After years of writing about the death of cinema, I’m thrilled to report that Hollywood has been reborn. Recent blockbusters like Call Me By Your Name 2: Powered by AT&T Wireless proved that emotional depth and aggressive brand integration saved the industry. I laughed. I cried. I purchased a popcorn bucket shaped like a Motorola Razr. Movies are no longer magic—they’re better.

I’m a volcano’s volcano. Vesuvius. Pompeii. Krakatoa. It’s about the artistry. That’s why my first eruption had to be perfect. I planned it for over 10,000 years—curating landscapes, correcting vibes, ignoring the constant, unbearable pressure building below my crust. There was always something wrong.

Dear Kevin in 3C:

Congratulations on the five-day bender. Incredible. How did all those people fit in your apartment? My wife and I thought nothing would ever top your last Labor Day marathon. You’re an inspiration, Kevin. We used to get wild. The baby made us forget. But you’re our reminder, Kevin, that the party’s still out there.

An excited Professor Maxwell watched from behind his podium as the last Chemistry 101 students trickled into the lecture hall. Professor Maxwell wasn’t excited because today marked the start of another semester, or even because he loved teaching chemistry. Professor Maxwell was excited because he was an asshole. A fresh batch of doe-eyed pre-medical students meant another opportunity to give The Speech.

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.”