23 October: The South Carolina geographical community was knocked on its back early last Saturday morning when a possibly mind-rending discovery was made: states other than South Carolina may exist.

In response to this discovery, the local chapter of the Promise Keepers has burned down several "colored" folk.

The find was made when three USC freshmen (Matthew Benjamin Landau, Jason George Maxwell Morton, and Charles Mitchell Frye III) attempted to drive to Myrtle Beach on a late-night whim. Their original folly was driving west instead of east. Their second folly was obeying the Round State Theory.

Said theory, derived by Dr. Mark Allus Goblin in 1903, states that in any area where there is only one state, any location may eventually be reached in the area by travelling in either the direction immediately towards it or the direction immediately opposite it.

"We just fucking wanted to fucking get to the fucking beach. But, we fucking went the fucking wrong way, so we fucking tried to fucking pull a fucking circle and fucking get there like fucking that," fucked Jason Morton.

"That shit got all fucked up," he later fucked.

The trio discovered their error upon reaching a small village known as South of the Border.

"So, we were like, ‘South of what border?’" stated Frye, obviously traumatized by the intense thought process required by the situation.

It turns out that the border in question belonged to a certain "Northern" Carolina. Guerrilla tacticians sent into the territory have determined that this "Northern" Carolina has its own school for science and mathematics, various universities and colleges, and even a "happening" music scene.

It is speculated that "Northern" Carolina is a bizarro world portraying a mockery of our own.

"Why are we going to school here if other states exist?" questioned Landau.

24 October: As the hideous cold of winter descends upon our normally hellish state, many questions pop up into the collective head of the masses. However, the most important question for Columbia residents is one that has been there since the beginning of spring last year: when will all these damned bums die?

And it’s a good question, worthy of a good answer: soon. A major benefit of the seasonal "chilly-willies" is that the majority of homeless persons (a.k.a. bums) have no source of warmth, and are likely to die miserably. "But," you are prone to ask, "what if they manage to get their hands on some warmth?" Never fear; the South Carolina Society for Humane Treatment of Coats has vowed that this year, they will strip the warmth off of the back of every single bum they encounter.

(Seen Below) A tribe of soon-to-perish, warmth-less bums. Oblivious to their situation, they continuously chant the refrain to Puff Daddy’s "Come With Me," oftentimes improvising their own urine-soaked harmony.

The bums are expected to "go to bum heaven" after the season’s first serious frost. Survivors who will have tricked their way into warmth (i.e. IHOP) will be put to sleep (bludgeoned with shovels) upon the awakening morn.

25 October: Unveiling a discovery that will no doubt benefit the Human Genome Project greatly, Monday’s press conference at the Russell House Ballroom on the University of South Carolina campus will no doubt go down in genetics history. The panel, consisting of the various Biology Department heads and their respective whores, revealed to the public and answered questions concerning their latest scientific revelation: the infamous last (final) name is a dominant trait.

The experiment was immensely complex, but the basics can be covered on a doctorate level. The conductors of the experiment selected the finest female specimens from their various undergraduate Biology courses, and then they married and made sweet, beautiful love to them for each night of the following month. At the end of this phase of the experiment, each lovely lady was "knocked up" and the birthing section could commence.

After nine months of continued intense love-making (just to make sure), the experimenters’ lady friends all gave birth at the Richland Memorial Hospital within a relatively close time frame. The key part of the experiment was nigh: upon filling out the birth certificate, the proud fathers all only filled out the first and middle name sections, leaving the space for last name blank. In almost all instances, upon the hospital’s return of the certificate, the child received the last name of its father.

Only once was the mother’s maiden name bestowed upon a child, and it was not long after this occurrence that little James D. White died suddenly and without warning. It can thereby be assumed that the hidden maiden name is weak and inferior, and it is an asset to humanity that it is quite recessive.

Although pleased with the results, the USC Biology Department insists upon continued testing. Says Dr. Kenneth Brandy: "Man, I just lookin’ fo’ some play, ya know?"

4 November: At a supposed celebration for his birthday today, USC Head Football Coach Lou Holtz’s pitiful excuse for a failure fuck-up of a life was finally terminated.

There is much speculation as to why this event was so long in the coming. Some suggest that perhaps it is because reality still holds and it is illogical that a single man can turn feces into gold over the course of half-a-year, while other more successful alchemists believe that it is simply because murder is illegal. Whatever the case, the deed was done at four in the afternoon on a Thursday as slow and miserable as Coach Holtz’s aching walk.

Said Holtz before the festivities: "I had no clue that it was my birthday. I could’ve sworn it was a few months off at best, but I suppose I’m just getting senile as my mummy-like body is propelled into the unwilling future by my seemingly exponentially-increasing age."

Coach Loser added: "Sure was nice for good ol’ Dr. Palms to send me a card inviting me to this wacky shindig which will surely be less pitiful than I. He’s keen."

Halfway through the celebration, Holtz was called up on-stage by Dr. Palms. Palms then proceeded to clap his hands together, scream "Dinosaur-Dragon Fury!" and shoot a fireball directly through Coach Holtz’s chest. The soul of the flamed was heard to seep out of the fire-blackened corpse on its way to Cowards’ Hell.

"That’s what we do to staff members who fail to provide miraculous turnarounds that defy all human logic," commented Palms, "Next, my Dark Eye Of Burning Devil Anger will turn to the Chess Club."

-Paid for by NCSSM