Dear subscribers who are about to hear the latest edition in the ongoing saga regarding Superclipium (or lack thereof), Superwhatsit (and the lands beyond), and all their lovable friends. (Ok, sorry, we just remembered that everybody died in the last issue, including ourselves.  Oh well, we now think that that decision was very wrong and therefore we have decideed to make this sentence long--that is always a fun thing to do when you get bored; in fact it is an interesting challenge to put the sentence together in the correct fashion so that you can use dashes and semicolons to lengthen it--did we mention that we really like dashes and semicolons. Boy this is a long parenthetical remark. Anyway, the result of our thinking [or lack thereof (which is extremely probable)] is that we have decided [sort of] to bring the characters back to "life".  At first we thought that this would be a rather tricky issue to deal with--one involving many ethical, physical, and mental problems (especially the latter).  But then we realized two things: A)we're authors, so we can do whatever we want, and B)Jonathan is wasting time looking through a Fresnel lens, C)we felt like it, and D) this is stupid, we said that there were only two things (and there is no D).  Anyhow, to make a long story (somewhat) short(er), Superclipium and co. have been brought back to life and are now running around in a refrigerator somewhere in the Atlantic.

But that's not what we came to talk about.  We came to talk about SC's arch-nemesises Three-Ring Ted and the Hole Puncher Boys.  This dreaded gang of paper-storing whatsamadoobers lived on the planet Delta-9 Tetrahydracanabinol.  On this planet, they were in "charge" of all the detective work. One day, while they were working away in their binders, a Pentel P205 Mechanical Pencil With Ergonomic Side Grip and a Convenient Side-bar Lead Advancing Device walked in.  Slowly, he pressed his Convenient Side-bar Lead Advancing Device, and began to laugh maniacally.  Suddenly, Three-Ring Ted heard a clicking noise. He had heard this noise before--it was the sound of a white-out bomb. He thought quickly.  He realized that this must be a saboteur from that infamous gang of scallywags: The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything.

But then the authors realized that we were bored and didn't have any ideas.  So now we'll return to the refrigerator in the middle of the Atlantic.  Now, this happened to be the Atlantic in the year 2222 (on February 22 at 10:22 PM, no less (note that that's 22:22 in the 24 hour system)), which was considerably larger than the Atlantic of 1999 because A) global warming had meled the ice caps, B) it felt like it, C) many large comets had deposited water on the Earth, and D) sheep (just kidding; there is no D, but sheep are cool).  But SC and co. didn't really care how big the Atlantic was because they were in the middle of it.

    "hooo!" said the refrigerator. "naqflamors na flamo qs."
    "That's weird," said SC. "I didn't realize that someone had stuck a babelfish in my ear."
    (Special note: That's only the second time SC has ever said anything)
    "Maybe that's because you don't have any ears," said Superwhatsit (and the lands beyond).
    "So what should we do tonight?" asked Dogbert.
    "The same thing we do every night," replied the Brain. "Try to take over the world!"

Then the pressure of the surrounding ocean/atmosphere broke through the refrigerator, and everybody died again, because we're tired. The end,

Merry Christmas!

qishly,

us