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In This Issue

• Confessions of a Dangerous Broccoli Head
• English Majors, Decades Later
• How to Spend Your Time After Co-Founding Apple
• The Cyborg Army of Death
• Salvation is a Prophet Away
• Chris Tucker to Play James Bond
• The Fed Point–Counterpoint: You Just Stabbed Me
• What Would You Do-ooh-ooh...
• Loose Lips Sink Credit Reports
• Bowling as Symbolism
• The Wonders of the Undersea World
• It is Imperative that You Spoon that Fruit Indiscriminately
• “They” Watch Reality TV, Drink Coke Blak for Fun
• Behind the Scenes at MythBusters Headquarters
• Good Night, and Good Luck
• Campus Bureaucracy Replaced With Rube Goldberg Machine
• The Seeker
• Tales of the Inexpressible
• The Most Trusted Name in News
• It Swings Both Ways
• They Watch
• The Fed Index
• King Kong Returns

It was a dark time at Columbia University. A palpable gloom hung in the air, sucking the joy out of everyone on the campus. The students wandered around aimlessly, bleating like emo fans waiting for the slaughter. They were without hope, for it was the season of final exams. They tried seeking solace by escaping to Facebook, but that proved to be a futile search. Not even the learned rabbis of the Jewish Theological Seminary could offer any real comfort. Life seemed so pointless. Columbians needed salvation; they needed a hero to guide them from their daze.

And lo, as if sent from a distant time and place for that very purpose, one day He appeared before them for the first time and spoke. It was an average day in the Butler Lounge; students were overdosing on caffeine and chatting between ten-page bursts of reading. People listened to their iPods and complained about all the work they had.

It was a perfectly normal day, that is, until He spoke. He held court at a group of cushioned chairs in the corner of the room. There were not a lot of people there, and He didn't speak for long. But His words spilled forth with breathtaking power and conviction. They were musical and spiritual, and they rang with truth. People who were there told their friends about Him and when He spoke again a few days later, His audience was slightly larger.

He held more and more meetings, and with each meeting his popularity grew. He developed quite a following. Women would rush to give Him their phone numbers before they fainted. Men thumped Him on the back as if they were old friends. Even professors seemed to have a soft spot for Him, making it a point to hand His papers back a full week before those of the other students. This was sometimes even before He had submitted a paper.

The things he told were never earth-shattering. He did not propose anything radical. The appeal of his words lay in their simplicity. He simply said things that everyone  knew but could never articulate. His adherents were fond of repeating one of His favored talking points: "He speaks the truth that we've all known for a long time. Someone just needed to say it."

He became a prophet for the students of Columbia, and with His rising popularity, His message spread. It was elegantly simple: "We have a choice." We have a choice. It became an irresistible catchphrase; it could be heard in the air, all around campus. By its sheer power, the students had hope again. In the midst of their darkest days, the students had once again a reason to live.

Though in the beginning the Prophet had been fond of speaking publicly, as time passed, he receded into the shadows, and kept quiet while his followers founded student groups to promote His message.

They used a variety of tactics to recruit members to their cause. They stood on College Walk for hours at a time and handed fliers to passers-by. They held bake sales and sold homemade jewelry. They hosted parties and art gallery openings.

People flocked to join, attracted by the promise of a healthy way to deal with their frustrations. The Prophet remained in the shadows, a figure of great mystique.

Finally, on the first day of reading week, with his now-massive congregation of followers gathered, He stood on a table in Butler Library's main reading room and broke His silence.

"We were not created to live in fear!!" The crowd roared its agreement.

"We deserve dignity!" All nodded.

"We must fight against the tyranny of evil men!" The crowd was captivated.

"We must send a message that will let them know, once and for all, that they cannot control us-that they cannot suppress us!" More roaring.

"We fight for something that is above us all, something that is more important than any of us. We fight for freedom!" The crowd at this point was going completely wild.

"We shall kill each other with our laptops to let them know that we are willing to do whatever is necessary to stop exams!"

They listened to him. His logic spoke to them. They took out their laptops and bashed each other on the head. Within minutes, hundreds of students were dead on the floor, blood leaking from the cracks in their skulls. And only the Prophet remained standing. Then He took up his own laptop and used it to bludgeon Himself to death.