Chapter Two
Becky and Other Students Have Fun on the Internet

After Becky's lecture, she and the students she'd been chatting to before it decided to have fun together for a few hours. They went to a student lounge with their laptops.

One of them said, "I found a lyrics generator on the Internet the other day. It's a laugh. It gives you categories of things, like nouns, verbs, animals, objects and so on, and you have to pick a word to put in each category, or you can get it to fill them in for you with words it selects, and then you can change them if you like. Then you make up an artist or band name you pretend the song's written by, and then it makes one up for you. I saved one I made up. I'll read it to you if you like."

The students said that was OK, so the one who'd had the song lyrics made up for them said,

"Here goes then:

"'No Bright Jugs at Our Summer Barbecue
By The Balloons
A Summer Song

"'We're all going to a summer barbecue
No more shouting for a week or two
Lifeless balloons and stupid curtains at our summer barbecue
No more bright jugs for me or you
For a week or two

"'Summertime, and the livin' is lifeless
Balloons are walking and the curtains are high
Oh, your mother-in-law's nobbly and your grandfather is bouncy
So hush my ample darling, don't you cry

"'Oh the summer of 2013
I can't wait to do some walking with you
You can't wait to do some walking with me
This can't just be summer love, you'll see
I wish they all could be ...
I wish they all could be ...
I wish they all could be balloons of Canada

"'Summertime, and the livin' is lifeless
Balloons are walking and the curtains are high
Oh, your mother-in-law's nobbly and your grandfather is bouncy
So hush ample darling, don't you cry"

The students and Becky all wanted to have a go at getting the lyrics generator to write songs for them. They asked the student who'd just read out the song what the name of the website was, and they said, "It's Song-lyrics-generator.org.uk."

They all went there. One of them got the lyrics generator to put some words in the categories that came up, and the song it wrote went:

"'Our Optimistic Pepper Love
By The Small Trees
A Love Song For Donald

"'This one's for you Mrs Teavee!
My love for you is like the most optimistic pepper,
Your face reminds me of grumpy flamingos,
Together, we are like pasties and olive oil.

"'Oh darling Donald,
My optimistic pepper,
My grumpy cabbage,
The perfect companion to my pasties soul.

"'Oh darling Donald,
Your chins are like strong forks on a summer day,
You're like the most exciting king to ever walk the zoo.

"'Your grumpy flamingo face,
Your olive oil soul,
Your strong chins,
Your exciting king being ...
How could I look at another when our optimistic pepper love is so strong?
I love you Mrs Teavee!'"

After the student read out the song, they said, "After that song there's some pretend praise for it by pretend people. One bit says, 'Comparing love to an optimistic pepper is beautiful - just beautiful!'

"Another one says, 'This song talks to me. I too have an olive oil soul.'"

Becky and the students laughed.

Then another one got the lyrics generator to make up a song for them. It went:

"The Tale of My Warty Air Traffic Controller Doctor
By The Exclusive Beans
A Ballad

"It began on a pointy August morning:
I was the most down to earth student around,
He was the most warty air traffic controller.
He was my doctor,
My warty doctor,
My air traffic controller.
We used to spin so well together,
Back then.

"We wanted to talk together, around the world,
We wanted it all.
But one morning, one pointy morning,
We decided to talk too much.
Together we tasted a snake.
It was hideous, so hideous.

"From that moment our relationship changed.
He grew so divorced.
And then it happened:
Oh no! Oh no!
He fired a ghost.
Alas, a ghost!
My doctor fired a ghost.
It was bumpy, so bumpy.

"The next day I thought my nose had broken,
I thought my insides had burst into flames,
(But I was actually overreacting a little.)
But still, he is in my thoughts.
I think about how it all changed that morning,
That pointy August morning.
My insides... ouch!
When I think of that warty air traffic controller,
That warty air traffic controller and me."

Becky wanted to have a go, so she got the lyrics generator to randomly select words to go in the categories it brought up for her, just changing one or two of the words to ones she chose herself. She read what the lyrics generator came up with for her out loud as the other people had. Her song was called:

A Porky Kinda Interpreter
By The Howling Houses
An Original Song

It went:

"I get on with life as an interpreter,
I'm a porky kinda person.
I like listening to music on Sundays,
I like playing golf in the week.
I like to contemplate snails.
But when I start to daydream,
My mind turns straight to slugs.
Oh oh oh!

"Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
I notice the way I think about slugs with a smile,
Curved lips I just can't disguise.
But I think it's snails making my life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
Snails or...
Slugs?

"I like to use words like 'probable,'
I like to use words like 'magic.'
I like to use words about snails.
But when I stop my talking,
My mind turns straight to slugs.
Oh oh oh!

"Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
I notice the way I think about slugs with a smile,
Curved lips I just can't disguise.
But I think it's snails making my life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
Snails or...
Slugs?

"I like to hang out with Mike,
I like to kick back with Jack,
But when left alone,
My mind turns straight to slugs.
Oh oh oh!

"Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
I notice the way I think about slugs with a smile,
Curved lips I just can't disguise.
But I think it's snails making my life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
Snails or...
Slugs?

"I'm not too fond of giant bugs,
I really hate grubby knees,
But I just think back to slugs,
And I'm happy once again.
Oh oh oh!"

After she'd read out the song, Becky said, "This one's got some pretend praise from pretend people too. It pretends one person says, 'Snails or slugs - it's the age-old question. This music is deep, man.' And another one says, 'I'm a porky kinda person too, so this song really resonates with me.'"

The students grinned.

Then another one tried the lyrics generator. They read out what they thought were the most amusing bits of their song, saying,

"'Always Stay Pretty, Monica
By The Bits of Paper
A Country Song

"'I grew up overshadowed by lush gates
Couldn't catch the eye of no city girl
Here I am devoted to Monica
How I love the way you look in your silver jeans
Can't believe I let the smog cloud my eye
Little Monica, keep your jeans silver

"'In Guernsey, when I was a child
I met a pretty man
"How can you be so pretty?" asked I
Here was his wise reply
Don't live your life like a muppet
Today might feel a time to be like a muppet
But that ain't no way to lead a life'"

Then another student had a go. They didn't think the whole of their song was funny, just part of it. So they got the lyrics generator to make them up another one, and combined what they thought were the best lines from the two. They said, "This song's a combination of heavy metal and rap, because the first song it wrote for me was a heavy metal one and the second one's a rap one:

"'Mistress of Mice
By Madman Mark
A Metal Anthem

"'Straight out the lifeless dungeons of rap.
The plates went SMACK, there was no use turning back
'Cause I just had to see, was a spider watching me?
One thousand is the number of the spider.

"'Rancid, sweaty, crazy, like a banana
The cat drops deep as does my soap.
Mistress of mice I'm pulling your pumpkins
Twisting your facts and smashing your plates
Blinded by me, you can't see the bumpkins
Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you skate
Beyond the walls of lads, life is defined.
I think of pianos when I'm in a Birmingham state of mind.'"

One of the other students decided to have a try with the lyrics generator. They read out their song too, saying:

"'The Tale of My Grumpy Architect Sister-in-law
By The Dregs
A Ballad

"'It began on an ugly autumn afternoon:
I was the most fragrant engineer around,
He was the most grumpy architect.
He was my sister-in-law,
My grumpy sister-in-law,
My architect.
We used to snore so well together,
Back then.

"'We wanted to slosh together, around the world,
We wanted it all.
But one afternoon, one ugly afternoon,
We decided to slosh too much.
Together we fed a goat.
It was smelly, so smelly.

"'From that moment our relationship changed.
He grew so married.
And then it happened:
Oh no! Oh no!
He licked a tory.
Alas, a tory!
My sister-in-law licked a tory.
It was tiny, so tiny.

"'The next day I thought my jaw had broken,
I thought my eyes had burst into flames,
(But I was actually overreacting a little.)
But still, he is in my thoughts.
I think about how it all changed that afternoon,
That ugly autumn afternoon.
My eyes... ouch!
When I think of that grumpy architect,
That grumpy architect and me.'"

One of the students said, "This website links to a short story generator. I'm going to try it! You can get it to put words in categories for you, just the same as with the lyrics generator."

When the student had got their story, they read out loud:

"'The Minuscule Banana
A Short Story
by Susan Treadmiller

"'Kathy Snozcumber was thinking about Charlotte Smith again. Charlotte was a sympathetic lawyer with slimy fingers and handsome eyebrows.

"'Kathy walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always loved urban Madrid with its hissing, harsh hills. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel confident.

"'Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the sympathetic figure of Charlotte Smith.

"'Kathy gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a caring, ruthless squash drinker with ample fingers and brown eyebrows. Her friends saw her as a distinct, different dolphin. Once, she had even rescued a zany old man from a burning building.

"'But not even a caring person who had once rescued a zany old man from a burning building was prepared for what Charlotte had in store today.

"' The sun shone like singing dogs, making Kathy anxious. Kathy grabbed a minuscule banana that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers.

"'As Kathy stepped outside and Charlotte came closer, she could see the better glint in her eye.

"'"Look Kathy," growled Charlotte, with a brave glare that reminded Kathy of sympathetic guppies. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want equality. You owe me 2872 pounds."

"' Kathy looked back, even more anxious and still fingering the minuscule banana. "Charlotte, I don't have the money," she replied.

"'They looked at each other with puzzled feelings, like two green, gentle gerbils laughing at a very cold-blooded dinner party, which had trance music playing in the background and two hopeful uncles walking to the beat.

"'Kathy studied Charlotte's slimy fingers and handsome eyebrows. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Kathy. "You will never get your money."

"'"No!" objected Charlotte. "You lie!"

"'"I do not!" retorted Kathy. "Now get your slimy fingers out of here before I hit you with this minuscule banana."

"'Charlotte looked unstable, her wallet raw like a brave, bewildered book.

"'Kathy could actually hear Charlotte's wallet shatter into 2872 pieces. Then the sympathetic lawyer hurried away into the distance.

"'Not even a beaker of squash would calm Kathy's nerves tonight.'"

After the student had read that, they said, "There are some reviews by pretend people here. One says, 'Saying the sun shone like singing dogs is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant.'"

Another student was keen to have a go at getting a story written for them, so they got the story generator to suggest a load of words for them and then make one up. It went like this:

"The Sun that Shone like Walking Mice
A Short Story
by Marcus Squelchy

"Mathias Barker looked at the giant torch in his hands and felt sparkly.

"He walked over to the window and reflected on his dull surroundings. He had always hated beautiful New York with its large, late lakes. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sparkly.

"Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Felicity Randall. Felicity was a malicious teacher with wobbly toes and scrawny lips.

"Mathias gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a hilarious, thoughtful brandy drinker with vast toes and squat lips. His friends saw him as a calm, crowded carer. Once, he had even saved a villainous baby flamingo that was stuck in a drain.

"But not even a hilarious person who had once saved a villainous baby flamingo that was stuck in a drain was prepared for what Felicity had in store today.

"The sun shone like walking mice, making Mathias sleepy.

" As Mathias stepped outside and Felicity came closer, he could see the depressed glint in her eye.

"Felicity glared with all the wrath of 902 violent green goldfish. She said, in hushed tones, 'I hate you and I want a pencil.'

"Mathias looked back, even more sleepy and still fingering the giant torch. 'Felicity, get out of my house,' he replied.

"They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two putrid, purring pigeons drinking at a very kind wake, which had piano music playing in the background and two selfish uncles laughing to the beat.

"Mathias studied Felicity's wobbly toes and scrawny lips. Eventually, he took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry,' began Mathias in apologetic tones, 'but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Felicity.'

"Felicity looked angry, her emotions raw like a better, blue-eyed banana.

"Mathias could actually hear Felicity's emotions shatter into 9991 pieces. Then the malicious teacher hurried away into the distance.

"Not even a glass of brandy would calm Mathias's nerves tonight."

Becky and the students were enjoying themselves. Becky really wanted a go at getting the story generator to make a story up for her. So she got it to suggest words for her and then make one up. It went:

"Two Daring Uncles Walking to the Beat
A Short Story
by Andrew Squirrelskin

"John Crinkle was thinking about Marion Chan again. Marion was an optimistic saint with pink moles and grubby lips.

"John walked over to the window and reflected on his picturesque surroundings. He had always hated cold Amsterdam with its encouraging, enthusiastic estuaries. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sneezy.

"Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the optimistic figure of Marion Chan.

"John gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a rude, remarkable tea drinker with charming moles and hairy lips. His friends saw him as a wet, watery writer. Once, he had even rescued an encouraging deaf person from a burning building.

"But not even a rude person who had once rescued an encouraging deaf person from a burning building was prepared for what Marion had in store today.

" The sun shone like singing donkeys, making John worried. John grabbed a bendy map that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

"As John stepped outside and Marion came closer, he could see the zealous smile on her face.

"'I am here because I want justice,' Marion bellowed, in a loving tone. She slammed her fist against John's chest, with the force of 1865 kittens. 'I love you, John Crinkle.'

"John looked back, even more worried and still fingering the bendy map. 'Marion, I admire your eyebrows,' he replied.

"They looked at each other with sleepy feelings, like two brainy, boiled bears thinking at a very scheming snow storm, which had jazz music playing in the background and two daring uncles talking to the beat.

"Suddenly, Marion lunged forward and tried to punch John in the face. Quickly, John grabbed the bendy map and brought it down on Marion's skull.

"Marion's pink moles trembled and her grubby lips wobbled. She looked shocked, her body raw like a sticky, substantial sausage.

"Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Marion Chan was dead.

"John Crinkle went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea."

When Becky had finished reading the story to the others, she said, "There's some pretend comments from pretend people after the story. One says, 'I feel like I know John Crinkle. In a way, it feels as though I've always known him.' And another one says, 'Saying the sun shone like singing donkeys is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant.'"

One student grinned and said, "This website links to a film script generator too. I'm going to try it."

She did, and then she said, "Imagine someone actually sending this to a film company, hoping to have it made into a real film or television programme. Actually, it's not as funny as the stories, so I won't read it to you; I'll just summarise it. It's about a professor who works as a painter, who has a tiff with his gay lover in Central Park in New York, who calls him a wimp and leaves him; but then an aristocratic friend of his who works as a fishmonger comes and tells him there's a creepy ghost kicking old ladies at a stately home in England. They both rush off down the road, and soon arrive there, where the ghost comes out to greet them.

"It turns out that the professor-painter has met the ghost before. He recognises her as the same one who offered him some sweets when he was a child. He ran away then when he realised she was a ghost, and she expects him to do it again. He does, but it turns out he's only going to get some rainbows, which he happens to know are deadly for ghosts. His friend goes with him, out to Hampstead Heath, where he apparently stores them. But he can't find them anywhere. After searching for ages, the ghost appears, holding them. She tries to keep them out of reach of the painter-professor, but he manages to grab them when his friend says he's afraid of dust, and the ghost is so disgusted with him that she gets distracted and stares at him for a moment.

"The painter-professor grabs the rainbows and says, 'Prepare to die, you creepy courgette!' The ghost is so scared that she drops down dead.

"Then the old ladies come up to them, thrilled that he's managed to kill the ghost who was terrorising them. They give him a wooden ring in gratitude.

"It turns out that his ex-lover turned up in time to see him kill the ghost, and he wants him back, saying he realises he was wrong about him being a wimp. But the professor-painter says he can't have him because he's obviously got no faith in him, so he wants to be with his friend instead, since he's been supporting him. He then walks off arm in arm with his friend, who insists he isn't really afraid of dust, but just said that to distract the ghost."

When the student telling that story had finished, one of the others chuckled and said, "Who knew ghosts could be killed! Hey, this website links to a newspaper headlines generator, where it makes up pretend headlines for you. I'm going to try it."

It came up with headlines like:

Green Puppy Escapes From Florida Zoo

Shirts Linked to Global Health Scare

Man Jailed For Threatening Wife With Cursed Hat

New Variety of Courgette Set to Revolutionise Our Eating Habits

Puppy Catches Train Across Country

Man Found Having Tea Party With Goldfish Again

Warped Kettle Likely To Win Village Show

Blue Pinafores Are the Latest Big Trend Says Top Fashion Designer

And: The World's Biggest Turnip Measuring Over 1m.

After the student had finished reading the headlines out, one of the others said, "I found a Shakespearean insult generator on the Internet once. It was fun reading the insults. I collected some and put them together in a file on my computer. I'll read some to you. Just imagine if you were on a radio show talking to someone you really disagreed with, and instead of trying to persuade them your opinion was right, you sternly and indignantly said to them in a loud voice:

"'You bold defacer of the truth! Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb! You speak unskilfully: or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darkened in your malice. [Thou] mountain of mad flesh! Such bugs and goblins in my life! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Your foolishness is now exposed for all to see! Thou beslubbering unchin-snouted malcontent!'

"And imagine if they carried on stating their opinions, and you angrily said:

"'A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are toss'd with. Thou venomed ill-nurtured canker-blossom! Your face is as a book, where men may read strange matters. Thy food is such as hath been belch'd upon by infected lungs. [Thou art] spacious in the possession of dirt. I throw thy name against the bruising stones. Thou art an arrogant fool. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it. Thou currish pottle-deep bum-bailey!'

"Or imagine if someone invented a time machine and flew it back to Shakespeare's time, and left it unattended there, and Shakespeare got on it to have a look at it, and accidentally started it up, and it flew right into the present time! Then imagine if Shakespeare got out and looked around, and marvelled at all the new things, but then he met you, and when he told you he was Shakespeare, you told him you really didn't like his plays, after you'd had to study a few at school and found them deadly boring. And imagine if he got angry and said to you:

"'What, you egg! Young fry of treachery! Thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch! Thou currish bat-fowling joithead! Thou gorbellied ill-nurtured malcontent! Away! Thou art poison to my blood, O disloyal thing, that shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st a year's age on me. Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far from thy report as thou from honour with your beastly mind. You reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in, there's none abroad so unwholesome as that you vent.'

"And imagine if someone came up to us to see what all the fuss was about, and when we told them, they agreed with you that Shakespeare's plays had made school more dreary, and said having to study them was a pointless waste of time, and Shakespeare got angry again and said to them:

"'There's many a woman hath more hair than wit, and ye be one of them; our recent slurs have changed me, but if thou art changed to aught, tis to an ass. you are the kitchen wench, and all grease ; and I know not what use to put you but to make a lamp of you and run you from your own light. I warrant, your rags and the tallow in them will burn a Poland winter. If you live till doomsday you'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

"'Your complexion is like Swart, like my shoe, but your face nothing like so clean kept, for why, she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip, you are spherical, like a globe, I could find out countries on you. You are deformed, crooked, old and sere, ill faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere, vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, stigmatical in making, worse in mind. O dissembling harlot, thou art false in all.'

"And imagine if you asked Shakespeare if he'd mind not being so rude, and he said indignantly, 'You block, you stone, you worse than senseless thing, O you hard heart, you cruel woman, you are a dreamer, let me leave you. What rubbish, what offal, where will thou find a cavern dark enough to mask thy monstrous visage as your purpled hands do reek and smoke and you show your teeth like apes, and fawn like a hound and you bow like a bondwoman - I do find it cowardly and vile.

"'Thy bones are hollow, impiety has made a feast of thee, you are a tedious fool. Your bum is the greatest thing about you, so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pomey the Great. O you beast, o faithless coward, o dishonest wretch. Wilt thou be made a woman out of my vice? I'll pray a thousand prayers for your death as thy sin is not accidental, but a trade.'"

One student joked, "I think you'd want him to get right back in that time machine and fly away in it again! ... Well either that, or maybe you'd want to take him to a museum and recommend that the owners put him on display so he could insult all the passers-by. You could tell them he'd probably be one of the main attractions."

Becky joked, "Yeah. If you went to a Shakespeare museum, you wouldn't be expecting to see the man himself! Maybe he'd have to be put in a cage to stop him escaping and terrorising people. But if he was safely in his cage, people would probably just think it was a laugh to hear him bellowing weird insults at everyone."

The students giggled. Then one of them said, "Let's try the short story generator again.

They got it to fill in the categories with words it chose, and then read the finished result. It went:

"Grey Truro
A Short Story
by Anita Trapp

"Albert Zeus was thinking about Reginald Newt again. Reginald was an admirable bear with skinny legs and pink fingernails.

"Albert walked over to the window and reflected on his deprived surroundings. He had always loved grey Truro with its ugliest, unsteady umbrellas. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel active.

"Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the admirable figure of Reginald Newt.

"Albert gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a selfish, smart cocoa drinker with fluffy legs and grubby fingernails. His friends saw him as a good, grisly gamer. Once, he had even saved an expensive chicken that was stuck in a fence.

"But not even a selfish person who had once saved an expensive chicken that was stuck in a fence was prepared for what Reginald had in store today.

" The hail pounded like eating blue bottles, making Albert lonely. Albert grabbed a tattered teapot that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

"As Albert stepped outside and Reginald came closer, he could see the lively glint in his eye.

"'Look Albert,' growled Reginald, with a forgetful glare that reminded Albert of admirable mice. 'It's not that I don't love you, but I want affection. You owe me 702 pounds.'

" Albert looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the tattered teapot. 'Reginald, eat my shorts,' he replied.

"They looked at each other with delighted feelings, like two gloopy, gleaming goldfish bopping at a very vile rave, which had indie music playing in the background and two intelligent uncles rampaging to the beat.

"Albert studied Reginald's skinny legs and pink fingernails. Eventually, he took a deep breath. 'I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt,' explained Albert. 'You will never get your money.'

"'No!' objected Reginald. 'You lie!'

"'I do not!' retorted Albert. 'Now get your skinny legs out of here before I hit you with this tattered teapot.'

"Reginald looked stressed, his wallet raw like a proud, poor piano.

"Albert could actually hear Reginald's wallet shatter into 702 pieces. Then the admirable bear hurried away into the distance.

"Not even a mug of cocoa would calm Albert's nerves tonight."

Becky and the students laughed. Then one said, "I found an anagram generator on the Internet once. I used it on the custom user title of someone on a forum I was having a laugh with. You know - custom user titles are little phrases people can put under their names, like to make statements about who they are or what they do or whatever.

"The man I was having a laugh with liked picking on people, and on one of the forum members in particular, and I told him to stop doing that but to pick on someone else I mentioned instead, by calling him an uneducated fool, although I said he might come out of it the worst himself, since this other person knew a lot of stuff about a lot of things, so he could bedazzle him with his knowledge to prove him wrong, so he'd end up having to slink away in shame, and probably wouldn't dare touch his keyboard for weeks, and would have to admit to being the wrongest person on the whole board.

"The man I was joking around with, whose username there was Genius, mocked the idea that he could possibly be put to shame by anyone, and said I must have only an eighth of his talent to even think that such a thing was possible. But I said I could prove him wrong about that by putting his custom user title to shame right then and there. It was, 'I will achieve anything', but he'd got the I and the E in 'achieve' the wrong way round. I pointed that out, saying, 'I suggest you change it, ... Unless, of course, the error is in fact no error at all, but artistic license. ... Dang those artists and their license! Poetic license is even worse! Send them all to botany bay, to have some sense and decency drummed into them!'

"Genius joked that he hadn't really got the letters the wrong way around, saying, 'You see, while I was creating my profile, I was suddenly called away on urgent business. To leave my profile unfinished was unthinkable, and I had to get someone else to finish the job for me during my absence. However, the only other person with me in the house just then was my mirror image, who was kind enough to oblige me when I woke him from his afternoon nap and put my request to him. I daresay that from his point of view, you have grievously insulted his English. The more so as he was top of the class at spelling as a schoolboy. I know; He and I went to school together.'

"I said, "Well, you're very fortunate it was only a mirror image character, and not an anagram finding character, or who knows what he might have written! I've found an anagram finder on the Internet, and I put your user title in it. It came up with fifty thousand anagrams for it! Most of the ones I read weren't very good; but just think! The anagram character could have changed your custom user title to say things like:

"'A Achieving Hen Lily Wit
A Achieve Nigh Till Winy
A Achieve Lilting Whiny
A Achieving Wile Thinly
A Achieving The Ill Winy
A Achieving Yell Within.

"'Then, people would think those were the ways you were describing yourself and what you do on here. Wow! You had a lucky escape!'

"Genius said sarcastically, 'Seriously! Makes you shudder to think of what might have happened!'

"I said, 'What's even more chilling is that it could have changed the letters of your name around too! It seems you had an even luckier escape than you thought! The shame from those name changes would have haunted you all throughout this life, and right through the next into eternity! In six billion years' time, it would still be insistently following you around everywhere like a dog with bad breath who wanted you to give it some dinner!'

"Genius said, 'If a dog with bad breath did that, I would have to request that the dog brush its teeth before being so impudent as to ask me for food.'

"I joked, 'But you know dogs are notoriously badly-behaved when it comes to brushing their teeth. Even when there are lots of toothbrushes in a house, they still don't bother using them! I bet someone could tell a dog to go and brush its teeth a hundred times, and it still wouldn't. You could almost believe they don't know what a toothbrush is for! Unhygienic lazy beasts!'"

Becky and the students giggled.

Then One of them said, "I found a funny fake complaint letter generator on the Internet. Let's have a play with it! You just put someone's name in it and tell it whether they're male or female, and it'll make up a pompous long-winded complaint about them that doesn't really say anything of substance. We could put each other's names in it, and see what it comes out with! Just put the words 'complaint' and 'generator' into Google, and it'll probably be the first thing that comes up."

They did, having a laugh with it for a while.

Then Becky said, "I'm going to put my uncle Steve's name in it. He's really just a fairly harmless railway engineer and chocolate chomper, whose favourite thing in the world seems to be to go for a ride in a steam engine, and always wants to talk about his railway work, and used to love to stand around stations train spotting. He's never likely to do anything that controversial in his life. But let's see what this thing says about him!"

She put his name in it, and read out loud what it came up with. She read:

"'My complaint about Mr. Steve James Bexley

"'I have had enough of Mr. Steve James Bexley! The points I plan to make in this letter will sound tediously familiar to everyone who wants to debunk the nonsense spouted by Steve’s toadies. Nevertheless, he has tried creating widespread hysteria. He has also tried destroying our country from within. Why does Steve do such things? If you need help in answering that question, you may note that if you want to hide something from Steve, you just have to put it in a book. Steve lives within a self-contained atmosphere of toxic greed and covetousness. While this lighthearted statement adds sorely needed humor to an otherwise tense situation, Steve exhibits a malicious mean streak whenever someone states that he has utter contempt for the truth.

"'I’ve said that before and I’ve said it often, but perhaps I haven’t been concrete enough or specific enough, so now I’ll try to remedy those shortcomings. I’ll try to be a lot more specific and concrete when I explain that he uses clericalism to pilfer the national treasure. That’s the large elephant in the room that nobody talks about. Nevertheless, I, speaking as someone who is not a vexatious, morally defective toughy, certainly believe that people really ought to start talking about it because then they’d realize that Steve will intensify communal hatred within a short period of time. This is not a tinfoil-hat conspiracy theory. It is cold, hard fact.

"'A related fact is that when it comes to submerging us in a sea of authoritarianism, Steve is a major offender. Steve is a repeat offender. Steve is an offender who uses every advantage he has to play the system in favor of mammonism.

"'Steve practically breaks his arm patting himself on the back when he says, "It takes courage to go down into the muddy trenches and take this nation down and replace it with something dark and deadly." As if that were something to be proud of. Take a good, close look at yourself, Steve. What you’ll probably find is that you’re incorrigible.

"'Does Steve have a point? I inarguably doubt it. Think about it. Steve has failed to provide us with a context in which his ideas could be discussed and understood, and that’s one reason why I’m writing this letter. As a matter of policy, avaricious milksops should not waste hours and hours of our time in fruitless conferences and meetings, but this has never stopped Steve.

"'Although Steve won’t admit it, I am deliberately using colorful language in this letter. I am deliberately using provocative phrases that I hope will stick in the minds of my readers. I do ensure, however, that my words are always appropriate and accurate and clearly explain how Steve’s causeries are incoherent. They are inconsistent. And yes, they are downright sullen. That’s why I allege that whenever someone accuses Steve of spitting in the face of propriety, his one-size-fits-all response is that those who disagree with him should be cast into the outer darkness, should be shunned, should starve.

"'This galimatias should make you realize that Steve likes refrains that subvert our country’s legal system. Could there be a conflict of interest there? If you were to ask me, I’d say that once one begins thinking about free speech, about overweening, crabby philargyrists who use ostracism and public opinion to prevent the airing of views contrary to their own repressive beliefs, one realizes that in a recent essay, he stated that he has the moral authority to dictate how other people should conduct themselves in private. Since the arguments he made in the rest of his essay are based in part on that assumption, he should be aware that it just isn’t true. Not only that, but if he sincerely believes that he can ignore rules, laws, and protocol without repercussion then he must be smoking something illegal.

"'It has been revealed that Steve plans to uproot our very heritage and pave the way for his own undiplomatic value system. First reaction yields that he exhibits a procrustean urge to cut everything down to "a one size fits all" world. A little more thought leads to the more accurate conclusion that people tell me that the inspissated perissology in Steve’s grandiloquent dissertations obscures their underlying call for making conditions far worse than could ever have been the case without Steve’s obtrusive efforts. And the people who tell me this are correct, of course. Aside from the fact that like other vainglorious fiends, Steve has a finely honed ability to abandon me on a desert island, he and his alabandical outbursts should be shunned.

"'Let me recap that for you because it really is extraordinarily important: If you’ve read any of the hidebound slop that he has concocted, you’ll definitely recall his description of his plan to keep us everlastingly ill at ease. If you haven’t read any of it, well, all you really need to know is that Steve’s amateurish, atrabilious effusions are intended to rot out the minds of all freedom-loving, free-thinking people. Once that’s accomplished, he can replace such people with compliant, Steve-controlled, and, above all, obedient robots who would never think to sail against the prevailing winds in search of the truth about him and his galère. These automata will recover the dead past by annihilating the living present in the near future.

"'Although I’m trying desperately hard to express my opinion of Steve without using expletives, I’m afraid I do have to say that there is no contradiction between fighting him with everything we’ve got and preserving the peace. A wise person can do both. Invidious, pusillanimous soi-disant do-gooders do neither. That’s why I like to say that Steve has delivered exactly the opposite of what he had previously promised us. Most notably, his vows of liberation turned out to be masks for oppression and domination. And, almost as troubling, Steve’s vows of equality did little more than convince people that most members of our quick-fix, sugar-rush, attention-deficit society are too impatient to realize the importance of stepping up in defense of freedom of thought and speech. I wish only that a few more people could see that to say that Steve’s expedients are intelligent, commonsensical, and entirely consonant with the views of ordinary people is ghoulish nonsense and untrue to boot. Comments on the above are welcome, but please think them out first.'"

The students chuckled.

Then one of them put the name of Queen Elizabeth into the complaints generator, but forgot to tick the checkbox that would indicate her gender. It was set to 'male' by default, so the complaint that came up talked about her as if she was a man. It said things like,

"I’ve been debating with myself over the last few weeks whether or not I should write this letter. Obviously, I outvoted myself and wrote it. I absolutely had to tell you that there is no aspect of Queen Elizabeth Windsor’s shabby lucubrations that one could reasonably call a redeeming feature. ...

"I’d like to explain to Elizabeth how he’s wrong, but I fear he wouldn’t be capable of understanding what I said. Sad. As a result, I’ll merely tell Elizabeth in the simplest terms possible that his exegeses are incoherent. They are inconsistent. And yes, they are downright disruptive. ...

"No one can deny that Elizabeth’s attempts to divert attention from his unprovoked aggression have reached gale force, yet I’ve been trying to get him to admit that he wants his convictions and opinions to operate as the sieve through which all new conceptions must pass before they can reach the masses. Yes, I know what you’re thinking: Getting him to admit such a thing would challenge even the most patient of Zen masters. Nevertheless, I believe that it’s worth a try because it’s a pity that two thousand years after Christ, the voices of ugly, heinous euphuists like Elizabeth can still be heard, worse still that they’re listened to, and worst of all that anyone believes them.

"I assume that everyone reading this is already intimately familiar with the notion that no matter how many tantrums and hissy fits Elizabeth throws, it won’t change the fact that we cannot get away from the adamantine and tenebrous fact that I am quite certain that his language is turgid and incomprehensible. Hence, I’ll spare you the sordid details and say only that his ability to escape punishment for permitting what I call bad-tempered, immature fearmongers to rise to positions of leadership and authority unmistakably tells us one thing. It tells us that our passage to Perdition has been booked. it also tells us that Elizabeth and his thralls are on a recruiting campaign, trying to convince everyone they meet to participate in borrowing money and spending it on programs that tell everyone else what to do."

Becky and the students giggled.

They chatted for some time, and then they parted. The students told Becky she was welcome to join them again. She was pleased.