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In This Issue

• East Campus Drink-or-Treating
• Why Your Vote Doesn't Count
• Cheney-Edwards: Now That's A Ticket!
• Fed Fun Guide to Third Party Candidates
• Homeless Voters Choose
• Vintage T-shirt Democracy Plot
• A First lesson in Russian Swearing
• September 10th: The Adjective
• Letters to and from The Fed
• Zombie Reagan!
• Liberal Bias Alleged in Democratic Party
• Presidential Candidates Have Large Height Difference
• Lover's Lane Hook Psycho Mutilated
• Advice from the Manly
• Complete Presidential Debate Coverage
• Monsters of the World
• THEY WATCH
• Alarming Statistics on Brain Eating
• Ice Bitch for Election Day
• Where's Dick Cheney?

Matt Holden

The Story So Far: Susan and Gregory have just driven home from Lover's Lane after hearing radio reports of libidinous teenagers slaughtered by an escaped, hook-handed madman. We pick up the tale as the couple exits Gregory's car outside Susan's quiet suburban home.

Susan stepped out, turned to close the car door and screamed: "Oh goodness, Gregory, there's a-a-a HOOK stuck in the door!"

Gregory, still sliding out the driver's side, replied, "What? You're kidding, right?" Susan shook her head, wishing she could have been kidding. Greg rolled his eyes and walked around to the other side of the car. There, its bloody stump sticking out of the passenger door, was the Lover's Lane Killer's deadly hook.

"Jesus, bitch! Why'd you fuck up my car?!" Gregory exclaimed, rushing to inspect the damage. He kneeled and touched the cold steel hook, then traced his fingers along the arcing gash slashed into the door. "What the shit is wrong with you?" he spat, firing his icy stare back at her.

Susan stammered: "Gr-Gregory, I.... I didn't do..."

"Oh shit, this is gonna cost hella money to repair! How the hell did you do this? Were you keeping this fucking pirate hook in your back pocket or something? Is that why you wouldn't let me paw your tocks?"

Susan mustered the strength to declare her innocence: "It wasn't me, Greggy, I swear! It was...I think it was the Lovers' Lane Killer!"

Gregory shook his head. "Wow. Fuckin' wow. Look at yourself. You can barely breathe. This is turning you on, isn't it? Just my luck to go out with a girl with some whacked-out, kinky-ass fantasy about almost getting killed by, by, fuckin' who? A car-ruining, homicidal handicap? Oh man, this is gonna cost so much money. Oh man."

Susan broke into tears and collapsed on the pavement. She reached up to Gregory. "Gregory, I didn't do it! You have to believe me! I like your car, and you, too! I would never...Oh God, I'm so scared, and nobody believes me! Oh! Oh God, the Lovers' Lane Killer tried to kill us!"

As he looked upon Susan, her sobs echoing down the empty suburban cul-de-sac, her heaving body encircled on the pavement by the light of the street lamp, he suddenly found sympathy.

"Well, gee, Susan..."

Then his sympathy began to trickle into a puddle of bloody terror. The honesty in Susan's eyes meant two things: First, she had not stuck a bloody hook in his car door. Second, and consequently, somebody else must have stuck a bloody hook in his car door. And in all likelihood, that person was the infamously hook-handed... Lover's Lane Killer!

"Holy FUCK! Get in the house now! Ahhhhh!" Gregory hoisted Susan up over his shoulder into a fireman's carry and ran toward her home. He leaned too far forward, his legs gave out, and he and Susan tumbled onto the lawn. They fought and scrambled over each other up the walk. "Heeelp!" they screamed, pounding on the door and ringing the bell.

"Oh my God, you guys, calm it down," said Susan's twelve-year-old brother Rickie as he opened the door in his bathrobe. Rickie's parents had left Susan in charge of the house while they vacationed at Disney World in an effort to rescue their marriage.

"Rickie, there's some maniac after us! We gotta call the police!" proposed Gregory.

"Uhh, I'm kinda using the phone line, doing some downloading. Downloading some stuff..." Rickie trailed off, peering around the two scared-pale teens and noticing no maniacs.

"Look, you little stain," countered Susan with a tilt of her head, "the Lovers' Lane Killer tried to kill us at Lovers' Lane! He left his hook in the car door!" she blurted, pointing a class-ring- decorated finger back at the assailed vehicle. Gregory grabbed him by the shoulder and led him to the door.

"Hoooolyyy SHIT..." Rickie bent down to examine the hook, burying his hands in the folds of his bathrobe in an attempt to conceal his internet-induced erection.

"Now do you believe us, troll?" asked Susan with a tone both sharp and rhetorical.

Rickie straightened and pondered the matter for a few moments. He turned to his older sibling and her boyfriend and said, "So, you guys must've dragged him for a while, right?"

Gregory's brow tightened: "What?"

"Like, if he attacked you on Lovers' Lane, and you drove back here with the hook still attached, you probably had to have been dragging him along the ground for at least a little while until the hook just popped off his arm...I mean, there's still a little bit of blood and a weird smell on it. You didn't notice any weird noises?"

"Well," Susan recalled, "I heard some weird scratching, but Gregory told me that it was the wind and that I shouldn't wear a bra anymore..."

"Uh...well, maybe the scratching was coming from the hook tearing into the door. That gash is pretty long, so you must've been pulling him along for quite a ways. Was there any screaming?"

Gregory scratched his chin, then replied: "No, no screaming. Maybe when the car pulled away he fell and got knocked out. Then I guess the road rapidly scraped his face and throat off. But why would he stick the hook in the door instead of just open it with his good hand?"

Rickie ventured an answer: "Perhaps, instead of clawing your eyes out-his trademark style, as the radio reports put it-he wanted to rip the door clean off and use it as a hook attachment to bludgeon you both to death."

Susan cut in: "Gee, you guys, should we go look for the body and stuff? It might be really gross-looking now, wherever it wound up on the long stretch of road between Lovers' Lane and this peaceful suburban street, ravaged and discarded like rotten ground beef."

"I've got a better idea," said Gregory. jumping back into the car, "How about we all get some tasty burgers and delicious shakes down at the hamburger stand, where we can tell our teen friends how the Lovers' Lane Killer tried to kill us on Lovers' Lane! But to make the story scary and not just absurd and sorta horrible and stuff, we'll leave out all the explanation!" The trio high-fived in resolution.