Taylor Swift walks into an elevator with me and she has two giant goons in tow.  I stay respectfully quiet, until she shifts in place and unmistakably breaks wind.  I can’t help but laugh.  She turns to me with venom in her eyes.  “Did you just fart?  In an elevator?  What the hell?”  I’m caught…

I’m in accounting class and I raise my hand.  The professor rolls his eyes; he hates me ‘cos I’m creative and because I’m not excited by a dad-bod and the office lifestyle.  “Yes, Kent?”  I lower my hand and ask, “Why are we obsessed with learning a financial system that’s proven to be compromised by…

Every week at work there’s a secret meeting in the basement.  My coworkers don’t think I know about it but I do.  This time I follow them downstairs, passing through a series of dank, gridded metal gates.  They file into a room and I crack the door open and peer in.  They’re circled up, chanting…

I’m sitting in a briefing room with dozens of other rebels, about to make what amounts to a suicide run against the Douche Star:  a giant, orbiting space-station that envelops planet-wide populations in a bath of sheer stupidity and drops testosterone to single digit ng/mls.  “Good hunting,” our briefing commander says gravely as we rise from…