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Millard Kaufman's final novel has arrived!
Pick up Misadventure now—or, see what
you've missed out on thus far by picking up
both Bowl of Cherries and Misadventure
for 27% off the retail price.

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WE MUST NEVER FORGET
WHATEVER HAPPENED
HERE TODAY.

BY JOHN HOWELL HARRIS

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Ladies and gentlemen. Friends, relatives, dear ones, and patriots. Especially patriots. And especially that fidgety little jerk right there in front. Yeah, you, Pigtails. Eyes up here ... All right, then. Like I was saying ... We must never forget whatever happened here today.

If whatever we're talking about was some sort of horrible genocide, then, by God, it is our duty as Americans—nay, as human beings—not to forget it. And by "it," I mean this. I mean whatever we're talking about. Unless, of course, it was those gross skinny people with flies in their mouths and the big bellies and the sores and stuff. If that's the case, then I'd actually rather not think about it. Gross.

Natural disasters. If that's what we're talking about, then let's not even spend time on it. I mean, yeah, loss of life and property and dignity and blah blah blah, but let's be honest, what are you gonna do? Last time I checked, we weren't some kind of mad scientist that could control the weather or the tectonic plates with a big crazy plutonium-driven doomsday device hidden in a cool secret hideout built mostly of titanium and stainless steel, most likely located underwater or inside, like, a super-tall sheer rock face with an elaborate cave system. Are any of you that guy? I know for goddamn sure I'm not. So, yeah, we'll remember it, but let's not be assholes about it.

There's no way this was a food drive or a chili cook-off or something, right? Yeah, I didn't think so. I'm just sort of hungry.

If this was some sort of financial thing, like an economic tragedy or a boom or a bust, or like when a millionaire's wife has lupus or something, so he donates, like, a million dollars to have a hospital wing built for other less fortunate millionaires' wives with lupus, then I'd have to be honest and say that's pretty boring and I don't feel like remembering it. If that's the case, then we should not bore ourselves and just have one guy remember it. Like that dork right there with no life. No, that other dork. Yeah, that one. You hear that, buddy? If it's something boring, we're just going to have you remember it, and then you can pass it on to your stupid boring kids, OK? I mean, assuming you ever get laid.

If this thing is going on right now, then I want immediate assurance that we're nowhere near it, unless it makes us look good, or is one of those things where you can do naught but look on, powerless with pure, abject terror, due to the enormity of the situation. I would have to watch something like that. From a safe distance, of course.

If it was some kind of thing where topless chicks whaled on each other with pillows while riding dirt bikes in a steel globe, then we will never forget it. I mean, am I right, fellas? Who's gonna forget that? That shit should be made into a coin or a stamp or something, am I right? OK, OK, just wait till I'm done! I can't high-five all of you right now. Settle down.

I have but one final hope for the memory of whatever happened here today. I hope that it was big enough to be twisted and manipulated by whoever is in charge so that it becomes a catchall excuse for whatever insane policy their sole functioning synapse can concoct. Plus, I hope we can somehow get some oil out of all this. I heard that stuff is going fast.

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OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:

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We Must Never Forget Whatever Happened Here Today By John Howell Harris
George Viebranz Has Taken to His Bed By George Viebranz
Stephen Dixon Returns
Warnings I've Tried to Sneak Into the Fine Print at the Bottom of Your TV Screen By Dan Kennedy
Notes on "Sweet Child O' Mine," as Delivered to Axl Rose by His Editor By John Moe

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