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In This Issue

• Water On The Knee
• The Annihilator of Mathematics
• Demonic Speak-n-Spell
• The Fed Interviews Jon Voight
• Letters to the Feditors
• Sam Jenning, or: Eating Children For Profit
• Immigrate This!
• Where In Our Hearts Is Carmen Sandiego?
• The Life and Times of Carmen Sandiego
• Redder Rabbit?
• Good Golly Fucking Gumdrops, I Like Candy!
• The City’s New Hot, Sexy, Superhot Nightclub!
• Where's Waldo?
• Logical Journey into Eugenics
• Think Columbia Sucks? It's Your Fault, Doofus.
• A Farewell to Harms
• A Farewell To Bill
• Tracy Briskit, Fed Queen
• Make Your Own Safe Space!
• Columbia Trail: Safe Space, Bathroom in 347 miles
• Cook with Barney!
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.8
• The Staff of Volume 21

Mommmyyy…”

“Now you be a good boy while Mommy fixes dinner.”

“Coookkieess...”

“No cookies for you, Bobby. You don’t want to spoil your appetite. Now just stay put and play with your toys for Mommy.”

Mrs. Stevenson walked through the doorway as she started to make busy. Resigned to his room full of toys, Bobby downheartedly turned his head, the various shiny and colorful objects of no interest to him now.

“Hey, kid.”

Bobby’s head shifted, quite unsure of what he had heard.

“Yeah, that’s right, over here.”

His eyes widened. The voice was emanating from the red and yellow plastic box sitting on the floor.

“It's me, Mr. Speak & Spell. Listen, you gotta help me out…hey kid, you like cookies?”

His head perked up.

“I can get you all the cookies you want. You just have to do me a few favors. You game?”

The voice was gruff, deeper than normal, but Bobby nodded enthusiastically, his arms swinging by his sides as he bobbed up and down.

“Okay, but first we gotta do a test, a practice run. You gotta show me you can work with me in a team, alright?

"First I want you to grab that wooden horse. Push it over to the doorway.”

Bobby ran over and grabbed the horse. He pushed it over so that it sat partially hidden by the base of the door frame, then skipped back.

“Gooood. Now I want you to get your mommy to come back into the room, and when she does, I want you to say what we were saying together the other day. You remember? What we were spelling together.”

Bobby nodded and plopped himself back on the floor. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

A clutter and clink sounded from the kitchen; Mrs. Stevenson scurried down the hallway. Her legs appeared from around the corner, and as she strode through the doorway her foot became entangled with the wooden horse. Her colossal mass came crashing down to the floor, as she collided with a troop of toys soldiers and several bendable dinosaur figures.

“You’s a filthy whore, a filthy whore! W-H-O-R-E!” squealed Bobby as he jumped up and down next to the collapsed figure.

“Bobby! How dare you? Where did you pick up that language?” shrieked Mrs. Stevenson as she righted herself, still stunned from her fall. “You bad boy, who taught you to say that?”

“It was Speak & Spell, Mommy, Speak & Spell.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Now help Mommy up, and promise never to say that again. I’ll be in the kitchen, and you stay out of trouble 'til I come back! Heavens above.”

“Good, kid, you did good…” came the voice from the box as Mrs. Stevenson, still a little fazed, walked down the corridor. “But one more thing. Don’t go telling anyone about our little conversation. It’ll be our little secret, okay? Now for those cookies!”

Bobby peered round the corner and stared down the hallway. The mission was now clear. In his knapsack he had packed a stethoscope, a sack of marbles, and an Etch A Sketch with a detailed map: everything a junior adventurer needed. He pulled a miniature wagon at his side which held Mr. Speak & Spell, the wheels squeaking slightly, and began his journey down the hallway. As he gazed into the kitchen, Bobby spotted the glass jar sitting on top of the refrigerator. The word breathlessly escaped from his lips: “Cookies…”

“Now kid, we need to create a distraction. Look on the table, you see those matches?”

Bobby crept up to the table and mounted the chair. He grabbed the matches. Mrs. Stevenson was busy kneading a rather thick knot of dough. From the bustle and hum, it did not seem that she had noticed.

“Gooood, very good! Now you know what I want you to do with these matches?”

In wide eyed anticipation Bobby looked down at Mr. Speak & Spell. The voice from the plastic box had now reached a state of whisper.

“Burn the kitchen… I want you to burn this kitchen… Burn it down… BURN IT ALLLL!!”

The tablecloth quickly caught fire as Bobby, surprisingly adept at lighting matches, ran for cover. The blaze and smoke spread with astonishing rapidity as the kitchen became engulfed in the blaze. Mrs. Stevenson was shrieking her head off as she frantically dashed around the room in a panic. The demonic cackle of the Speak & Spell resonated and Bobby peeked out from behind the refrigerator as his hysterical mother tried to dampen the flames. His mind was set on only one thing, but the blaze had become too much. Grabbing his knapsack he was forced to run as the kitchen was nearing a state of inferno. As the firemen crashed through the door he realized he had forgotten something. A torrent of water fought the blaze, and Bobby ran back; as a man pulled him away he caught a glimpse of his former toy. Lying in a puddle of goo was the speak and spell, bubbling globules of melted plastic, wire and circuitry.

Back in his play room as the men finished up, Bobby slumped to the ground, disappointed. The mission for cookies had failed. His knapsack had been slightly charred; he emptied the contents onto the floor. In the other room he heard the firemen consoling a rather distraught Mrs. Stevenson. Examining the items he had taken with him to the kitchen, he noticed something funny about the Etch A Sketch. It looked like something was happening on the screen, something was forming. Was it trying to tell him something?

“Hey, kid.”