November 1, 2023 Read it and weep profusely. Volume XXX Issue II


People These Days Don’t Know How Hard It Is to Be an Immortal Wizard

Written by: Katie Campbell

By Eitak Llebpmac
Conjurer of Ypoc

Wizards of San Diego, I come to you all with the most horrible problem I have ever faced in my short 200 years of existence. I am ready to leave the nest for good after expending my 20 years of dorm life; I have to become my own adult self before I reach age 250 or I’ll be a failure forever. Alas! In my search for a humble wizard tower to call my own, I’ve realized that they have all been converted into Airbnbs or torn down in favor of minimalist apartments without air conditioning. And they have the nerve to charge $10,000 a month for such abominations! Even with the power to snap and permanently destroy the trading value of the U.S. dollar, that’s too much money for me.

Out of desperation, I asked for help on r/reallifewizardsnofakers. They had only the usual suggestions — “Just get a job,” or “Get 600 ghosts to pay you rent,” or “Have you tried selling feet pics?” However, one individual provided me with a grand idea — I should just build my own tower! There’s plenty of space out on the ocean, and I’m immune to bullets and military weapons, so the Coast Guard won’t stand a chance against my cool lightning defense system.

I spent two years painstakingly building the perfect miniature version of my ideal tower! I transcribed all of my tomes into tiny handwritten books less than a square centimeter in size. I even harvested perfect crystals from the Earth’s crust to act as my magical conduits. However, there was a fatal oversight in my logic. Due to the law of conservation of matter, I can’t actually create new matter — I can only space out the matter that’s already there. So I stole a small rowboat and spent four days rowing out into the Pacific Ocean. But when I used my Expandinator magic to size up my masterpiece, it immediately began to flood!

I ran into the tower and stopped the leaks with 12 industrial size rolls of Glad® ClingWrap, and my possessions escaped unscathed. I then climbed 2,000 steps to the top floor, at which point I jumped in a moment of pure, magical celebration — and I fell down all the way to the bottom, breaking every single bone in my body. After lying on the ground for two weeks, I mastered a levitation spell and carried myself to the local hospital, where I’m currently using my powers to write to you, dear reader. As for my housing situation, I’m still torn — real estate is a fantastic investment, and being a landlord is a perfectly respectable, guilt-free career choice — but perhaps I should accept my fate and live in a sad, wet cave forever. Maybe I can find some students who want to live with me, or maybe the sea lions will start paying rent. I need to figure it out soon, though — the medical bills aren’t going to pay themselves, after all.

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