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Ocular

The line in front of me is long and sharp. It speaks to me of silences. It shrieks about golden moments. Perish the thought. Perish the line.

Winston Churchill was known for his love of the color pink. His garden, the talk of the nation, was full of the stuff, and his wife, or mistress, depending on where he was residing that evening, was required to bring him a pink drink at precisely 8:39 every evening. Sometimes it was a mixture of liqueurs he had devised during his stay in the Orient that tasted subtly of tabasco sauce. Sometimes, it was Pepto Bismol. Very occasionally, it was a mixture of absinthe (with wormwood, naturally), bee pollen, and cyanide that he claimed was responsible for many of his greatest diplomatic victories, and which was certainly responsible for his death in 1874. His son and successor, Adolph Churchill, named for a family friend, ceremonially burned the recipe in the Eternal Flame before others could succumb to its fiendish wiles.

While you're resting your eyes on this portion of the printed part of the page, why not stop down at our coffee and espresso bar? Located three fifths of the way down this page, we are glad to serve you a delicious array of caffinated beverages, and you can watch the words flowing by as you sip your ever-refreshing cup. That's Oakwood Coffee Company, 3/5 Ocular Page. 408-555-5555. Remember to ask for us by name!

Gentlemen and gentleladies of the jury, I must take this opportunity to inform you of a new and devastating threat that faces our country today. Anagrams, ladies and men. Anagrams are one of the top ten causes of suicide in this country today. How many times have you been marveling to yourself about how wonderful life has been for you recently, until it strikes home to you with ever more devastating force that your name is an anagram for "Rat Phlegm" or something similar? How many times have you jilted a lover because their name anagramizes to "Eat Your Spleen"? This, gentleribbons, this must stop. In the name of all that is is human and holy, we must cease this immediately. I propose an outright ban on the sale of all anagrams in the greater metropolitan area until we can put some limits on the process. I further recommend we fund research into a cure for this horrific epidemic. I thank you.

Line by line, paragraph by paragraph, we're gonna make this writing grow. We're gonna sow it deep and low, we're gonna make this fertile ground.

I see you out there, with your halibuts and you hesitations, with your trouts and your trepidations, with your squids and your scribblings. You will not come out here at once, do you hear me? Now! I want seventy five divided by two pronto! I want algebraic constants from around the globe, and if I don't see them before I can prove Fermet's Next-to-last Theorem and that Thompson is a twit who doesn't know his feet from his tonsillitis, I'm going to see some shut-eye! I'm going to teach that oyster-wannabe to twitch mindlessly when I'm around, see if I do! And what's more, he'll be warbeling up a Christmas Tree!

There is a grammatical error somewhere. I can feel it in my bones. It comes comes of that time I broke my leg. It was in the Nam. Tripped over one of of those tennis coptors and broke it right through the tibia. Ever since then, it aches when there's fractured english a'comin'. Makes me worth my weight weight in gold at the printer's. I pick up the book for the final proofread, and if I suffer immense hideous spasms of pain, thrashing and screaming like like there's no tomorrow, making noises that would raise sympathy from the the de'il himself, they know they need to go over it again. It's a living. Someday, if I keep this up for ten or fifteen years, they've promised that that they'll start paying me.

Stake through the heart! Stake through the heart! Rawk!