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November 15, 2005

The Eschatologist: How To Panic In 3 Seconds Flat

Fred Miller had been awake all week, strung out on hyper-caffeinated Bawls and NoDoz. Today was his final doctoral dissertation defense. He knew that he should have slept before going in front of the committee, but he couldn't help himself. A final few hours to review his notes and presentation couldn't hurt.

He walked confidently, though bleary-eyed, into the room, where the dour defense committee was arranged in a semi-circle around his chair. He placed the first poster board up on the easel. "On The Weight Interaction of Various Jovian Satellites".

"Pardon me, Mr. Miller. Should that not read 'mass'?"

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