L'Heimlich Maneuver

Ever since Scott Walker accidentally told a Jewish citizen "Molotov," in a letter, society has been going crazy over his gaffe. Most notably Stephen Colbert on his show, The Colbert Report. Now, we're certainly not here to talk politics about anyone, as that goes against policy. (Oh, who am I kidding. Our policy is mostly made up at this point.)

The point being, when a prominent politician makes a goof of this scale, we're bound to notice, and inevitably poke fun at him. All we have to say on the matter is that Mr. Walker must not have the acquaintance of many Jewish people, or he is regrettably uneducated on household explosives.

For Mr. Colbert's scathing commentary, click below.

Click HERE for a video. Do it now.

Politically Correct Christmas Carols

Just a little something we thought you'd enjoy.

So It Begins

Letter from the Editor

Hey, dudes and ladies. It's been a rather hectic November, has it not? We've all been very busy around the school, which kind of explains our lack of a presence on this blog. (And really, I'm kind of running this blog alone at this point. Eh. C'est la vie.)

As you may have noticed, it's almost Christmas.

Yay.

Christmas is not a good time for some of us bloggers. There's the ubiquitous family gatherings, the turkey, the consumerism, the devil worship. Eh. You know how it is.

So in honor of that, we are posting! There will be a lot of ranting about the holidays. some very enthusiastic articles, and maybe an in depth discussion of why Satan is Santa. It's still relevant, guys. Still relevant.

-Glinda, Witch of the North

Here Comes Santa Claus

For me, that is the most ominous song of the season. The very mention of that title sends a shiver down my spine and curdles my blood. Why? Because Santa Claus is coming. HE'S COMING, GUYS. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. And if that doesn't terrify you, nothing else can or will.

Christmas is the season of rampant consumerism, and it starts just after Thanksgiving. Think about it. We spend an entire day with our friends and family talking about how thankful we are to have each other and how family is important and all that stuff, and then the very next day we get up at o dark thirty to stand in line for hours on end to buy stuff.

And then we spend the next month buying things. I swear to god, Christmas was only invented to boost our struggling economy.

No, that's not right. It was invented to overshadow Saturnaelia, a pagan festival around the same time of the year. Tell ya, the Church is everywhere in world history.

Not to mention the month of ads about Christmas blowout sales and all these good deals. Really; the only commercials that I want to see are the ones for the third Hobbit movie. Because that will most likely be good and not annoy the crap out of me.

Also, I have to spend too much time with my family. My family doesn't play well together and I find it annoying that I have to continue to spend time with them. As if Thanksgiving wasn't enough, I now have to suffer through the oyster stew and arguments another time, all under the pretense of family unity and the spirit of Christmas.

Like, can we just not?

This is Halloween.

Letter From the Editor

Hello, my little turtles, and welcome to the latest issue. You may have noticed a slight hiatus. We are working on that. That had to do with people not meeting deadlines, including me. So we're all at fault here, so you know.

As you may have noticed, it is Halloween this week, so we (I) have decided that we are to have a spookily themed issue. This will involve newsflashes on the Great Skeleton War, how to summon a demon in seven simple steps, and many other exciting articles. So, let the fun begin!

-Glinda, Witch of the North

Blast from the Past

In Blast from the Past, we are starting out with a scary themed short story that was written two years ago but is still pretty scary. We're actually getting chills just thinking about it.

The Devil in Vienna

The events herein portrayed cannot be defined as either true or false.

It is up to the reader to decide.

Vienna

Present Day

The Great Abramovich was not in the habit of having guests in his dressing room before a show, but when he did, his manager knew not to ask any questions. The rare strain of people who are acquainted with illusionists often have strange and often deadly secrets, and it’s usually better not to speak to them for as long as possible.

But on this night, and with this particular guest, Jonathan Flannery, Abramovich's manager, was having a hard time obeying this self-imposed rule.

The mysterious guest had arrived two hours before the show was due to start, and had demanded to be let in. When Flannery had asked who he was, the man, covered from head to toe in black clothing had simply said, “He will want to see me.” So Flannery had lead the man into the theater, and started up the stairs, and was surprised when the guest waved him away, claiming he didn’t need a guide. Flannery was sure he hadn’t seen this particular man before, he knew he would have remembered.

Flannery watched him limp up the stairs, then shuddered. He got the feeling that tonight was not the best night to hang around. He turned away and went back to his normal work, wondering how it was that Abramovich always made friends out of the strangest people.

~~~

The guest raised one gloved hand and knocked quietly on Abramovich's door. The door swung open, almost as if it were expecting a visitor. A nondescript man in a black tuxedo with a small black beard sat in front of a huge mirror, brushing powder on his face. He looked up arrogantly at the guest.

“Yes?” He dragged the word out, seemingly relishing in it. He returned his attention to the powder, a smirk on his face. The guest unwound the long black scarf from around his face, then hung it over the back of a chair.

“Mr. Abramovich, I am so very glad to finally make your acquaintance. My employer has told me so much about you, and it seems that we are going to be spending a very long time together.” The words came out, all consonants and vowels intact, but with a slight Hungarian accent.

“And who, may I ask, is your employer?” Abramovich glanced sharply at the man, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. 

“The Devil.” This piece of information elicited a reaction from Abramovich. He dropped his powder brush, white dust now covering his shoes.

“You see, Mr. Abramovich, although you did not know it, you have stolen something from the Devil. Now he wants something from you in return. Otherwise you will have to pay a heavy price for your thievery.”

“What exactly did I steal?” A look of unbelief crossed over Abramovich’s face. Although he was certainly nervous about this unknown guest, he didn’t quite believe his unreal story. The guest smiled. It was an unnerving smile, and did nothing to calm Abramovich’s already unsteady nerves.

“Mr. Abramovich, I am quite sure you can guess. You stole your magic from the Devil, my employer.” The stunned look on the magician’s face was enough to encourage the Devil’s employee to continue. “Now,” he said, “The two of us know that not one person in your audience believes for a second that what you do up there is real. My employer, however, knows better. Instead of making a fair and honest deal with him to obtain some of his power, you stole it from him, like a dishonorable and cowardly man rather than the fair man we both know you to be. So, he has decided to give you a choice.”

The magician didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he spoke, albeit reluctantly.

“Well, sir, since you don’t give me much of a choice, let’s have it. What are my options?”

The guest’s smile grew even wider, if it were possible and revealed pointed teeth like daggers. “Oh, it’s quite simple, Mr. Abramovich. You give me your soul, or I kill everybody you love in half an hour. If you agree to give up your soul, go on stage tonight and perform as usual. If, however, you would prefer the other option, cancel your show and I will find you. Now, Mr. Abramovich, I really must be going. Murders to plan, souls to torment, you must know how it is, being a performer. You know, we really have similar jobs. We both have to jump through hoops for people that we can’t see.” The guest tapped his wristwatch.

“Ta ta, Mr. Abramovich, time’s a wastin.’ By the by, you have exactly 28 minutes to make up your mind.”  The guest  walked towards the door and winked. As he placed his gloved hand on the doorknob, Abramovich leaned forward, hand outstretched.

“Wait!” he shouted, a wild light in his eyes. “Please. Who are you?” The man turned, a wry smile on his lips.

“Haven’t you guessed?” he said, “I’m the Devil.” And with that the door slammed behind him, causing the stacks upon stacks of paper on Abramovich’s desk to drift to the floor. Abramovich put his head in his hands. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to steal that magic from the Devil. But what could he do about it now? He only had two options. Give up his soul, or... He didn’t want to think the alternative, didn’t want to let it take root in his head as something that could possibly happen. All of his friends and family dead, because of him. If that happened, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He would immediately seek out a way to end his life, and it probably wouldn’t be painless, either. What choice did he really have?

~~~

The Devil (but his friends call him Mr. Nick) walked briskly down the street that had led him to the theater and his recent meeting with Abramovich. He smiled to himself, making sure not to expose his serrated teeth to passersby. Now that he had spoken with Abramovich, now that he had planted the seeds of panic in his mind, he was sure that he would get what he wanted. Humans were all the same, really. Threaten things they enjoyed and they would eat out of the palm of your hand. Mr. Nick made a sharp turn into a dank alley behind an Italian restaurant. His nose wrinkled reflexively at the rotting smell of old tomatoes, bad spices, and rotten milk. Humans. They could build structures as tall as mountains but couldn’t even keep their own cities clean. But Mr. Nick had no time to ponder the nuances of human nature tonight. He had an important meeting with his sponsor.

Of course he was working for someone. These foolish humans didn’t really think that he caused all the evil in the world by himself, did they? His act of revealing himself to the foolhardy magician was only a cover up. No sane human would expect the Devil to interact with them and tell them about it. Chances were, Abramovich would chalk it up as a childish prank, go on with the show, and then Mr. Nick would have all the essence of his soul to serve his sponsor with.

Mr. Nick sat in the darkest corner of the stench filled alley. And he waited for the rush of soul’s power to tell him that he had succeeded.

~~~

Abramovich was acting very strangely these past few minutes, his stage manager noted as he watched the great illusionist rushing here and there about the theater. It wasn’t normal behavior. Usually, he would sit in his dressing room, quite calmly, sipping from decanter of an unnamed, very strong substance he called his “magic juice”. Flannery was a little afraid to find out what it really was, so, showing his excellent breeding as a stage manager, he never asked. It was that simple.

But today, of all days, it wasn’t. Abramovich appeared very upset about something, and it was taking all of Flannery’s willpower not to ask what was the matter. Tonight was a huge night for the two of them. The entire theater would be packed to the rafters, and the profits from this night alone would be enormous. Tonight had to go perfectly. Flannery lost himself in a vision of his riches after the evening’s show, completely forgetting the magician. His problem couldn’t be that big.

After all, he thought, it wasn’t as if it could possibly affect the show.

~~~

The great illusionist paced back and forth in his dressing room, his wing-tip shoes wearing a path into the already scuffed floorboards, his brow wrinkled with great concentration. He didn’t look as if he’d appreciate being canceled. A moth buzzed around the room. Abramovich swatted at it with a newspaper, and a look of intense satisfaction crossed his face when it fell to the table, dead. He turned away.

If he had not turned away, this is what he would have seen. He would have seen the moth lying dead on the table. He would have seen the moth’s legs give a last, desperate twitch. And he most definitely would have seen the body of the moth start steaming. Abramovich turned around, and he did see the last of these things that I have herein listed. The illusionist’s eyes widened. His mouth gaped. He rushed over to the table and stared in shocked puzzlement at the steaming corpse. He prodded it with his pointer finger.

The tiny body disintegrated into a pile of dust, then a sudden wind picked up and carried the remains out an open window. If it could be considered possible, Abramovich’s look of shock grew even more dramatic.

“Flannery!” he shouted, “Flannery, come here right now. I need to speak to you!” The man appeared instantly. Until tonight, the magician had appreciated his talent for punctuality. Now it unnerved him.

“Yes, sir?” The manager was calm, almost too calm. Another quality Abramovich had-until now-appreciated. In fact, everything about the man now seemed unnatural. His calmness, the fact that he instantaneously appeared whenever he was needed, the way that, even when they were in the depths of poverty, he always managed to make ends meet and look classy, the blank eyed stare he was now producing, all shook Abramovich to the core.  Suddenly, Abramovich was quite certain that the manager wasn’t entirely human. He felt irrational panic rising deep inside him. He wished that Flannery would do something, instead of just standing there with that blank stare.

Abramovich cast his gaze around the room for something, anything he could use as a weapon. He lit on a long handled knife he used for opening his various fan mail. He held it out in front of him, the point aimed squarely at Flannery’s chest. Finally he elicited a reaction from the vacant eyed man.

“Wait!” he shouted, his hands held out in a warding gesture. “You don’t want to do that. You don’t want to kill me!”

The magician felt as if his heart had frozen. “Why not?” he managed to say, very coolly.

“It’s not worth it. It’s not! If you do it, he’ll get revenge on you. We’re all his creatures, you know. 

And once you belong to him, there’s no getting out of his power.” The man had fallen to his knees in his frenzied state. The magician couldn’t feel anything. He was rooted where he stood.

“Who?  Who’ll get revenge on me?” Abramovich demanded. The manager was almost in tears. The magician couldn’t find any pity in his heart.

“The Devil! You’re the last real person left, you know. The rest of us are here only to keep you happy. You’re his puppet. His little dancer. That’s what he calls you. He can make you do anything you want and then when he’s done with you, he’ll throw you away. That’s what he’s doing.” The man’s contorted features went completely blank.

“No. No!” The man whispered, terrified. His frightened gaze locked on Abramovich's. “He’s very angry with me. He doesn’t think I should have told you that. He’s going to-no, please. Help me. Please! PLEASE!” The man’s anguished cries rose to a piercing shriek that shattered the chandelier above the magician’s desk. Abramovich covered his head, still clutching the knife. When he looked up again, the stage manager was dead. Then he watched as Jonathan Flannery, stage manager, dissolved into a pile of dust that was quickly carried away by a gust of wind. The Great Abramovich looked at the knife in his hand. He looked at the center of his chest. With shaking hands, he plunged the knife into his chosen target, and felt himself slip into the abyss of madness.

~~~

The Devil rose gracefully from his filthy perch in the alley. “Pity,” he said.

~~~

Now of course, as a reader of this short story, you can dismiss this as complete and total fiction, because, of course, you know that you are not a part of a plot, formulated by the Devil, to trick one Edward Abramovich of Vienna, Austria. You also know that you are not in the service of the Devil, and that you are quite real. You can’t be controlled by him.

But what if the situations portrayed here were real? If you’re not one of the Devil’s creatures, then you must be that last person. And what if one of the Devil’s servants, one who has a conscience, wanted to warn you, the last living human, about your situation? How might they do it? I’ll tell you. They might put a story in a book, one of those whose only purpose seems to be filling up space on a shelf, and put the book in your path in the hopes that you might read it and realize that that is you.

Now that you know, don’t give me away. It’s very important that no one knows you’ve realized what’s really going on here. Because he will find you. And he will kill you. So after you put this book down, and it’s late at night, and you’re the only person awake, don’t knock on the walls to see if they’re real. Don’t find a fly to kill so you can watch it dissolve. Just act like you usually do. And above all, don’t let him know that you know the secret. Please don’t give me away. Please. Don’t let him know a thing.

How to Summon a Demon in Seven Simple Steps

While summoning a demon may sound rather... for lack of a better word, demonic, properly summoning a demon can prove very useful. For instance, demons are very helpful in performing various spells and incantations we here at HSG assume you use, since you are reading this article.

1. You will need to draw a summoning circle. This is the first step to summoning a demon because it opens the pathways between our world and the demon realm. It is important that you don't make a mistake with this step, as it may affect the rest of your ritual.

2. Incantations. There are many different kinds of incantations that can summon different types of visitors from the Great Beyond. It is imperative that you choose an incantation on the same level of power you wish to summon. For instance, you would not use a Greater Summoning for a Lesser Demon.

3. Bring salt. Salt repels demons very effectively, and should anything go amiss, you may need it to repel the demon you summon.

4. Wait. Summoning takes time. Demons do have things to do, you know. They don't just wait around to be summoned. (Okay, they kind of do, but that's beside the point.)

5. Get the name of your demon. If you know the demon's name, you will be able to force them to your bidding much easier than if you didn't know it.

6. Force them into a contract. This will require some giving on your part. As the saying goes, quid pro quo. You can't get something for nothing, and demons can exact a high price.

7. Have fun. It is important that you and your demon go to events together, in order to keep him/her/it entertained.

Now that you know the seven simple steps to summoning demon, we hope that your summonings and incantations are as successful as possible. And as always, we take no responsibility for any mutations, beheadings, injuries, deaths, possessions, and general mayhem.

-Glinda, Witch of the North

In Other News

In other news, the Skeleton War of 2014 rages on unabated. After several early victories, we seem to be losing to the bony ones. Talk has spread of a possible treaty with the skeletons, which would involve allowing them to live inside of us. Many people have debated the moral and ethical qualities of such an act, but no consensus has been reached as of yet.

People are Bloodthirsty

The term serial killer did not first come into use in our society until an unfortunate string of events in London around the turn of the 19th to 20th century. As you may guess, these events revolved around an unknown, faceless man, Jack the Ripper. Or so he liked to be called. Since then, this term has been used with zeal whenever a particularly nasty case of several people dying comes up, because as we all know, people are bloodthirsty. It runs in our veins. Take the Romans, for example. On certain days, they would take gladiators and make them fight against lions, other people, and all manner of wild beasts. Afterwards, if the poor fellow had survived, the people would decide whether they lived or died. Because, you know, it just wasn’t enough to put someone in a fight to the death, they also had to put the person under the stress of being executed if they even survived the ordeal.

But that’s just one example. Take the tribe of Native Americans that made their homes in Aztalan State Park. They disappeared a very long time ago, people think during a battle. They had a rather charming custom of eating their enemies after defeating them, apparently to absorb their strength and good qualities. Can I just say, eww? First of all, that is possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard, but secondly, I can’t help but wonder what a human being would taste like. See? The bloodthirsty nature ingrained in most humans is even starting to affect me. Me, who is supposedly the most detached and clinical person certain people have met. (Though, to be fair, those people don’t get out very much.) So I’m just going to stop writing now, as I clearly cannot get over the curse that humanity has wrought.

-Glinda, Witch of the North

Thank you very much for your attention and have a nice day.

Happy Sunshine Gang Volume 21

Letter from the Editor
Well. In the news this week, we hope that you have made a somewhat successful return to school. At the very least, we hope that no one has thrown any tomatoes at you. That can be rather unpleasant; not that we'd know from experience.

Also, we hope that you will submit your ideas/articles/serials/souls (what???) for this blog/newspaper thing. We thrive on your humble consideration, and I know that I for one would love to see some reader submitted material.

Like any reader material.

If you would like to submit something, please share or attach it in an email to niesbixby@gmail.com. I will receive, review, and possibly publish it with your name on it. That's right, we will give you full credit. We do not go in for breaking copyright laws up in here.

With that in mind, please enjoy this week's issue!
-Glinda, Witch of the North
Music
This week in Music we have a review of the choral arrangement Dance on My Heart. Here are the lyrics below, and below that, the letter.

Once two handsome gentlemen asked a fair young maid a question:
"What must we do to win your hand and gain your kind affection?"
One said he was "stronger by far," than any other man that she'd meet.
Also being braver than most, said, "Please marry me- I'm adoringly sweet."

Then, said the other, "What if I give you diamonds and pearls, would you be my bride?
I can offer power and riches. All through your life you'll be satisfied!"

"Well," she replied, "I'd make my selection,
and you'd receive my love and affection
if you danced on my heart, if you sang to my soul.
But alas! My heart is not pounding
and your songs are not sounding.
Therefore, I cannot marry you."

Then a kindly gentleman asked the fair young maid the question:
"What must I do to win your hand and gain your kind affection?
I can only promise to love you, be at your side through all of my life.
I will be your faithful companion! Come take my hand, say you'll be my wife."

"Sir," she replied, "you are my selection,

and you'll receive my love and affection

for you dance on my heart, you sing to my soul.

I'll take your hand,

wear your wedding band.

Yes, kind sir, I will marry you!"

Dear Mrs. Petroff,

Yes, I know you’ve missed this very much. My letters to you nitpicking about things in Choir make everyone’s day. In this one, I would like to detail some things about the song you gave us in class a few days ago, Dance on My Heart.

I’m not actually sure when this song was written, but I assume it was written sometime between 1939 and now, given that that’s when Mr. Koepke, the composer was alive. Even given that, it has some very disturbing implications.

First, I have a serious issue with the fact that the first guy thinks that all he has to do is tell the girl he wants to marry that he’s really strong. As if that’s the only quality necessary in a successful marriage! What if he’s got a temper? Might he not use his strength to physically dominate her? Clearly he is not a good choice.

Next, I have a problem with the second handsome gentleman trying to bribe the fair young maid into marrying him. Besides being ridiculously creepy, it implies that even the young man knows that the only reason any man would marry him is for his money. The dude needs to get some serious self esteem. Maybe then he wouldn’t be trying to sell himself to this girl.

The next item is basically the only thing I approve of. That the girl refuses to marry either of them, because she wants to marry for love. You go, fictional girl in a song. You defy those time period gender conventions.

And then that last guy shows up and basically says that he can only love her all his life and be her faithful companion, and always be at her side. Disregarding the blatant stalkerish vibes, this seems like a pretty good proposal. But because I’m me, of course I can’t disregard the stalkerish vibes. Oh my god. This guy is seriously creepy. He’s basically promising to stalk her for the rest of her life? What if she decides she doesn’t want to stay married to him? Will he be that weird ex husband who follows her around to all of her social functions? This seems a little psychopathic to me.

So, the composer is basically saying that women can either marry for physical qualities, marry for money, or to men that will stalk you all your life. That’s a fairly pessimistic view coming from a man. Is he saying that men fall into those three categories? That’s rather misandrist of him, which is actually kind of surprising.

But then, my final revelation. There is no evidence that the fair young maid knows any of these men. That’s really kind of creepy. How is the third guy going to love her forever if he’s just meeting her now? And what kind of guy proposes to a woman he’s just met? What if she hates all three of them? This is clearly not a scenario that is likely to produce a stable union with any of these three men. So this song is a little disturbing.

Thank you for listening, again.

Sincerely,

-Glinda, Witch of the North

Thoughts for the Apocalypse Thrillseeker

In Which I Extol the Virtues of Bananas

Yes, I realize that this column has gotten absolutely insane. I really am trying, you guys. So hold back your criticism, I pray you.

In the words of a certain Doctor, bananas are good. I am not disputing that fact, nor do I seek to undermine the words of Chris Eccleston. I find bananas quite delicious, especially when one has not eaten any breakfast and has to entreat one's spanish teacher for a banana. 

Not that that's ever happened to me.

Bananas are primarily grown in central Atlantica, where they are farmed by the natives, also known as the Sandwich Eaters. One wonders why they are not named the Banana Eaters, given the crops they tend, but we shall not go into that at the moment. 

The Sandwich Eaters are a very tribal people, living in huts made out of banana trees, roofed with banana leaves, and insulated with banana peelings. The death rate amongst the Sandwich Eaters is rather high, given a genetic mutation that makes them deathly allergic to bananas. 

Indeed.

The Sandwich Eaters that survive to adulthood tend to be very short, swarthy, and have intense cravings for mangoes. Yes, this is starting to resemble a Monty Python sketch. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. 

Unfortunately, upon eating mangoes, they die immediately. So the Sandwich Eaters are actually a very rare tribe, and should be treated with care whenever you may run across one of them. You just never know. They might decide to include you in one of their blood rites.

-Glinda, Witch of the North

Happy Sunshine Gang Volume 21

Letter From the Editor
Greetings and good day to you all, mes amis. As you may or may not be aware, we have been in school for a week, and by virtue of that, we have decided to have yet another issue declaiming different things about school. Or as it is better known in some circles, shule. So don't forget to do your hermworm, but join us on another epic ride.

Opinion

Welcome to Horror

Hello, HSG readers! I would like to introduce myself as quick as possible so that I save your time and my own(it is very precious). I’m Lady Felixa, and I’m just another writer on the HSG team that’s been waiting many months to get to where I am now. So, let’s get started with my article for my very first week here!

I’ve titled this Welcome to Horror because of the upcoming event taking place on the dreaded September 2nd- School has returned. The terror of education has loomed over me since my registration on August 21st(Oops, now you know my grade! Spoilers!). I do believe I speak for a small percentage of us when I say that I almost just want the torture to begin already so that I may stop being bustled through stores searching for binders and notebooks that I might not even use, signing forms, and awaiting my yearly physical for activities that my parents force me into and I inevitably drop out of sooner than you can say ‘Co-curricular athletics’.

But I know many of us are dreading the date that we must drag our feet into that building and sit through another year of the same teachers droning on and on about graphs or cells. On the other hand, though, I do assume that everyone is preparing(or putting-off preparing)! Girls are buying new make-up and reading tabloids to catch up on the upcoming fall fashions. And of course, boys are making sure they have all of their forms turned in so that they may enter sports as soon as the first bell rings.

The real thought on my mind though, is this; the new kids. We’ve been hearing of them all summer- seeing new families moving in next door to friends, spotting them with a small group of forced-friends of their neighbourhoods. But school is as vicious as Roman rule; how will they survive? So, here is my ending question, young bloods: Were you ever a new kid? If so, how did you make it this far? Write your answers to Happy Sunshine Gang(email)!

Cheerio!

   Lady Felixa

Thoughts for the Apocalypse Thrillseeker
As Promised, Satan is Santa
Yes, I know this has absolutely nothing to do with school or hermworm, but I promised it in the last issue and I would feel terribly guilty if I didn't come through for you little heretics. I like you.

So, off we pop. As many of us know, Satan, dark lord of all, is a powerful being that resides in Hell and may or may not rule over sinners. And Santa is a being of light that gives gifts to the good children of the world.

In a weird way, it kind of makes sense. Satan takes a month off every year and rewards his best workers in Hell by allowing them to come out and make toys for a month. He fosters greed in children by giving them gifts unasked for, and also gets a peek and the Naughty and Nice lists. I'll repeat that; he finds out exactly who he needs to be tempting to get more sinners in Hell. And who he should just leave alone.

Satan is Santa. It makes a strange sort of sense.

Glinda, Witch of the North

Stereotypical States
This week, we shall be exploring the wonderful state of Illinois. Illinois is filled to the brim with people who either fall into the category of rude, shovy, urbanites, or happy pig farmer. Illinoians subsist mainly on a diet of corn and bacon, and worship the god Abraham Lincoln.

Happy Sunshine Gang Volume 20

Letter from the Editor-
Hello, my friends, and welcome to the official Volume 20. It's been a long road to getting here, which may or may not have included bribery, perjury, and other crimes of that nature. As you may have noticed, The Infamous Gavin Stalin has gone mysteriously missing from the circuits of the Interwebs. Hopefully we will find him by the time the next issue is set to print. (Well. Not really print.)

So the reason I'm still talking is because I wished to tell you all about our schedule for the upcoming year. A new issue will be published every Friday evening, and if not then, then it shall be posted Saturday morning (because sometimes I work on Fridays). If you have any questions about his, please comment somewhere below.

So, without further ado, on to the issue!
-Glinda, Witch of the North

Opinion-

How to Transition Into School Like a Pro

Good morning, afternoon, and evening my friends!

As the summer draws to a close this August, I’d like to focus on the best time of the year: the start of school! While I am absolutely ecstatic about going back and seeing all you lovely readers and finally having a schedule to my disorganized life again, I know many dread the oncoming days filled with quizzes, homework, and presentations, not to mention little to no sleep and stress levels off the charts. So relax! For the time being...and enjoy the precious minutes filled with sunshine and late morning rises. Just follow my tips for a successful school year on the first day and it’ll be like you never left. :P

Step one: Walk in like you own the place. Put on your favorite shirt, a smile, and some confidence and enter the school building with your head held high. If you act like you want to be there, your cloudy persona will be quick to catch up. Before you know it, you can’t wait to come back!

Step two: Pay attention and get your homework done early. At the start of the new school year, teachers are only going to give you easy, “Tell Me About Yourself!” assignments and tons of review material. With this in mind, tackle that homework early so you can have some free time. This will ease your body back into the school feel of things so you aren't squashed under piles of homework as soon as you come back. And paying attention? At the very least, you’ll feel more alert and awake in those early classes.

Step three: While those are the main steps, enthusiasm is always a great way to enter the school year. So try something new! Join a different club, make some new friends, etc. And if you’re ever so sad about the loss of summer, I will always be available as one who is quite enthusiastic about school and can make it seem like Disneyland.

Happy Back to School! Have a great year!

-Crossroads

Thoughts for the Apocalypse Thrillseeker
Sorry, guys. No Satan/Santa this week. I'm saving that up for the Christmas Issue. That is, if we survive that long. Who knows?

Instead, I have opted to extol the symptoms of fangirl-itis.

Fangirlitis is a rather serious disease that affects only human females of the age range 11-26. Symptoms of fangirlitis include but are not limited to excessive squeeing (yes, that is a word now), crying, attacks of "feels", extreme sadness over character death or emotional trauma, a devotion to fanfiction and fanart, and spending a lot of time on sites such as Tumblr, Deviantart, or Fanfiction.net. As of now, there is no cure for fangirlitis, but researchers are spending much time and effort to find a cure for this disease.

Until official medication is invented, I recommend keeping the afflicted person away from materials related to their obsession, or encouraging them to write a fanfiction. While it may sound counterproductive, it is often helpful to get out the "feels" by writing about the characters who are causing them.

Thank you very much. This has been Thoughts for the Apocalypse Thrillseeker.

-Glinda, Witch of the North