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Goin' Buggy!

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Voyager Probe Badly Damaged After Smashing Into End Of Universe

PASADENA, CA—Confirming that several components had broken off the craft and that most of its scientific instruments were no longer operational, officials from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory announced that Voyager 1, the pioneering space probe launched in 1977, had been severely damaged Thursday after crashing into the end of the universe.

Leaked Documents Reveal Studio Executives Knew About ‘Gods Of Egypt’ Before It Released Onto Public

SANTA MONICA, CA—Suggesting that the disastrous events of three months ago could have been averted, federal investigators stated Wednesday that a trove of leaked documents confirmed high-ranking studio executives had full knowledge of Gods Of Egypt long before the film was released onto unsuspecting Americans.Investigators described those who allowed such a screenplay to be carried out as “extremely sick and heartless individuals.”

Books Vs. E-Readers

Though e-readers have increasingly supplanted books in the digital age, many bibliophiles defend the importance of physical texts. Here is a side-by-side comparison of physical books and e-books
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Goin' Buggy!

Well, week two of being an enormous cock-roach, and I must admit that it's not so bad. If this sentiment sounds curious to you, bear in mind that prior to this metamorphosis, I was a 132-year-old human being who was constantly bed-ridden. My mobility has greatly improved, and I can skitter about quite ably from room to room on my six hairy legs. I have a commanding set of mandibles, and my shell is of an attractive mahogany hue. It's not glamorous, but I must say that if I had to metamorphose into an insect, I could have done far worse, such as a meal-worm or one of those creepy luna moths. Ewww! My exoskeleton crawls just to think of it!

Also, it's not as if there were a dainty lady around here who would scream and faint dead away at my shocking condition. The only woman is Nurse Pin-head, and she's about as squeamish as a pillar of flint. When she saw me scaling the wall of my study, she merely shrugged and walked away. It took Doc McGillicuddy a few minutes to notice what had happened to me during my weekly check-up.

Responding to my queries about my condition (I can still talk despite my commanding set of mandibles), Doc McGillicuddy produced a small pamphlet. It was a narrative about a Jewish sales-man from Prague who experienced a similar physical transformation. Curious, I bade Nurse Pin-head to read it to me. At first, I found the description of the petit-bourgeois preoccupations of Mr. Samsa and his family rather twee, discursive, and far too conversational for a medical-tract. And I kept wishing that the author would get to the part about the cure. Then Nurse Pin-head read aloud the char-woman's discovery.

"Holy shit!" I shrieked. "You're going to kill me!" My antennae quivered uncontrollably, and I shot under-neath the sofa in my study as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn't care if it was socially unacceptable to turn into a giant bug; no-one was going to hurl apples at me! In spite of my servants' entreaties, I refused to emerge. "If there's no cure for my condition, so be it!" I cried! "Just call me Blattella germanica from now on. And while you're at it, bring me a plate of rotten meat!"

I don't want any-one feeling sorry for me. Come to think of it, no-one felt sorry for me when I was an infirm old man, so the hell with you all! I still spend most of my time under-neath the sofa, but for the last couple nights I've been going down to the kitchen and lingering around the sink-pipes. I like the dampness, away from the char-woman.

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