Things You Should Hate: You should hate the name Jen. You should hate that you’ve said it so many, many times. You will decide that her name looks ugly and foreign, like a Swedish abbreviation for January.

Girls You Should Have Sex With: You should have sex with the exact opposite of Jen. You should have sex with a girl who looks exactly like her. You are not going to have sex for what feels like a thousand Jens.

Governor Terrance is governor of our brave colony. He reminds us, “You better believe freedom is not free, because it isn’t. It is expensive as stuff.” The governor presses his index finger against the top of the lectern very hard, and he does it again and it becomes a kind of violent stabbing motion, which is not winning over the crowd necessarily.

In chimes Jeremy from nearby the stairs: “As shit, don’t you mean, Governor?” then, “As shit?” he repeats, and it’s clear Jeremy is fond of speaking that word. The governor regards Jeremy—who is after all only fifteen and prone to saying just whatever he feels, whenever it pleases him. Narrowing his Governor eyes to angry slits but nodding pensively, the Governor says, “Yes young man, yes Jeremy, it’s as expensive as how you put it. Thanks so much for that.” And the governor begins to clap gingerly, sarcastically, but no one in the crowd is amused by this, and so shortly after he started clapping the governor stops.

There was a pivotal point in my life where I realized that not all compliments were sincere, and often were people just shining sunlight up my ass for the social convention of “just being nice.” My mom would be the first to unintentionally reveal this. She was a very nurturing person, who consistently took me

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So I head for the MVA Express Office in Kenilworth Mall with my foot in a cast to replace my missing driver’s license and I get there at ten to stand in line just long enough to read all the signs: We Only Do Licenses Not Tags, Leave Expired Tags Here, Register to Vote Here, and No Smoking Food or Beverages, and that was okay, me no longer smoking food or beverages.

Some may call me old-fashioned. Some may call me backwards. Some may say I am standing in the way of the inevitable march of technological progress. I say to those people, “bah!” “Foh,” I say to them! Dear sirs and madams, our society is not experiencing admirable growth, as some may have you believe, oh no! We as a people are being drawn ever increasingly downward into a horrible pit of decadence, chicanery, tomfoolery, and no small amount of monkeyshines. One may be tempted to disagree. One may take the convenient path and brush off my warnings. One may lazily leave society to rot whilst he swills cheap brew and watches muscled men homoerotically grapple in an eight-sided cage. Mind you, gentle statesmen; these are no mere ravings of a madman. There is clear evidence of the backsliding of our society. One needs look no further than the deplorable state of formal letter writing in contemporary times. What was once an exercise in intellectualism and civility has all but vanished, replaced instead by communication so crass I can barely stand to think of it.