Damned Lies and Statistics

We lie a lot, don't we? As a human species, we lie more than statistics can tell us (and who listens to statistics anyway, since they lie through their pie chart-encrusted teeth). Everybody lies, it don't matter if they're black or white. Stretching the truth, concealing facts, asking no questions.

Why? Why do we lie? Do we do it because it's a form of protectionism, a way to shield yourself and others from the truth? Do we do it to withhold knowledge, which is power, and lord over the ignorant? Do we do it because we fear others' reactions when they find out the truth, and that they'll never miss what they never had?

I lie a lot. I lie a hell lot. To friends, to family. For many of the above reasons. It doesn't seem right to let other people know the truth about yourself, if that truth is going to burden them or something. I've told so many white lies that if I had a pack of them, I'd have a couple of royal flushes, four aces and a joker. But what else can you do. Tell the truth and people will hate you. Keep silent and you die an unsung martyr.

Here's to fooling all of the people all of the time.
The Edna Man

You Are Not Alone

What, no song tribute? No dance-off in memorandum? Not even a single announcement? Some school this is. (Granted, I was racked with exhilarating stomach contractions at the time and I might have missed it, but I received no word of it afterwards, even.)

Ahh, well. Here's my sendoff to Michael Jackson, one of the greatest dancers the world has, or will ever know. Weird Al parodied you twice. I don't think I need to say more. Maybe one day, people will learn to accept your differences. Knowing this humanity, I highly doubt it.

English exam today was WTFont. Random inclusion of your maternal parent is never a sign of cohesive writing. And after talking to other people who did the poem, now I know too much. Too little, too late. Couldn't you have been clearer, Margret? Econs seemed fine, but I doubt I filled quota. Oh well, live and learn.

Though we're far apart, you'll be in my heart,
The Edna Man

Techno Trance Remix!

I LOVE THIS SONG!



It really does make you happy!
The Edna Man

Comic Lessons

For all you people happily mugging your life away, here's another life lesson from anthropomorphic tigers:



And for all you people unhappily mugging your life away, take comfort in the fact that they can't take everything away from you:


I'm just selective about the reality I subscribe to.
The Edna Man

Life is like prom night

It's all just one big masquerade.

High School Never Ends,
The Edna Man

Sail around the world and tell them all to keep singing it

You know that "Don't Forget The Lyrics!" game I made last year? That low-budget low-tech one which failed miserably because Singaporeans are too embarrassed to stand up in front of a crowd and sing? That one. Well, I've tinkered with it occasionally over the past few months and I'm happy to announce (to nobody who's interested) that I've TRICKED IT OUT! v3.0 now supports full sound effects (I managed to figure out the code!) and state-of-the-art Lyric-Recognition technology. It's probably still in Beta (because bugs are easy to overlook in this thing) but hey, it's awesome.

I think I completed it at the wee hours of 3am this morning, and when I finally shut down my com I couldn't sleep, because of the adrenaline rushing through my veins. It's funny, because I just read a Ultimate Spiderman collection (#14 or #20 I think) and there were words in there to describe exactly how I felt. It's the thrill you get when you finally finish a creation that you've been working, and the amazement and pride you experience when you realize that YOU did this, all by yourself, with your bare hands, resourcefulness, creativity and a boring application like Microsoft Powerpoint. Creation gives you a high that doing exams or playing music or OM or anything else can give you.

Then you wonder if god is looking down on us all right now and having that very same high, of pride and amazement. Or maybe he's scrapping this project and moving on to something else.

Shut up and SMILE!
The Edna Man

Imaginary Friends

----------

Tried making my stories more visual... hooray for typography.

Imaginary numbers are all about i,
The Edna Man

Much More Beautiful Person

Much More Beautiful Person by Bowling for Soup

Jeanie has a dad that might as well be dead.
A case a day habit and three other kids.
She's a much more beautiful person
Than you'll ever know.
She hates the world
At least the one outside.
She's a Myspace kid livin a virtual life.
She's a much more beautiful person
Than she'll ever know.

Close your eyes and let time tick by.
In this life, it's OK to cry, sometimes.
It can be hard to see when it's right in front of you.

You're gonna smile sometimes,
And worlds will collide.
I know you're tired of waiting,
So when you're through with hating,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
And now you know.
And now you know.

Tommy can't help but feelin' alone,
Walking the halls with his head hung low.
And he's a much more beautiful person
Than he'll ever know.
High school kids can be so nasty
In a cut-throat war for popularity.
A much more beautiful person
Than he'll ever know.

Close your eyes and let time tick by.
In this life, it's OK to cry, sometimes.
It can be hard to see when it's right in front of you.

You're gonna smile sometimes,
And worlds will collide.
I know you're tired of waiting,
So when you're through with hating,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
And now you know.

And you don't feel so lucky,
But I've seen so many things in you.
Believe me, I know just what you're going through.
So stand up and take a bow,
Hold your head high
Don't ever let them get you down.
It's all about you
And it's not what they do.

You're gonna smile sometimes,
And worlds will collide.
I know you're tired of waiting,
So when you're through with hating,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
You'll be a much more beautiful person,
And now you know.
And now you know.
And now you know.

-----

The sad truth is, some people will never know.
The Edna Man

I want to ride my bicycle...

...I want to ride my bike...

Went cycling with my class (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, fractions of a whole) today. This being my second time on a two-wheeler, I was exhilaratingly overjoyed to find out that yes, just like elephants riding a bike, you'll never forget.

Zeng Jie, Guangda, Hao Lei and Wang Jun were all biking veterans, so it was hard to the rookie to keep up with them all. I kinda was the only one who crashed in the entire biker gang; my instinct keeps me using my legs to brake instead of the handlebars, which results in brusied knees and sore rear ends.

But it was EPICLY FUN. On a hot weekday like today, the bike paths are mostly empty, but scattered here and there are all the happy people who are enjoying a normal school holiday. It's so much easier to weave in and out between all the roller-bladers when there are fewer of them jamming up the express lanes. And it's roaring fun to blaze down a straight trail void of other cyclists, feeling the wind in your face, your hair...

The seat needed more cushioning though. And suspension. Argh, my black-and-blue butt. Oh, and bike chains have the unhappy habit of slipping out of their gearshafts. But not to worry, just a simple oil-stained maneuver and everything clicks back into place. We rode right up to the end of the trail, which was blocked off due to construction, then back up again, past the place I first sat on a bike, then up to Long Beach restaurants. We would have continued up the coast, if our time hadn't run out. The bike rental owner's cat is adorable.

I think the time is ripe for a bicycle revolution. We pull up half the roads and convert them to bicycle paths. It's much greener and you get all the affordable exercise you'll ever need. Once you start biking, you'll never know why you would want to walk anywhere anymore.

On a totally unrelated note: Hey, look! A semi-non-emo post!

I want to ride it where I like!
The Edna Man

The Inverse Friend Law

"Your worth as a friend is inversely proportional to the number of friends your friend has."

And you'll never know what the spread or distribution, or weight is. Good fences make good neighbours, after all.

If you suddenly turn completely invisible, how long would it take for people to notice that you're not there anymore?
The Edna Man

A Place for Everything

The teacher stopped racking her brains and sighed. “Why did I have to be so good at my job?” she thought. “I could have just kept my head down like everyone else, but noooo… I was the fool who tried to be the best. And now I have to work overtime just to fulfill a small requirement of some stupid award. It’s not like I even believe in the whole thing anyway. Graaah…”

She turned back to the trilogy-thick stack of paper, which was somehow held together by a single reality-defying staple, and read the title again: “Superfluous Quantifiable Accolades: Chapter 16, Part IV, Section 32, Subsection 7f (iii), Rubric Prime-epsilon - A Child’s Place in Society.”

She flipped though the pages, searching desperately for some inspiration, but ten pages in, the introductory novel about educating children about their place in society ended and the endless list of individually scored rubrics and criteria began. Not wanting to go through that again, she put the booklet aside, thinking that “booklet” was not the correct term to use here; “tree’s corpse” would be more appropriate.

Twirling her pencil between her fingers absentmindedly, she thought about how all the credit for the task she had been given would be directed at the school in the end, or at least the entire staff in general, and how her individual contribution would be lost in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t make sense to her how the world could work this way.

“A Show-and-Tell, then,” she muttered to herself, picking up a second memo (which, at five pages thick, was quite long for a memo) neatly typed with the principal’s photocopied signature printed below the letterhead. “Show-and-Tell would be easy, and I’m sure the primary school students could cook up something spectacular if I tell them it’s assessed. Or at least their parents will. Who knows,” she muttered, “it might even turn out to be fun…”

She paused, with a look of incredulity on her face. Did she really say those words? No, she couldn’t have. She laughed lightly to herself, and went off to prepare the logistics.

* * *

On the day of the Show-and-Tell, the atmosphere was cheerful and expectant. The children, rarely having an opportunity for something outside the rigid curriculum, rose to the occasion magnificently, decked out in multicoloured costumes and clutching a number of homemade props.

The teacher was nervous. Seated behind the excited, chattering students was the principal, in his best suit and tie. He was attempting to initiate conversation to the assessor from the Board of Award Giving for Schools, who was sitting next to him. He looked stiffer than the principal, in a finely-cut black blazer, dark sunglasses and an earpiece trailing a wire from his ear. He looked more like a government agent than an assessor; but then again, he probably was a government agent to begin with.

“All right class,” she said loudly, “we’re about to begin. Remember, when I call your name, you come to the front of the class and tell everyone who you are and what your place is in society. Alright?”

There was a loud cheer of assent from the students. They couldn’t wait to begin. The assessor unclipped a pen from his pocket with a loud click, and, without even looking down at the notes in front of him, made a small mark on the paper.

“Now, who wants to go first?” the teacher asked.

Instantly, a hundred hands were in the air, bouncing up and down, with jubilant cries of “Pick me! Pick me!” echoing in the confined classroom.

“Emily, why don’t you start?”

The little girl squealed with delight, and skipped to the front of the classroom. She was dressed in a pure-white blouse with a trim white skirt. A stethoscope dangled from her neck, and a small hat with a red cross sat on her head, which never moved when she ricocheted across the floor. She was wearing thin rubber gloves, and holding a small wooden ice-cream stick in one hand and a portable flashlight in the other.

“I yam a dock-ta!” she proudly announced. “When people are sick-sicky, they come to see me, and I see what’s wrong with them, and then I use my med-shun to make them all betta!” She brandished her torch wildly as she said this. “That’s my place in so-shai-tee!”

“Thank you Emily, that was great,” said the teacher, glancing back at the assessor sitting at the back. He was still writing notes on the papers in front of him while staring straight ahead; she noticed that the principal was getting slightly freaked out by it.

“Who’s next? Umm… how about you, Robert?”

The boy stood up with much difficulty, since he was carrying a large briefcase which was almost taller than him. He straightened his tie and dusted off his pinstriped suit before dragging the case to the front, his polished black shoes making clack, clack noises as he walked.

“My place in society,” he said smartly, “is that of a businessman. Like my father,” he added. “We carry fortunes of money and important documents in a suitcase like this” - he pointed at his baggage - “and travel around the world, doing deals with other business men and making money. Oh, and boosting the economy, whatever that means.”

“Thank you, Robert. Err… Madison! Your turn!”

Madison was wearing a brightly-coloured skintight suit, complete with curled slippers and a plumed hat. A Shakespearean-style ruff circled her neck. “I am a stage actress,” she declared with a sweeping gesture, “an entertainer of the finest art, who will take to the stage and bring drama to the audience. My place is to perform, never to forget my lines while I… um, while I… uhh…” she fumbled in her pocket, pulled out a square of paper and unfolded it, and read: “uh, while I play the part and bring the house down.” She was blushing as she returned the sheet to her pocket.

One by one the students appeared at the front of the class, each one different, each one unique. Lawyer, policeman, game show host, impressionist artist, rock star, superhero; all forms were present and accounted for.

“Alright, Calvin, how about you next?”

He was the only one without an exuberant costume. He was dressed in a simple plaid shirt and jeans, nothing special. He remained silent when he reached the front of the class, and the students broke out into mutterings.

“Calvin? Go on with your presentation.”

He remained mute. The children, getting impatient, did what all children would do: start guessing.

“A cowboy without a hat?”

“A mannequin! With bad fashion sense!”

“Oh, oh, oh! You’re one of those emo pop stars!”

And Calvin began to speak.

“I am one who is cursed with selfless good nature. One burdened with a sense of morality less pliant than yours. In doing what I thought was right, I helped. I did my best to help anyone and everyone who crossed my path and needed assistance in one way or another, asking for nothing in return.

“And nothing did return. For a moment, a sliver of time, they needed me; then, once they had what they wanted or needed, I was discarded, thrown aside, ignored, left to fester in my own decomposing thoughts. I was useful in one thing and one thing only; not a friend, but an asset. Maybe because I am different. Nobody likes different people, because people can only relate when they are on similar frequencies. My assistance was all they needed; everything else was inessential.

“I wear no costume today because I am not one person. I am the stagehand behind the curtain, while the actress bows in front of the applauding audience. I am the squire to the chivalrous knight who shining armour blocks me from view. I am the insignificant name two minutes into the credits which nobody pays any attention to. Used, once, then ignored for the rest of eternity.

“Now, I must fade back into obscurity: inaudible, inconspicuous, invisible. I have broken the vow of silence that I imposed upon myself. Even now, criticisms are winging toward me, castigating my ideals, retorting that I should be the silent selfless philanthropist, who gives and gives until he has nothing left to give. Because that would be the right thing to do. That would be where they want to place me in society.”

The jaws of the three adults were hanging open, even the assessor’s. It was the teacher who recovered first. Remembering that her job was on the line, she said quickly, “Uhh, yes, well, Calvin, people like you, they’re… they’re essential. Necessary. Like - like gears, in a watch. You’re an integral part of society. Thank you; please sit down. Now, who’s next? Alicia, how about you…”

As Calvin wandered back to his seat, the hubbub of the children masked out his next few words: “Just because you are necessary doesn’t mean that you have any worth.”

-----

And everything in its place.
The Edna Man

Close Every Door

Close every door to me,
Hide all the world from me
Bar all the windows
And shut out the light

Do what you want with me,
Hate me and laugh at me
Darken my daytime
And toture my night

If my life were important I
Would ask will I live or die
But I know the answers lie
Far from this world

Close every door to me,
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel
Are never alone

For I know I shall find
My own peace of mind
For I have been promised
A land of my own

Close every door to me,
Hide all the world from me
Bar all the windows
And shut out the light

Just give me a number
Instead of my name
Forget all about me
And let me decay

I do not matter,
I'm only one person
Destroy me completely
Then throw me away

If my life were important I
Would ask will I live or die
But I know the answers lie
Far from this world

Close every door to me,
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel
Are never alone

For we know we shall find
Our own peace of mind
For we have been promised
A land of our own

Superpower

Have you ever wished that you had superpowers? That you could do things no ordinary man could do. Control fire, bend space and time, leap tall buildings with a single bound? Powerful stuff.

I realized today, that if I could have a superpower, this is what I would want: the power to absorb a book with a single touch. And photographic memory. Just imagine: I could walk through a bookstore, running my finger along the shelves, and I'd have my own personal library. Rows upon rows of stories, encyclopaedias, journals, artbooks, graphic novels... I'd reach out a psionic hand, pull a book down, and start reading. Anytime, anywhere. When teachers get boring, I'd be able to flip through a thriller. Or on the bus. A whole reference section for exams. Hundreds of tomes, stored in my head. Wouldn't that be a blast?

All I need is to live in Kinokuniya.
The Edna Man

Everybody deserves to shine.

Thanks to Mr Ng Yew Hong for this one.

Why do you have to be like others?
The Edna Man

Sickening

When you think about it, I could be on a aeroplane right now, sailing towards the most awesome competition of a lifetime, spending the next week only worrying about how much fun to have everyday.

Yet I'm still here.

Sigh.
The Edna Man

Viva la Voce

Doin' my Viva Voce, parody of Livin' da Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

I got a new assignment
At first it looked so small;
But it was harsh confinement,
Four thousand words in all.

I had to pick a topic,
Research it day and night.
This text is microscopic;
Gonna make me lose my sight.

It occupies your whole mind
while you're sitting on the train;
And when you're finished writing it,
There is one thing that remains:
Essay verbally explained.
(Oh no!)

"What's your EE 'bout?"
Doin' da viva voce
"You really shouldn't shout,"
Doin' da viva voce,
The teachers stare at me:
"What's the point of this here survey?
Please explain page three,"
Doin' da viva voce,
Doin' da viva voce,
I'm doin' my viva voce.

I spent my whole holidays,
At the local library;
It was all work, and I never did play
My Guitar Hero or mp3s;

It makes you want to give up
and lobotomize your brain;
You better hope you get it right
Or one more year you're retained;
It will make you go insane!
(Oh no!)

"Where are your footnotes?"
Doin' da viva voce,
"You'll need to add good quotes,"
Doin' da viva voce,
"This is, without doubt,
the students' biggest cliche,"
I need a time out,
Doin' da viva voce,
Doin' da viva voce,
I'm doin' my viva voce

You can't cope with the pressure
And you cannot take the strain;
But you volunteered for this course,
So you really can't complain;
Or you'll do it all again!
(Please, no!)

"Please elaborate,"
Doin' da viva voce,
"And this point: can debate,"
Doin' da viva voce,
"And these sections aren't joined;
What's this paragraph trying to convey?"
"What's your learning points?"
Doin' da viva voce,

There to check for lies,
Doin' da viva voce,
In case you plagarize,
Doin' da viva voce,
He hands back my essay,
"Thank you, and that's all for today,"
I hope I get my A,
Doin' da viva voce,
Doin' da viva voce,
I've finished my viva voce.

Iiiiiittttt'sssss... HANGMAN!

Another day, another diary doodle. I haven't done one of these in a while.





Because every execution needs an angry mob,
The Edna Man

Silenced

We just love our freedom of speech, don't we?
The Edna Man

Very Busy People

Very Busy People by The Limousines

We'll end up numb from playing video games
And we'll get sick of having sex
And we'll get fat from eating candy
As we drink ourselves to death

We'll stay up late making mixtapes
Photoshopping pictures of ourselves
While we masturbate to these pixelated videos
Of strangers f**king themselves

We are very busy people
We are very busy people

There's crusty socks and stacks of pizza boxes
Making trails straight to the bed
And when we're done sleeping we'll stay busy dreaming
Of the things we don't have yet

Well, there's a long long list of chores and shit to do
Before we play, oh, let's just piss away the day
Crank call the cops down at the station just for friendly conversation
Requesting songs they've never played

Let's hear the one that goes like
We are very busy people
We are very busy people
But we've always got time for new friends

So come on over and knock on our door
It's open what'cha waiting for
We might be sprawled out on the floor
But we still make lovely company
Pull up a chair I'll pour some tea
We'll shoot the shit 'bout everything
Till you get sick of politics
And flip on the TV screen
We stare at the TV screen

That Donnie Darko DVD has been repeating for a week
And we know every single word
I've got an iPod like a pirate ship
I'll sail the seas with 50,000 songs I've never heard

And all the best of them go la la la la la la
La la la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la

We are very busy people
We are very busy people
But we've always got time for new friends
Yeah

Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la
Fa la la la la la

-----

Kudos to Juzzie for this one.

Note to self: finish parody of November.

We are very busy people,
The Edna Man

"Cheaters Never Prosper...

... and never change their spots, either," muttered Evnik, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. He steeled himself before striding over to the door, casting a wary eye over the numerous windows, each potentially hiding a quiver of crossbow bolts aimed in his direction. In an act of both great courage and lunacy, he grasped the brass knocker and rapped it three times.

Instantly, a small peephole slid open, and a pair of beady little eyes scrutinized him from head to toe. "You don't have to do this, Evnik," said the owner of the eyes. "You should turn back while you still can."

"I am a man of honour, Salin," said Evnik calmly. "Perhaps you should let me in, old friend. Your boss is expecting me."

The peephole slid shut with a snap. There was the sound of muffled clinking, before the stout wooden door creaked open. "On your own head be it, then," muttered Salin. "If it's still on once the Thief of Kings is done with you."

Evnik folled Salin through the winding corridors, never taking his hand off the hilt of his sword. They passed few people along the way; those Evnik made eye contact with greeted him a dirty look and a sneer.

"Don't expect good manners from anyone in here," said Salin, quite unnecessarily.

"Of course," said Evnik. "The Thieves' Guild is infamous for its hospitality."

"This ain't a hospital, innit?" a cloaked figure they had just passed shouted out. "You think we s'all clerics or summat? Greatest fool o' a warrior I've ever seen."

Evnik ignored him. "Now I know why this is called the Thieves' Guild. Its members have all had their brains stolen."

"We did have that Illithid insurgency a couple of weeks back," said Salin, "caused huge problems with the shadowmages on Level 9." He stopped abruptly in front of a pair of wrought iron gates. Beyond it was a short passway leading into an small arena. Evnik could see the rings of seats filled with thieves, vagabonds, muggers, robbers... every rogue in the city must have been there. Directly opposite him sat Kulthas Daggerhand, the Thief of Kings, atop a throne which appeared to be made of solid gold, encrusted with gemstones, sitting on an ornately carved stone dias.

"Good luck, old friend," said Salin, pushing the gates open. "I have a front row seat, in case you need - you know - help."

"I'll be fine Salin, thank you." Evnik strode through the gates, into the centre of the small ring. Jeers rained down on him from all sides, not to mention the various rotten fruit and broken bottles. Kulthas Daggerhand remained motionless, his face hidden by the shadow of his hood.

The arena fell silent. "Greetings, Lord Daggerhand," Evnik said loudly. "I believe it's time to attend to our unfinished business." He drew his sword, and leveled it at the Thief of Kings.

With a short, harsh laugh, Kulthas Daggerhand rose from his seat. "You have great courage, little man. Few would dare venture into the very heart of the Thieves' Guild. And of those who do, none make it out alive."

He stepped off the dias, walked over to Evnik, and placed his chest against Evnik's leveled sword. "Go on then," he growled. "Strike me."

Evnik didn't even flinch. "I will not strike a man while he is unarmed. Draw your weapon, and let's finish this."

The Thief of Kings threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I knew it! You are weak. Weak like all the others."He turned and put one foot on the dias, then stopped. "You have the chance to finish me off and you throw it away."

"It would not be right," said Evnik. "I am a man or honour, Lord Daggerhand."

"Your warrior's rules do not apply here, little man," Kulthas Daggerhand growled. With astonishing agility, he grabbed the hilt of his blade and whirled around, knocking Evnik's sword away with the force of his turn. "There is only one rule here: you die, you lose."

"Let's hope that you're not a sore loser, then," retorted Evnik, and he brough his sword around for another blow, only to be parried by the Thief of Kings. The clash of steel on steel was drowned out by the cheers of the surrounding rogues.

With a mighty kick, Kulthas Daggerhand sent Evnik flying into the stands. He landed, disoriented, in the hands of Salin, his old friend. A mighty cheer erupted from the rogues, and the Thief of Kings turned to face them, hands held high in victory.

With the Rogue Lord distracted, Salin whispered in Evnik's ear: "There is no hope of you winning this fight. I can help you. Just cheat a little. Your warrior's code of honour does not apply here."

"It might not apply to you," said Evnik, "but it applies to me." He struggled to his feet, his sword at the ready. "En garde, Lord Daggerhand."

Angered, the Thief of Kings charged at him. Evnik sidestepped, leaping onto the dais and falling into the seat of the golden throne. Kulthas Daggerhand lunged at him, but Evnik managed to evade once again, but stuck out his foot and tripped the Thief of Kings, sending him sprawling into the throne, knocking it over with a loud thunk.

The crowd roared. A dagger knifed through the commotion, but bounced off Evnik's armour. "This is between me and him," Evnik shouted. "Stay out of this!"

Kulthas Daggerhand had gotten to his feet. The crowd fell silent at the sight of his second sword, its blade gleaming in the flickering torchlight.

"The Plunderer's Blade," someone whispered, and before long the whole arena was muttering these three words. Evnik, however, wasn't privy to the weapon's legacy, and merely called out, "One weapon only, Lord Daggerhand."

Grinning, the Thief of Kings rushed at him again, the Plunderer's Blade whistling as both blades sliced through the air. Evnik managed to parry him again, but was still adamant. "One weapon only!" he shouted again.

"Chivalry is dead, boy," Kulthas Daggerhand growled. "You die, you lose."

He glanced over Evnik's shoulder, catching the eye of one of his trusted assassins. The assassin nodded inperceptibly, then unsheathed his dagger. With a mighty war cry, the Thief of Kings shoved Evnik backwards, impaling him on the knife. Evnik gasped with shock, and his sword slipped from his hand.

As the life ebbed from his body, Evnik's last vision was of a crowd surging forward, daggers drawn. He heard the Thief of Kings growl, "He's all yours, boys," and slipped into blackness as his corpse was dragged under a hundred merciless blades.

-----

We had English test today.
The Edna Man