"Self-examination is the mother of escapism."

"Self-examination is the mother of escapism." Jean-Paul took a long drag from his clove cigarillo and looked severely at Camille. In turn, she removed her heart-lensed sunglasses

and twiddled them in her hand. She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear & sipped some lemon tea. She pursed her lips & rubbed her nose. Camille looked at Jean-Paul & said, "Bof."

Jean-Paul the bloody gaping hole in her palm. Stigmata. Crossing himself, he fell to his knees & wept. "Oh get up, you big oaf!" said Camille. "It's not stigmata. I accidentally

nailed my hand to the wall once!" Jean-Paul's eyes glowed white. A lightening bolt struck Camille, searing her flesh into the ground. JP raised his stygmatic bloody hand to the sky

, teeth shuddering. His Retinom froze time and sent the image in stereo to his Instygmatic Ikon Cave. JP had given up, but still tried to give hope. Poor seared, smokin' Camille la

Bamba could get no satisfaction from his Dalek avatar. Without chilling fear she got no arousal. JP just looked like a salt shaker. Camille sent him a holographic rejection

letter for his latest manuscript. When would JP learn to align his paragraphs correctly? What a chump. Camille hooked out of the cynet and sent Bamba a litho-tweet, wondering if

The settings were still messed up.

The mechanical television picked up the signal from the short-wave radio. Staring at the 5 inch screen, I was able to see a shadow of a hand. I see no future for this medium.