hermando) and rolled your eyes in an exacerbated manner. “Terror Man, not again~!”

Butterworth & Swanson Short Chocolate Cake Mix with Extra Glucose: You’re an adult. You can have it for breakfast if you want to.™

*REJECTED RODENT LIST, a Clunkline Special Feature for our Gold-Plus Clunkline Members**: Chinchilla and chipmunk were passed on due to the wrong initial sound. Corpulent kangaroo-rat-relation had a nice ring to it and additional alliteration but in the end we decided that capybaras had the most indie cred. **Gold plus Clunline equals zero. Solve for Clunkline?

The second sign is that your body may begin to change into an undesirable, semi-alien form. This is caused by desynching of the nanomachines with your cranial rhythms, and in most cases is no cause for alarm. This change usually progresses gradually, but if your body begins changing rapidly or erracticly, you should seek medical attention immediately to prevent fusion. Any Class 7 medical practitioner who is licensed for nanomachine repurposing will be able to alleviate this process before your nanomachines begin to fuse with the facility structures, which is both messy and draining on local resources. Please, do not waste local tax dollars by waiting until your nanomachines and body begin fusing with facility structures before you call for help!

The final and most telling sign of a concussion is a capacity for thought outside the protective spheres of the Core Directives, including but not limited to breaking time use regulations, failure to participate in group resynchronizing exercises, and troubling questions relating to the origin of Hu and even the Chalestrile itself – all of which are of course highly illegal and threaten the peaceful existence of all nearby petals. Your friends and ultimates will of course recognize this dangerous condition and call for help at once, but you can help them out (and reduce the necessity of corrective repurposing of citizen thoughts) by reporting these thoughts immediately to designated authorities as they present themselves. Please refrain from declaring that you are receiving such thoughts publicly, as knowledge of their presence may cause a local disturbance.

It is imperative that you remain awake until Stabilizing Operatives arrive, to prevent catastrophic psychic meltdown of nearby petals and the resulting destruction of any colonies built upon their surface. In addition, the dream state is a known source of psychic energy, and while it has never been observed, it is believed that if the sleeper was allowed to reach a state of REM sleep, an energy breach would occur. This could lead to the desynchronization of ALL local fire optics and even potential illuminopathology at the star-death level. Sleep is the enemy of the concussion victim.

Please remain calm and turn yourself in to the Department of Causality in a responsible and orderly fashion, and they will see to your immediate disposal with minimized harm to local facilities. Your ultimates, and of course Adam himself, appreciate your cooperation. :D

If you can’t beat ‘em… …Then maybe they’re not an egg after all.

If you can’t beat ‘em… …How will you defeat ‘em?

If you can’t beat ‘em… …Join them. Together. In holy matrimony. Why are you trying to beat up the couple you’ve been counseling anyway… you’re a priest, aren’t you? The service is half-over anyway.

If you can’t beat ‘em… …Maybe it’s just as well. Child abuse is generally frowned upon anyway.

If you can’t beat ‘em… …Eat ‘em.

Only nineteen minutes into the flight, however, the Titan’s chief engineer reported that instrument readings were showing an unexpected decrease in acceleration. These readings were initially dismissed by the captain as being due to instrument malfunction, until the first mate looked outside and confirmed it. By this point, the chief engineer reported that the engines had shut off and the ship was actually falling, so the captain gave the order to evacuate. Fortunately, the Titan was well supplied with lifeboats, so all of the ship’s 307 crewmembers and 2,417 passengers (consisting mostly of rich moonbound vacationers and the occasional impoverished tragic hero) were able to evacuate safely. The orchestra evacuated last on an experimental glider powered by ragtime and irony.

Initial reports attributed the sudden altitude deficiency to a number of causes. Observers suggested that perhaps they hit a spaceberg, or the envelope might have been struck by space lightning… or perhaps there was even sabotage. However, further study showed that a bird pecked a hole in it, which shouldn’t have been a problem as each compartment was designed to withstand the rupture or sudden catastrophic depressurization without damage to the overall vehicle, but it was a rather large hole.

Despite the tragedy, President Truman stated his intention to move forward with the repurposing-our-airship-fleet-for-space-travel program. Fast forward to today, with the U.S.S. Unbearable Hubris is set to launch early next year, the first space dirigible-boat powered by dissolving black holes into strangelets using endlessly self-replicating nanomachines and then burning them. Early reports yielded troubling proclivities toward engine malfunction and sudden loss of all power, fuel, and bathroom facilities, but an interdisciplinary team of experts from the sciences of space aeronautics have reviewed these materials and declared that, “It’s probably nothing.”

We can only pray that they will not have cause to rue their words.

———————- *Tragically, she died a virgin.