“Now that’s a suitably epic conclusion!” smirks Odysseus, wiping blood from his spear.

“Epic?” says Athena. “That muse doesn’t exist yet, and this is the second epic ever, and its conclusion is me ex machina. Again.”

“I could have taken them,” says Odysseus, smearing bloody hands onto his bloody breastplate.

“Obviously,” mumbles Laertes. “You already killed their sons. And grandsons.”

“Whatevs!” says Odysseus, wading into bloody surf to blood the blood off his bloodblood. “I’m king again, at least until I die peacefully, in water, as prophesied!”

“Isn’t that something shiny?” points Athena.

“Wow!” says Odysseus, and strikes out from shore.

These pages contain no flames whatsoever. The words herein will not evoke from thin air any of the nine elements, nor will their use in conjunction with telluric resonant circuits produce bends in the matter of time. The names within are fictional, and any resemblance to gods living or dead is entirely coincidental. This book provides no guarantee of internal Euclidian geometry. The hagiographic index may not be used to tempt saints.

This comprises the entire and binding agreement between READER and EDITOR. In no event will the EDITOR be liable for consequences of misuse.

<H’rnhoth> I agree <Iighilló> I decline

Seriously! This shouldn’t be that shocking! The Cabinet is composed entirely of lycotroids swathed in human flesh. So what? It’s 2012! Lycotroids have been public knowledge for years, at least on the right messageboards. They’re already among us, like Farmont there, from the Post. Isn’t that right, Farmont! Farmont’s a plant, everybody.

See that? Transparency.

Lycotroids are citizens–working, buying groceries, paying taxes–okay, not the taxes, haha. They’re fellow countrybeings, and they have the best interests of our species at heart! Or technically at liver.

That the President was born a woman, okay, there it makes sense to be startled.

On Thursday, unbidden, shadows start spreading: pooling in shallow depressions, dragging along reluctantly, getting fat and lazy in the light of noon. In rural areas, some get pulled into streams and simply disappear.

It’s Kori and her thinspiration community who first notice that they’re losing weight, and their shadows are gaining. The news spreads quickly. The smarter people hide in their basements and put blackout curtains on the windows. They can hear their shadows growling, but it’s soon drowned out by the poor people outside: they’re the ones on the ground now, shrieking, helpless, stretched like taffy by the setting sun.