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Tell airport security your name is McCannister because you can hide anything in a cannister.

You know what? Nobody notices when this changes anyway.

There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary, and STFU

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The black hole draws you inexorably inward. Time slows. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

I'd diddle little umdidlie... if she weren't my half-sister.

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Notice to all users of the Holodeck:

There are safety protocols in place that cannot be deactivated without the approval of two commanding officers or the captain to protect users of the Holodeck from potential harm. However, every time the Holodeck is ever used in a nontrivial manner, no matter what the safety protocols say, the Holodeck turns into a deathtrap.

Unless you believe yourself to be adept at constructing a forcefield from your communicator and 19th century Earth tools, or you're at the very least not wearing a red shirt, you are strongly advised not to attempt to use the Holodeck until a designer comes up with a safety protocol that doesn't kill you whenever somebody looks at it funny. Even when you're not on the holodeck. Or in the same quadrant. Or time period.

In fact, if you are wearing a red shirt, Starfleet may not be the job for you

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Seventy, six

Permalink 01/17/09 at 04:21:23 pm, by Ed, 869 words   English (US)
Categories: School

I found this book report template on my hard drive when looking through old school papers. You can use it if you need to.

I read the book Name Of Book, by Author in a quick and concise manner two hours before this paper was due. Whilst reading, it came to my attention that while the grammar was technically correct, the plot was constantly misleading, as is true of many novels in the “miscellaneous books” category and those with more than ten pages or an overwhelming ratio of words to pictures. I intend to incarcerate seventy and six falsely accused innocent civilians before I write the next paragraph of this paper.

Some time ago, I took great notice of my computer’s ability to connect to the Internet. There is a card in the computer that operates at a frequency of approximately 10 GHz, and uses a network communication protocol specified in the IEEE 802.11 standard. While this is ultimately unimportant, the number caught my attention, and so I asked a librarian what section of books falls under the 802.11 category in the Dewey Decimal System. Oddly enough, she did not know, but her first thought was and I quote, “Isn’t that where all the books are?”

Yes, dear, the library is where all the books are.

What she actually said was, in a sense, true. The space of 100 numbers between 799 and 900 is where all of the literature is, apparently, with the other 900 integers taking up the vast minority of hunting and fishing publications. Specifically, 802 is the location of “miscellaneous” books in the “book” section.

To attain a sense of broadness greater than that would be stretching. But wait, there’s more. Specifically, 802.11 is the subsection of miscellaneous books that cannot be classified into any specific category of miscellany. It is neither variety, nor a jumble. Not a hodgepodge, nor is it within a collection. So it is, in general terms, any book.

If this really is how the library is arranging its books, then addressing any aspect of any book in particular becomes sequentially auxiliary to reconstructing the system. However, the system itself seems to disagree, and when the system is in charge, you begin to wonder if Big Brother is watching.

Since I am powerless to invoke change in this “system” as yet, I shall instead write a moot little paper on the fractured bones that remain of what used to be Name Of Book.

The main characters are utterly devoid of usefulness in even the dullest attempt at a summary of this book, as they only deter from what the author truly is saying. The messages being sent are not to be found in the plot. Anyone who looks anywhere but behind it is a dullard fit for what he's got coming when the system takes over.

Quite literally, the message is behind, as one must peel the pages apart to find the author's intent. The author truly put her life on the line to send a message to those few who still knew the inherent corruption in the system without being caught by the publishing companies and murdered brutally by paper cuts. It was unfortunate that the author also had to come up with a plot and characters to not only hide but inevitably destroy the message to most who buy the book. However, some of us heard your message is loud and clear, Mr(s). Author. The message is loud and clear.

(S)he has so eloquently stated, even in the hidden message, that the only manner in which change can arrive is through a revolution, made the message so sonorous and moving, it makes sex seem trite. This is not to say that I get off on reading his/her notes between the pages, mind you, but that the message was so amazingly clear to me that I am find it physically burdensome to finish this paper before inciting a revolution in the now, right here.

You are the birth of change. That was the message. Such an abridgement makes me shudder and convulse just imagining what the author would think if (s)he saw it put so simple-mindedly. If (s)he were dead, (s)he would be turning in his/her grave. Hopefully, we could then wrap him/her up with insulated wire, replace the headstone with a magnet, and create energy, but since the author is still alive, this is not yet a possibility.

The current state of the author him/herself (alive), when it comes to comprehension, makes me scoff. If, indeed, the only way to instill change is to create a revolution, why is the (s)he not already doing this? His/her death would be the ultimate martyrdom. It stems from the word revolve, which is exactly what (s)he would be doing in his/her grave right now. From the countless millions of copies sold without their readers ever beginning realizing the real message.

And so, I take it upon myself to reveal this “hidden plot” to the publishing company gangs, uprooting civilization itself if I must, to ultimately effecting the author's death. Only then can the revolving begin.

Smith, John. A Brief History of Time. Publishing House. November 21, 1997.

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