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In This Issue

• Young and In Heat
• Teen Talk
• Way Embarassing Stories From Teens Like You!
• Letters to the Feditor
• You're Bleemin' Thin!
• New, Finger-Eatin' Good Diet!
• Pot Calls Kettle Black, Gag Ball Calls Assless Chaps Gay
• Sequels: Always Better Than Originals
• Boy Bands: Our Saviors
• Barbara Bush is a Dead Bitch
• H&M: We're So Hip!
• Beauty is in the Red, Tearful Eye of the Beholder
• Pity the Lowly Rock Dove
• Do-It-Yourself Object of Love
• Ode to a Spill-Proof Mug
• Mouse and Cat: World Series Prep
• Revolve: The *New* New Testament
• Fed Insider with Grown-Up Teen Idol Rider Strong
• Jewry Blocks Masturbation
• The 9 Train
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.1

I was almost done, you jerks!

Humans engage in something we’ll call “threat distancing.” This is the belief that circumstances you see befall others are less likely to darken your doorway. As a human, I downplay threats too. Scientifically speaking, people who fall down stairs tend to be dumb. I’m not dumb, so I’m not about to go down a flight of stairs, am I? Nah. And what about those idiots who get attacked by bears? It’s stupid to let a bear attack you, so bears aren’t going to attack me because, you see, I’m not stupid.

Apparently though, hard drive crashes don’t discriminate like bears. I discovered this a few weeks ago. Plopping into my desk chair, I pressed the power button on my laptop salivating for my daily fill of tech-nerd blogs and Wikipedia exploration. Imagine my surprise, then, when the computer displayed neither of those things, preferring instead to leave its screen black and its buttons useless. “Not to worry,” I thought, “This is nothing a reboot can’t fix.”

Half an hour and three reboots later, I got worried. Years before, I had contacted the CIA to obtain their help in drafting a disaster recovery plan for occasions such as this. Remembering that, I made my way to the ninth floor of the Butler stacks. On the 15th shelf from the northwest corner, between two books about jousting, sat a nondescript edition of the King James Bible. Inside, I found a small envelope stamped “Top Secret” which contained the manual and discs that came with my computer, along with some warranty information and a CD-ROM for free AOL hours.

But back at my computer with the necessary tools, I discovered that my hard drive was dead.

Horror of horrors, what fate! My computer was barely a year old, so young, so full of life! Why, just the day before we had shared a good laugh over a compilation of porno bloopers. It had been so healthy, so happy. And the very next day, gone!

I spent the next few days moping. I got my hands on a spare computer, but it wasn’t the same. It had none of my bookmarks, none of my documents, none of my – ahem – entertainment. Aimlessly wandering the Internet, however, I stumbled onto the site of a company called DriveSavers.

Joy of joys, what luck! This is a company that has recovered data from hard drives that had been burned in fires, soaked in floods, and shot up in turf wars. How do they do it? The details are secret, but what I’ve managed to find out is that they disrobe, chant incantations, and oil their female staffers. When three days and nights have elapsed, they send a copy of my data back to me.

The good people at DriveSavers taught me something important: hard drive crashes do discriminate. They discriminate against Arabs like me. You know, as part of the Zionist conspiracy. The same one that pushes people down stairs, sets bears on them, and deletes their good porn.