Behind St. John’s Pediatric Hospital, a crowd of red-eyed men and women gathered around a large metal box, watching as Amanda Nunn fed the Waynerator+ the fuel it required to create electricity:

“You a beaver allergic to wood,” Amanda said, her voice hoarse. “Call that a dam shame.”

Genie floated above Aladdin, a towering blue know-it-all. “I grant you three wishes, little man,” Genie said. “The rules are—”

“I wish for the ability to stop biting and picking my fingernails,” Aladdin replied.

The corners of Genie’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Biting your nails?”

“Biting and picking,” Aladdin said. “I wish for the ability to stop biting and picking my fingernails.”

Every member of this chatroom knows I write extremely graphic (but tasteful) Lord of the Rings erotic fan fiction. What most of you do not know is that, in case my apartment building burns down, I always carry a USB with my life’s work saved on it. And … yesterday … yesterday I lost the USB at a Baskin-Robbins.

This is it you son of a bitch, your first walk to the ring as a professional cage fighter. I bet Gretchen’s chin is on the floor right now. When my walkout song starts playing, I might pull my hair out. This is why you trained for twenty years. Kids in school thought you were a loser for doing Jiu Jitsu instead of playing football. Yeah, well how does my Louis Vuitton cape look in HD? Listen to that rowdy packed house. They’re not ready for my song. It’s too perfect.