"Mothra is coming," he thought to himself.

"Mothra is coming," he thought to himself. Somehow he knew. He put fresh water and food in the cat's bowls, and pulled out some work-clothes from a pile. He packed his lunch and

headed off to his lab at the University of General Ignorance. Prof. Boffin had been conducting a study on moths and Mothra. A flickering light bulb had shown

that moths are attracted to light. Nobody was interested. As if the world already knew that fact. He drank another bottle of scotch to drown the feelings of self-hate and tried

to create a new fact. "Did you know that I'm thinking about lunch?!" A crowd of truth seekers gathered around him. "Did you know I feel cold?" "No, I didn't know that!" said one.

He couldn't compete with Twatter, though. Twatter let people talk to vapid celebrities, like some disgusting cult of ignorance paying homage to overpaid egocentric LARPers. Revenge

is a spiral, and I was trapped inside. I'd spent two summers at the ren faire biding my time, getting in deep. My appetite for vengeance was matched only by

my desire to win the most coveted of all prizes at the Ren Faire: the Golden Codpiece. Perhaps I could gain revenge against my enemy AND win the Golden Codpiece, since we were both

is an awesome break dancer. My nemesis was more interesting than me, better looking, and unlike me had a sense of humor. But I had black magic and could close off his throat

singing with just a withering glance. So I throat sang with gay abandon while my nemesis could only look on in frustration and that's how I got the girl. End. Of. Story.