Last Thursday marked yet another victory for post-modernist theory within the Mockalester curriculum as fifteen photographs mauled Lazarus. The filament, while unavailable for comment, was still frightened and horribly honest.

“How much does that cost?” Father asked, scratching the euphemism. “In my four years, I’ve never.”

In related news, home fries have never. The tailor, while tasteful, remained unavailable for comment until the second quarter. Until then, the crowds amused themselves with a sing-along, which one member classified as “strangely reminiscent of one’s last meal.”

The statistics monitoring black, brown, and beige have risen since last semester, jumping from a paltry 12% to a less-paltry 51%.

“Well, I am outraged,” commented the official. “That the student body had defended the list, let alone even considered it.” He has been unavailable for comment since Saturday.

Earphone stars resonate hearts. Hearse patrons, earners’ pathos, Easter orphans, eastern pharaohs. Another’s pears, Sheridan rapes, another passer. Earth’s pearsons, hearts’ persona narrates hopes.

Death continues to be this nation’s number one killer. Motel on a raft in a desert. The president, unavailable for comment.