April 16 is a date which will live in infamy. We were forced to steal that line from Roosevelt because – for the first time in the history of our illustrious magazine – our writers went on strike. Gathered in an angry mob outside of corporate headquarters, they threatened not to write a single word until we raised their pay and gave them English language keyboards so their ártiçlés wouldñ’t £óók like thíš. Tensions were high and it wasn’t long before things got out of hand. One board member was almost maimed crossing the picket line on his way to the executive foosball room. In retaliation, one of the writers was hit with a flying object that can only be described as, “a water balloon filled with red paint.” It wasn’t long before a meeting of the editorial staff and other higher-ups was convened to make a decision on what to do. Where would we ever find people incompetent enough to write such sophomoric drivel? What does sophomoric even mean? And most importantly, who keeps using the last roll of toilet paper in the executive bathroom without replacing it? Things had gotten serious, and, as it were, a bit unsanitary....

Kathi Dunkel plays with fire