Inconspicuous

Volume 3 Issue 3 April, 2008

How to be Conspicuous - p.2 Ode to the Thunderdome - p.3 Not Really Rants - p.3 IB Requirements - p.4 Emo Poetry - p.4 I’m so Angry All the Time: Chapter the Fourth - p.5 Bars of Freedom - p.7 Skies Unmarred -p.7 Here I Am - p.7 Mythbusters: Special Attendance Edition! - p.8 Stop Grade Addiction. Now! - p.9 Graffiti - p.10 Zombies: Day Two - p.11

Cryptoquote MCRLCQZMRFLFQ INCONSPICUOUS
One letter stands for another. In this sample, M is used for the two I’s, C for the two N’s, etc. Single letters, apostrophes, the length and formation of the words are all hints.

JPAARTJOQ NPA Q ZZMLO; KJRRQ MEJPZL Q JZ OPN TCB YFSBDD? PMOG THHXT

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How to Be Conspicuous
by Ezra Rex
In order to better answer the question of how we remain inconspicuous, we shall show you how not to be inconspicuous. This also makes our jobs easier: when conspicuity becomes more common, even our conspicuousnesses will be inconspicuous. 1. Be Invisible – This violates the “blatant” part of “blatantly subtle.” When someone bumps into empty space or hears steps coming out of nowhere, they start to get suspicious. A much more inconspicuous alternative would be displacement. Be somewhere you’re not. Or be in two places at once. That’s the perfect alibi. 2. Wear Camouflage – Unless you have purple, white, and prison-y camo, it probably won’t work in South. The idea is to blend in, but for those purposes, jeans and a center-leftist shirt would work much better. 3. Wear Anything Rightist – Well, you might blend in, but only because after the mob starts, no one will actually know who’s in the centre. If you’re lucky enough to get trampled, you would surely be very inconspicuous, though. 4. Wear Anything Leftist – And I’m not talking about “Buck Fush” or “Troops Out of Iran” shirts (those are obviously inconspicuous). I mean radically left shirts that promote revolutionary economics and criticize “democrats” for being too far right. Eugene’s leftist culture remains stagnant, so anything that bubbles away from that which is explicitly endorsed by MoveOn.org is utterly obvious. 1. Don’t Say Anything Suspicious – In fact, don’t say anything. Everyone is clearly “normal” with no planned activities, so when you say that you’re doing “nothing” no one will be the wiser. Seriously, though, it is easy to blend in with the cover of an obviously fake club. We thank the Chemistry club for providing a cover for Inconspicuous’ activities; it doesn’t actually exist, and anyone who claims they are going to it is probably ditching you to go somewhere else. Do you really think that South’s administration would let someone like Moor Xu have a big

Appearances:

vat of liquid nitrogen and explode thermite? If they don’t let the teachers do those experiments, would they really let the students? 2. Always Check Before You Go Around the Corner – Someone might be watching you. That is, someone is certainly watching you when your back is turned to them, and they are also watching when you look around the corner. If you really wanted to be sneaky, you would have extra-sensorial perception or otherwise know what was around the corner already. We recommend hacking into military satellites. That way, you wouldn’t have to give others intelligence when you are gathering intel. 3. Don’t Read Inconspicuous – Everyone is reading Inconspicuous except for the authors of Inconspicuous (who know every issue by heart). Not reading Inconspicuous is a surefire way to get people gossiping about how you’re an author (well, unless you’re part of the administration). Since you’re reading this article, you’re already on your way to being inconspicuous. Good job! 4. Use Good Grammars – If you correct the grammar of commercials (you don’t want to be one less; you want to be one FEWER), speech, or writing, you are one of few people who knows anything about the English language. Being one of the few is bad. Look at the president: if he started speaking correctly, the top headline on every paper would be “President Replaced by Alien Pod-Person.” 1. Have Charisma – You know who has silver tongues? Moses. And movie stars. And look how inconspicuous they are: not at all. The less glorious, more deep-in-the-mud you are, the less chance of people knowing who you are, and if someone doesn’t know who you are it’s a lot harder for them to point you out. 2. Know Your Way Around a Computer – Sometimes it seems as though the authors of Inconspicuous are the only ones who know how to use computers. This is how we know that the computer programming club is real: no one would use it as a façade because it would be readily apparent that you either don’t know about computers and thus are not going to computer club, or you do know about computers and you simply stand out.

Aptitudes:

Actions:

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3. Be a Ninja – If you are a ninja, then no one should know of your existence. That you exist as a ninja would be contradictory – ninjas are so well hidden that they have portable black holes surrounding them at all times to prevent anyone from seeing, hearing, or bumping into them. If you’re reading this, however, you probably do exist, and the laws of physics apply to you, so being a ninja would only result in getting yourself on YouTube. 4. Be Ready for a Zombie Attack – Despite our numerous warnings of the impending zombie apocalypse in the previous issue, people have not been taking our advice. If you are ready for a zombie attack, you will stand out. There are too few chainsaws and shotguns in lockers. The only reason that the science department was able to survive was by creating some napalm, applying it to genetically modified flies, and shooting it all out of a cannon. The choice, then, is between living and standing out. Hard choice.

Not Really Rants
by Felix Falkasius
Rather than looking at all the bad things in the world and applying more signal to the positive feedback loop of negativity in my life, I have chosen to be happy. By looking at the world as a good thing rather than as something bad I get all giggly and smiley. Instead of ranting this issue I’m going to remind you guys about all the amazing things in the world. 1. Sunny Days: Frolicking in the radiant warmth of a sunny day is absolutely perfect, but there is always the possibility of getting sunburned. A nice greasy coating of sunscreen can usually prevent that, so you should always remember to coat yourself to the point of actual measurable weight change to ensure maximum efficacy. 2. Friends: Friends are always great. They’re there when you need them. They never abandon you to hang out with their boyfriend or girlfriend. A good movie is never more interesting than you. They’re never too busy with homework to help you with a problem. They don’t make excuses for why they didn’t invite you to a party. Friends are awesome! 3. Lasers: Does anybody else have any idea how disgustingly awesome lasers are? I don’t mean little laser pointers that Officer Z takes away when you shine them in his eye. I mean the awesome kind. Israeli defence scientists built a laser to shoot down missiles, but it spewed toxic gas so it was shut down. Now the town that had the laser is suing the government to get the laser back. They’re suing to get a FUCKING LASER GUN!!! ISN’T THAT AWESOME?!? 4. Rickrolls: We’re no strangers to love. You know the rules, and so do I. A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy. I just want to tell you how I’m feeling. Gotta make you understand. Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry. Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Ode to the Thunderdome
by Leah Wode
The sun hangs in the sky like a giant caramel scoop of Prince Puckler’s ice cream Its light brings out the sparkle in the dewy grass (it rained last night) The lawn balances upon a foundation of gooey mud And, O! I see Andrew Meyer creeping around like A giant, anthropomorphic, dreadlocked bush. Mary O’Connor’s Spanish students peer with wonder out of their windows As he clambers into Mr. Smith’s window Like so much moss attacking a tree. The rampant foliage glistens, Welcoming, “Come here!” But alas, I am stuck in history class.

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IB Requirements
by Justin Kayce
Man, am I relieved. It was touch and go there for a while, and at some points I thought I might actually have an entire lunch period next year, but I think we’re finally in the clear. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am that the head honchos over at the International Baccalaureate Secret Headquarters of Doom have forced the Science Department to shorten my lunch period. Seriously, it’s unhealthy to give teenage delinquents all of fifty minutes to relax and not think about school. So this whole science requirement thing is just a huge weight off my shoulders. Next year, I’ll finally be able to focus all my energies on school and academics. It’s unfortunate we’ll still have twenty minutes to eat and talk with friends. (um, shudder?!) But I don’t think it’ll be that big of a problem, because the delightful students taking AP Chemistry (oh, I’m sorry, AP/IB Chemistry) aren’t the sort to take a bunch of free periods anyway, so they’ll likely be using those twenty minutes to their advantage. They’ll be hurriedly talking with teachers about assignments, or swiftly nattering with their counselors about graduation requirements, or chitchatting at superspeed with the Career Center inhabitants about the Senior Project, or dashing to the doctor’s office for a fiveminute checkup on that annoying ulcer. Okay, so the twenty minutes will probably be taken care of. Phew. Some students will likely complain that they can’t make it all the way to Tin Lizzie’s and back in twenty minutes’ time, but honestly, is food really that important? Sure, we’re still growing, but isn’t pleasing the IB Gods more important that reaching our full heights? South puts out a really short graduating class. So what? We’ll be stunted, sure, but we’ll know our chemistry! And a few students fainting in the halls from lack of nutrition isn’t that big of a deal. And sure, maybe a few students will be tempted to munch on the delicious-looking chemicals in the lab. Fine! Ambulances aren’t that expensive, people. And the school we miss while we’re in the hospital can easily be made up at lunch or something! Oh…wait… Oh! And the lunch-shortening will also lead to a decrease in club involvement! Harry Potter Club’s lunchtime meetings will dwindle as such prominent

leaders as Leah Reis-Dennis and Tatum Sohlberg finally decide to start taking school seriously. Lack of lunchtime will pull students away from their needlessly well-rounded, balanced lifestyles and suck them down the drain of solid academia. Success! I don’t know why people are so upset about this. Sure, it probably makes no sense to force IHS requirements on Classic South students. Sure, taking away lunchtime is probably a blatant violation of First Amendment rights. Sure, we’ll probably see an increase in nervous breakdowns next year. But IB is willing to overlook these little kinks to help us reach our full potential as chemistry students, whether or not we’re even going for an IB diploma. And, really, what more could we ask for?

by Maynard James Ferguson XII
Oh fingernails Why must I always cut you Once a week? You have such self-destructive tendencies When you make me cut you I think of: darkness misery suffering etc. so sad. and the filing ohhhhhhhhh the filing..... the battle in my soul between forces of light and darkness is like the one between link and Ganondorf only Ganondorf is winning setting me violently on purple with his Smash attacks

Emo Poetry

Continued on page 9.
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the perpetually dramatic adventures of Harry Potter, boy wizard by Maynard James Ferguson XII In which Harry’s hormones get the best of him for not the last time
One fine autumn day, Harry was walking moodily along through Hogwarts with his bff, Hermione, and his ex-boyfriend, Ron, thinking about biting people he liked, when along came Cho Chang. “Hi Harry,” she said, her terrible haircut waving seductively in the strong indoor breeze. Harry was inexplicably annoyed (it couldn’t have been because of her hair since he had such terrible hair himself). “Cho, do you want to be with me, or with Roger Davies? Make a decision! And stop complaining about Cedric Diggory, for the love of god!” Cho began to cry. “Harry, you used to have Ron on the side all the time. Why can’t I go out with Roger Davies sometimes? Asshole!” she yelled, then ran away crying miserably. “That was successful,” Ron said sarcastically, averting his eyes. Hermione performed the awkward turtle, and was about to launch into an explanation of why people are sad when their boyfriends die, when a short, thin, black-haired man wearing a horribly over-starched suit materialized out of the crowd. He looked, if that was possible, even angrier than Harry, and teetered slightly as he stopped drunkenly before them, a bottle of vodka clenched in his fist. Upon closer inspection, he was squinting severely. He teetered for a moment longer, then grabbed the front of Harry’s robes in his non-vodka fist, drunkenly snatched the boy’s glasses, and punched him in the face. Shouting in Russian and gesturing wildly, the man stormed severely away. “Shit almighty! What was that?” exclaimed Ron excitedly. He thrived on conflict. “Dunno,” mumbled Harry, angstier than before. 5

I’m so Angry All the Time

Chapter the Fourth:

Hermione sighed impatiently. “*THAT*,” she said in her I-swallowed-a-textbook voice, “was Dmitri Shostakovich, a Russian composer of the Soviet period whose complex relationship with the socialist government, among other factors, led to a musical style of colossal emotional power, and *apparently*, he thinks you stole his glasses and broke them.” (she paused for breath) “I don’t know why you two don’t know this, we spent all last week on it in History of Twentieth Century Modernist and Post-Romantic Music! And why aren’t you taking notes?” By now she was shrieking irritably. Ron and Harry looked at each other bemusedly. “Obviously Ron wasn’t paying attention because he’s the mildly idiotic faux-rebellious sidekick,” said Harry angstily, “And I wasn’t in class because I was busy making out with the Bloody Baron. A real bff would know this kind of stuff!” Just then, the prettiest and most well-endowed Slytherin at Hogwarts walked by, her seductive black hair also waving in the non-contextual breeze. Her name was Moonshine Lestrange, but her friends called her Raven, or Absinthe, or xXdarksoul666Xx for short. “Has anybody seen my pointy-featured boyfriend?” the girl asked nobody in particular. Suddenly Hermione was overcome with what had previously been a merely vague lust for Draco Malfoy. She wondered momentarily what she should tell the girl, searching her thoughts for a statement thoughtless enough to be totally out of character, and severe enough to be hilariously unbelievable. “I’ve seen him,” she said. “In my dreams!” With that, her eyes filled non-sequitorially with tears, and she ran away sobbing tensely (there was always a lot of sexual tension at Hogwarts). Moonshine was momentarily stunned. Other people had feelings for her boyfriend, who was portrayed in films by British actor Tom Felton? Just then, her slightly less-well-endowed sister, a Hufflepuff, walked by with her group of nice but otherwise useless friends. Her name was Magma, and she had no sinister-sounding or alcohol-related nicknames. “Hi Moonshine,” said Magma in an un-Hogwartsly cheerful tone.

“Oh... Hi, Magma, I guess,” frowned Moonshine. She disliked the color yellow. “Hey, do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks later?” Quipped Magma, not picking up on her sister’s inner anxieties regarding the Hufflepuff house colors. “Not really. I had plans to spend the evening being sullen and thinking of gothic nicknames for myself. Also, since I’m a Slytherin, our parents favor me, creating awkward and difficult sibling dynamics. And I don’t really like you anyways.” Magma seemed surprised, as if she had never spoken to her sister, or to their parents, who were Death Eaters. “Oh. I’ll just go with Percy Weasley, then.” “Percy Weasley? WTF! I totally used to make out with him in the back of math class during middle school! He’s MY boyfriend!” “But we didn’t even go to middle school!” protested Magma. Then, for little apparent reason, the sisters simultaneously decided to attack each other. Within moments, plaintive cries of “witch fight” could be heard echoing in Hogwarts’ oldish, tapestry-covered halls. Neither of them thought to draw their wands, which was odd, because they were attending magic school. Instead, they went at each other Mugglestyle, with fists, feet, teeth, toenails, claws, and tentacles. The fight lasted for a long time, with most of the spectators standing around helplessly, even though they were, as stated above, in magic school. Harry Potter, in particular, seemed to be trying extra un-hard to stop the fight. It even appeared that he was enjoying it. In fact, he was, as he had a fetish for girls with fangs and suction cups. Presently, however, Severus walked in gloweringly. “All right, enough of that, you bunch of hooligans. Potter, Magma, come with me. And Weasley. Weasley should come too. Moonshine, run along and be a good girl.” The four proceeded down a lot of stairs, into the darker and more below-groundish parts of Hogwarts. In Severus’s office, the children sat down very un-suggestively across his desk while he paced sullenly back and forth a few times. “Kiddies,”

he said in his usual batlike tone, “I can’t have you starting fights with Slytherins like that. It’s bad business. A kajillion points from Gryffindor, half a kajillion from Hufflepuff, and twenty to Slytherin.” “But Severus,” protested Magma, “We both started the fight, Moonshine and I, and Ron and Harry didn’t have anything at all to do with it.” “Liar liar, pants on fire!” observed Severus cunningly. “She’s not a liar, you’re the liar, you two-bit Death Eater dropout!” accused Harry in an uncontrollable burst of hormones. “Yeah, Severus,” agreed Ron in an uncommitted way. “Hmm.. I think I’ll blame ginger this time, just to change things up. Weasley, into my inner sanctum. And for the love of God, stop calling me by my first name!” Ron the Ginger followed Snape bemusedly through a door in a bookshelf. He was vexed, but decided to comply anyways. Meanwhile, Magma and Harry were left in Snape’s formaldehyde-smelling office to be awkward together. It didn’t take long before they discovered that they had the same astrological sign and both enjoyed long walks on the beach while the sun was setting; as was inevitable, this led to a prolonged make-out session. It wasn’t long, though, before none other than Cho Chang burst into the office, an occurrence which signaled a rocky segment in the plot. What will happen next? Will Cho and Harry break up for the tenth time? Will Magma reveal her true feelings for Ron? Will someone DIE? Tune in next time to find out! Dumdum DUM DUM dum dummmmmm.....

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Bars of Freedom
by Sumt Ingnu
Bars of freedom bound me skyward Held aloof with steely vice Heart string song sung metallic Rhythm scything silent silver Air awash in warbled sheen Shining blind in earthless night Warping waves illuminate Every pulse unleashed In echoes distilling solitude Finally gleaming freedom steel Forged and beat in vicious pride Twists blackly bent in passion fire Freedom twisted tame So I slip speedy past Lowly freedom deemed unclean Receding clouds Flows up fast As freefall winds wind Around my silent scream

The third time risen daffodil Again, behind the pane of windows Peer dimly squinted eyes “yep” they say, “spring has sprung And green wears red and yellow” “Grand” they say, “summer comes With ice and air-conditioned joy Cooling pools of languid blues Crisp-cut tiles sing aquamarine Ever clean with chlorine clouds Nice as sunshine skies unmarred

by Sumt Ingnu
Here I am Single soul kept company by solitude Single sanguine sphere blushed golden Lost in gilded sunset surf Caressed forlorn by morning glow Shimmering waves of hope Sighing sadly sandward Every sunkissed tear Frothing, drowning downward drawn Toward depths embracing chill Till numb with shade Shades from boundless fathoms Cast by lucid souls writhing skyward Every blending bend transparent Every drop pulled thin as sanity Sobbing lonely orbs entwined And here I am Quivering breathless Azure sphere fazing Fading unseen Frantic at a glance Peripheral unbinding Free to evaporate At the echo of a whisper

Here I am

Skies Unmarred
by Sumt Ingnu
It is the throb of suburbia It is that incandescent virulence White walls, white fences, faces Terrified lawns lapping, grasping, Worm rebellion muttered down Gasp, blades beat, sweep hope clean Cropped shag rug bleats blood Pooling on yards in stare-bright green Rhythm punctuated screams Polyethylene parrot paramour Twolips wailing cacophony Lips full fat, waxed with water Pumped like botox faceward Spewn from hoses’ serpentine emulation Coiling in cancerous patience Buttered yellow bloom Margarine gleam, refined sheen Full-flesh fat sulking sulfurous Standing row grows cultured Smog smothered sun rose again

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Mythbusters: Special Attendance Edition!
by Maynard James Ferguson XII
The staff of Inconspicuous thought it was a pretty awesome idea from the administration to do Don’t-Skip-School day in the style of the Discovery Channel’s Mythbusters. What’s next? Deadliest Catch: Freshman Hunt? Dirty Jobs: Vice Principal? Anyway, it was a great rhetorical strategy for getting in touch with the kids, with just one problem: they didn’t actually test any of the myths! As your most reliable news organization, we decided it was our responsibility to personally test some of the rumors we’ve heard circulating. Myth 1: If you skip class under the new policy, your head will explode. Status: Definitely busted. We tested this one until our GPA’s withered away like unwatered Magic Beans under the cruel Hylian sun. Justin got a tingly sensation and some ominous-looking smoke, but that’s it. Our research suggests that it might take skipping Mr. Stewart’s class until the day of the Existentialism essay and then trying to write it to make your head actually explode. Myth 2: POWERTHIRST will prevent your grades from going down if you skip. Status: Sorry, Grace Kouba. We know how much you like skipping, but no energy drink, even one that’s fashionable at sweet rave parties, will keep teachers from failing you if they feel like it. Myth 3: The new policy doesn’t prevent the kind of skipping that’s really a problem, because chronic skippers don’t care about school anyway. Status: Bourgeois-elite lies! The will of the state is the will of the people! Success for all! Myth 4: The new attendance policy is far more draconian than the old one. Status: Also busted. Under the old policy, teachers were free to mete out whatever punishments they felt were appropriate to students’ misdoings. Of course, some teachers were more lenient, but some were just as harsh, or even more so. Several teachers were even rumored to have participated in an underground (literally) velociraptor breeding pro-

gram for the purpose of hunting down skippers. The dinosaurs were rumored to have been kept in a pit underneath the band room, where they were fed infrequently to increase their bloodthirsty tendencies. Obviously those rumors are unconfirmed, due to an understandable lack of witnesses, but we’ll just put it this way: many orchestra students we’ve talked to remain unconvinced that Karl Elliker actually moved to Indiana. Anyway, the point is, you should be thankful that velociraptor punishment is now illegal, because Axe Body Spray is known to be irresistable to them. Myth 5: If you don’t fill out the pre-arranged absence forms, John Wayland will come to your house and kick your dog. Status: This one turned out to be true... Awkward...

John Wayland makes puppies sad.

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Stop Grade Addiction. Now!
by Sumt Ingnu
Although we must credit our education system as a valiant effort with only the best of intentions, one cannot help but notice that effort and intent alone will not always suffice. Many long years have passed; first grade, second, third, each new level piled upon the previous like a dilapidated stack of alphabet blocks, stiff wooden facts, inescapably intractable in their fine cut definition. The day to day impersonal and unexplained plethora of isolated informational regurgitations excreted by bewildered teachers puppeted by the administrative bureaucracy of standardized requirements, is conducive only to the mechanical whirr of rote memorization removed from ‘reality’ by its inapplicable factual purity. Accomplishments are then measured and rewarded by alphabetical denominations, simple black letters on white pages, cherished beamingly as symbolic incarnations of success. Teachers dole out grades like they’re opium, sedating addicted students, while keeping everyone passive and conformist for fear they will lose their next grade fix. A good teacher in a healthy class should leave at the close of day wrung out beyond coherency and brain picked to the point of satisfied exhaustion. There should be no room for wasted efforts of arbitrary grading. Besides, once freed from grades, who will lead us on with sweet words of hollow compliment? Our motivation would have to come from something other than the need to satiate grade addiction. It is time at last to shatter the ancient creaking structural cubes of academia and raise from the splinters the raging flames of a real education. An education where students have the knowledge and internal drive to seek for themselves what information pleases them. Where any pupil can fluidly outline the true relevancies and frames of reference of any ideal, the precipitation of personal opinions naturally forthcoming, impending oceans waiting behind every drop in baited support. An education which births the divine spark of humanity: creativity, and equips each potential world changer, each student with the tools to share these blazing flashes of revelation. We are the communicators of this idea. We who gaze down at these simple words, black on 9

white, feeling time flow slowly past. We who know that ideas, no matter how well intended, how noble in effort, are only as good as the actions they inspire. Any obstacle no matter how leviathanic can be overcome by the action of united individuals. And so, we too can fell the current stagnant doldrums of academia, and breathe animation into the slumbering seeds of potential. Liberate the Addicts! Disclaimer: the flaws present in this argument can only be attributed to the fallacies of the education I used to write it. Any weakness should serve as further support. Disclaimer: the flaws present in this and the previous disclaimer can only be attributed to the flaws in my education. All flaws are strengths. Disclaimer: Even the obvious strengths are weak and therefore strong. Disclaimer: disclaimers are weak. They strengthen the aforementioned article, which makes it weak, which makes it strong. Any confusion experienced demonstrates the inadequacy of your education. You should seek help for grade addiction immediately.

by Maynard James Ferguson XII from p.4
If i were a fish inside of a fish bowl i wouldn’t write poetry i would just >stare all day long out from my poorly-oxygenated sphere and wish that i had some more fishy flakes

Emo Poetry

by Sumt Ingnu
Graffiti is becoming a serious problem. Innocent south students gripped in flashes of artistic revelation are being reprimanded for their generosity in placing their works or words in public spaces. Otherwise perfectly blank and bland walls and bathroom stalls, desks, and more, bloom with vivacious hues while otherwise perfectly bland language is bursting with color. By some monumental misunderstanding authority figures everywhere seem squinty and disgruntled at these thoughtful redecorations. The artists naturally, as any true philanthropist should, don’t even seek recognition for their contributions to society; in fact, they willingly maintain scrupulous anonymity. The dignity to be found in inconspicuousness of course is admired by the administration. Why else would they only punish those who lapse into discovery? I have even seen artists discretely initialing what could be none other than invisible murals painstakingly painted with such care that even the work itsself is inconspicuous. It is such a small indulgence to initial ones works visibly, especially with all that care taken to make the rest of it invisible. Graffiti has been made a problem even for these gentle givers, however. The problem of Graffiti must be addressed. Those that have a problem with it need addressing. One solution that would satisfy all is the allowance of a “freewall”---a designated space where graffiti was not only allowed, but encouraged. Naturally the artists that were so confused and misinformed that they accidentally included mislabels for whole groups of individuals, would be allowed to use the wall despite the woeful lack of quality in their work. It would simply offer them a chance to enjoy the embarrassment of exposing their foolishness and ignorance for anyone to see. The space should obviously be the insides of the first bathroom stall in every bathroom. For one thing, while other aspects of the body are occupied, it seems the temptation to create art with the hands is almost reflexive. Just look in almost any stall if you don’t know what I mean. I suppose while one thing is being produced on one end, another is produced on the other---It like a law of physics or something---And art is that other thing. 10

Graffiti

Another advantage of a “freestall” is that all of the grey-minded folks, who didn’t feel the need to see art at any given moment, would be welcome to simply choose another stall. The administration could have no argument because one of its effects would be to concentrate the graffiti so that all those boring walls could stay that way forever!

Zombies: Day Two
by John Nedry Zombies: Part 2
At the end of the 300 Hall, the mass of zombies disintegrated amidst a rain of gunfire and shrieks, mutilated corpses flying in every direction. The gunpowder smoke cleared, leaving behind it a crescent of dead infected, encircling the dark silhouette of Officer Z. He stood there, motionless, listening for any sign of the infected. Z epically removed his sunglasses and turned his head each direction, surveying the back hall. Sensing no immediate danger, he stepped over the pile of the newly re-deceased. As he stepped over the bodies, his ankle was pulled into an immensely bone-crushing grip. Without a hesitation, Z nonchalantly aimed down, and blew out the zombie’s face. “Stubborn bastard, aren’t you?” He chuckled to himself, and began to make his way down the 300 Hall. Z had made himself a promise that should the Science Department’s serum ever be released into the South populace, he would not leave the building until every person within was either unexposed or destroyed. He moved slowly, listening for the ungodly shrieks and moans of the plagued, keeping alert for a creature to launch out at him at any moment. Weapon aimed, Z moved down the hallway, one step at a time, checking through the door of each room as he did, but never wavering from the center of the corridor. As he neared Room 307, Z came to a dead stop. Up ahead of him was a noise: A shuffling. Something which either meant somebody with an unfortunate leg injury, or more likely, the living dead. Assuming the latter, Z listened more intently as he slowly crept his way towards the door. He was within feet of the doorway now, and would be in firing range just… about… Z’s weapon discharged and he was on the ground, pinned beneath the blue rotting flesh of a screeching face. He glanced into its cloudy eyes

and put every last ounce of energy he had into one… enormous… push! Useless. As the monster launched in for the bite, Z closed his eyes, when at that moment the beast was hurled from his chest and into the air. It crashed against the ceiling and dropped lifeless to the ground, revealing the mass of a tremendous figure. Undoubtedly something far more terrible than what had just threatened his mortality, Z quickly made a reach for his weapon, but was stopped in his tracks before he made it halfway. Brad Jungert, panting, clad in an inappropriately cheerful purple vest, stared down at him. He extended a hand, and pulled Officer Z to his feet. “You were a bouncer, huh?” “Event Security.”

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For those of you who choose not to follow the advice in our “How To Be Conspicuous” article…

(INCONSPICUOUS)
Staff Application
The first issue of Inconspicuous was distributed January 19th, 2006. The vision of Inconspicuous was of an outlet for students to publish their thoughts and ideas outside of a classroom setting and the restrictions imposed on writers of the Axe. Today, we follow that tradition and extend that vision to you. Inconspicuous wishes to give all unheard student voices the opportunity to write about whatever they desire and to silently watch as people appreciate their hard work. If you want to be a part of Inconspicuous, email InconspicuousLit@gmail.com with the subject “2009 Application Request,” and we will reply with an application for you to fill out. Each member of Inconspicuous also has a facebook account, if you would rather message us (and tell us your email) there. Keep in mind that, because you may be writing for Inconspicuous next year, wall posts requesting applications are discouraged. All applicants should send in their applications as soon as possible. We want to talk with next year’s staff before school is out – some of us have full summers. Try to get your applications in by May 19. This means that you should request an application soon. If you suddenly desire to be a member of Inconspicuous after the deadline has passed, check in with us. We may still choose to accept you. Tell your friends. -The Inconspicuous Staff

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Dear Readers
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