“More after I finish my essay,” Charisma promises the adoring crowd, who sigh and aww. She rerobes and pockets the cash before turning to Racell, who’s scribbling in her reporter’s notebook.

“You don’t even dance?” asks Racell. “You just… pose for money?”

“Like a life drawing class,” smiles Charisma as they walk to her dorm. “Sans the middleman.”

Racell nods, fascinated. “And the money’s supported you in earning–what, three PhDs?”

“Maybe four, if I ever get started writing!”

They shake hands; Charisma closes the door, sits, breathes, and opens Word.

This is my esasy! she types. the theses is: HITLERS

RESULTS: MODS CLAIM HOUSE FROM ROCKERS! chokes the headline before Freddy rips the paper in two and lets it flutter dramatically away. Then he kicks his bike.

“Those scootering cunts! We’ll never have a decent speed limit again!” moans Chuck. “Let alone the radio. What will we do, Freddy?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” Freddy throws his scarf back over his shoulder. “We’re going to grow out of faddish politics, and let a younger generation find common ground in a new ethos called ‘punk.'”

He stands there for a while, fluttering.

“Isn’t that the same as losing?” says Chuck hesitantly.

“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