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I realized I might have been connecting the

  • I realized I might have been connecting the dots wrong, so I checked myself into the Bastille to stew in my paranoia. Luckily they had a dank, dark cell on the lowest level, where

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  • they kept all of the nihilist existentialists who wore berets and smoked little black cigarettes. The Bastille wasn't too bad they gave us rations of bagettes and Evian. I planned

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  • to debate my Bastillemates' claim that purpose doesn't exist yet their framework for judging purpose does. They said meaning doesn't exist, ergo my argument was meaningless. I wept

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  • and fell into a deep hatred of myself and by extension all of mankind. So I decided to open a lawn care business that only operated from 0600 to 0900 on weekends. My Bastillemates

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  • thrilled at the idea when they heard me mumbling about it in my sleep, and insisted on joining me. I grumbled, "How many

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  • pecks of pickled peppers did Peter piper peck?" They all looked stunned. Speech therapy works. My cleft palate has been defeated. But they still wanted to join me in my sneaky

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  • conspiracy to ban the 's' from the alphabet. That is the most difficult letter to pronounce with a cleft palate you see. So we sneaked into the state library that very night and

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  • armed ourselves with the completely gimmicky, Lynchian bullshit of removing the letter E. With a rudimentary vowel vainly out of the way, we crept in search of S. The library was

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  • awash with my own brilliant ideas, all involving letters, each more subtly clever than the last. I threw up in my own mouth with the sheer excitement I got from nerdish wordplay

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  • . And that, dear friends, is how I succeeded Vanna White as hostess on Wheel-of-Fortune. Quite a story, even I have to admit. But it's true. Every last word of it.

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