one word:
interns
Pleonasm!
Interns, schminterns. Dale guards them jealously, to my ire. After all the tempting hints of unbridled power, glory, license, and free beer, I decided to go for it, and was instead diabolically transformed into something like a Nazgûl but without the free beer. Or the unbridled power, glory, or license.
And flights on DaleForce One? Forget it. I have to fly on my own. “You don’t have those nice new eldritch leathern wings for nothing, you know,” quoth the Undisputed.
So I crouch gibbering in my dark lair, waiting to lock and delete. 
And this is different how?
Um…the wraithy wings.
Dale offered me an intern, and I was going to accept till it turned out to be Kyle.
I’d like wings, myself, though only if made of a leather-analog. I’m not sure how pleather or naugehyde’d hold up in the long term. . .
I’d like an intern, too. Dale’s bait-and-switch on that count is sort of surprising. I’d thought so highly of him. To hold out on promised pimping is shockingly immoral.
Just forget about the interns already. They are, how shall we say, “vestal”, anyway. Never did get that.
By the way, you can’t get pleather or naugahyde to mesh with the vascular system. I’m afraid there’s no PeTA-friendly alternative if you want them to last.
Human skin’d be fine, too. Just how devoted are the interns?
A fine and fundamental selection. Choices in the wraith wing fashion department are almost without limit. I went with ostrich for the icky, scary-looking nubbins all over it.
You’ll have to ask Dale. Hmph.
I want to be an intern.
I heard that Rachel the Intern is on stand-by to meet with Nano in case he doesn’t lock his quota of threads. Apparently she’s still in Florida helping JES with his website. Hasn’t she been there quite a while?
I deny categorically that the C&F moderatorship have quotas to fill. Let us quash that unworthy rumor here and now.
We’re not state troopers, after all. 
I agree.
But a Mod has gotta make his bones sooner or later…
Slan,
D.
It’s when you feel the pangs of The Hunger that the hunting starts.
Would that be the Great Hunger?
Worth a look
Slan,
D. 
No, nothing like An Gorta Mór, at all. Certainly not worth such poetry.
More craven, like.
… craven, like.
So this is what we’re in for:
