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Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

Remember the book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"? Well,   here's a prime example offered by an English professor at an American   University.

  In-class Assignment for Wednesday: "Today we will experiment with a   new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person   will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right.   One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The   partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to   the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on   back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in   order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking   and anything you wish to say must be written on the paper. The story   is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."   

   The following was actually turned in by two of the English students:    Rebecca - last name deleted, and Gary - last name deleted.     


   STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca)   

   At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The   chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now   reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he   liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her   mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought   about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile   was out of the question.     


   Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack   squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think   about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie   with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris   to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar   orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he   could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and   blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct   hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.     


   He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he   felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman   who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its   pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.

  "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,"   Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously   excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her   youth - when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no   newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of   innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her.

"Why must one   lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.     


  Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.

  Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched   the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy   peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty   through congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile   alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within   two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on   course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire   planet.

With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their   diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere   unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine   headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the   inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie   and 85 million other Americans.

The President slammed his fist on the   conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that   treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"     


   This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My   writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.     


Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts   at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh shall I have   camomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA???

Oh   no I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Mills & Boon   novels."     










   Get fucked.     


   Eat shit.     




   Go drink some tea - whore.

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