On Behalf Of A Boy

Dear Mr. Pankhurst:

As you know, my adopted son John Wesley is only the second American to have netted a clownfish with a single-flue toggle iron harpoon. As a result he has been offered a scholarship to the New Bedford Academy of Utter Disregard for Marine Life (formerly the Herman Melville Institute for Misplaced Revenge). To compliment his coursework, I'd like to inquire about an internship at the Pankhurst Center for the Study of Severe Saltwater Psychosis and Alarming Aquatic Aberrations. I believe you'll find John to be handsome, alert, and fond of ribbons.

Awaiting your response.

Elliot C. Balderdash

From Guest Contributor Amiel Rossin

Backfire

Betsy wanted to slay a dragon. All her friends had killed at least one and it was embarrassing to show her face at the academy.

Sadly, Betsy's father had strictly forbidden her from joining any quests. He kept telling her maybe when she's older.

Betsy's brother had resigned himself long ago to never slaying any dragons and he told Betsy she might as well give up too. "Dad's never going to change his mind. He's against all slayings. Mom says that it's because his grandfather was a dragon."

Betsy grew up to hate dragons more than any of her classmates.

Emergency Rations

After the shuttle crashed, the landing crew was forced to bivouac on the planet's surface. Their first task was to search the hostile environment of this lifeless planet for any sort of organic material. Otherwise, they would be living off of emergency rations until they were rescued.

Emergency rations were the worst. None of the marines had ever tasted them, but they knew the stories. They all knew a guy who knew a guy who had eaten them once in academy.

Everyone understood that the emergency rations were made of people, their fellow crew members to be exact.