The opening paragraph started A LINE MUST BE DRAWN, all in caps before settling down to three or four pages of what would have looked like deranged gibberish—to someone who hadn’t spent just over three years learning magic. With that knowledge, the writing ceased to be gibberish and became merely deranged.

As we walked back to the SCC I asked if he liked tentacle porn, and he said he could take it in small doses but he preferred his fantasies to be vaguely human. “That’s just speciesist, that is,” I said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Victor, as he looked with dismay at a beverage stain on his black and green Weyland-Yutani sweatshirt. “Relax,” I said. “This is just first contact—we’re only going to exchange names and check he’s the right orientation.” “And what do you think the right orientation is?” asked Victor. “The one that’s facing in your direction,” I said.