Parents attempt to explain to child how internet works, fail

On a seemingly normal summer afternoon in Shanghai, the Welding household was thrown into disarray after young Martin asked one of the questions universally dreaded by parents.

Mum, Dad, he said, in that voice he puts on when you know he’s about to do something annoying.

Rodger and Norma Welding did their best to distract the little boy, but nothing could stop what was coming; the little terror was determined to ask his question.

Mum, Dad, he said again. How does the internet work?

Rodger and Norma, who are avid users of the internet, begin to see in that moment that that they actually had no idea as to how the internet functions. Like traffic patterns, or the seasons, they had accepted it as just one of those mysteries of life whose functioning doesn’t need to be reasoned out.

Rodger tried joking, to stall things. “Voodoo magic, of course!” He looked to Norma, feeling that it was her turn to broach the subject, after he’d successfully explained to Martin how to spell “Wednesday” the week before. “No, but seriously, Martin, I’m sure your mum can explain that one.”

As she began to think of a response, Norma realised that she had never even given the actual workings of the internet a second thought. A vast, invisible web, somehow catapulting movies and emails and pizza orders, without wires, from Space, and Germany, and Netflix… if any of those places even existed, come to think of it… it was too much to handle. Stammering, she began to feel the overwhelming magnitude of a something, invisible and all around her, transporting more information every single second than any human brain could comprehend in a lifetime. Beginning to feel paranoid, she checked their surroundings, wondering if they were in the internet right at that very moment.

Rodger was experiencing similar emotions. The internet was something that invented fantasy football and Wikipedia and the News. It wasn’t something to be comprehended, like elevators or sandwiches or airplanes. Now, however, he started to wonder about airplanes, and with a sickening feeling in his stomach, he had to confront the fact that a gigantic mass of steel and glass shouldn’t be able to fly, like it’s a bird or something. It was literally impossible.

Becoming flustered, Rodger tried to go back to the internet-as-voodoo-magic idea, which seemed more plausible than anything else at this point.

Not quite satisfied with the answers thus far, Martin followed his initial question up with a final knock-out punch, asking how can a phone make Mummy’s voice come to his school from her office. Rodger and Norma paled, looking at their phone-boxes, which were increasingly seeming more and more magic as the afternoon went on.

As they began to make up an answer, Martin, thank God, found a lizard, and stopped asking questions.


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Tourist rescued by passing fishermen

On Tuesday, passing fisherman discovered the plump and sunburned body of a foreigner sprawled along a muddy shoreline embankment on the River Nile. Fearing the worst, they pulled him onto their boat, greatly relieved to find him alive. They gently revived him with water and a couple of grilled bananas they had on hand. Guessing he was simply a lost and fairly stupid member of one of the many organised safaris which passed through the area, they decided to take him back to one of the park guard stations, where he could be quickly sorted out.

Their minds changed, however, when Nigel awoke. His pitiful, begging eyes flitting from the first unfamiliar face to the second, he could only gasp out one word:


Huck Finn said that ‘you feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft’, but just at this moment, that wasn’t the case for Nigel on the little fishing boat. He felt that he was not out of the woods just yet; he reasoned in his brief stay in the land of consciousness that he was likely to expire at any moment from sheer exhaustion and, as he had skipped breakfast (and possibly brunch), sheer starvation. He fell into a fitful sleep, mumbling to himself about restaurant menus written on chalkboards, margaritas that were frozen, and express trains to the airport before dreaming of lands where coffee flowed in abundance and milk and sugar fell from the very skies.

The fishermen deliberated as he slept.

“What an idiot. Doesn’t he know how dumb it is to sleep next to the water? There are hippos here! And crocodiles! And the mosquitoes! Sleeping there with his mouth gaping open, like he’s some crocodile in the sun. It’s a wonder he wasn’t eaten by something!” the first fisherman said, animatedly.

“No kidding. But, you know what, you saying that, about the hippos, it just makes me think, I do love hippos. Seriously, man, they are cute, aren’t they?” mused the second. He lapsed into a bit of silence as he thought about how funny hippos can be. It never got old, seeing those big, fat-fat animals. They passed a family of hippos lounging in the morning sun, and he smiled. He had a great smile, actually, and his mom was always badgering him about why he hadn’t settled down yet. It’s just about timing, really, he would tell her, and you have to find the right person –

“Let’s take him back to town?” suggested the first, interrupting the river musing of his companion.

“I guess that’s the best thing to do. There’s that cafe where the other foreigners go. Where they eat the green paste on chips. They certainly have coffee. That’s as good a place as any to drop him off,” replied his companion. “I’ll call Simon – he can give us a ride.”

Nigel, still unconscious when they arrived, was curled in a fetal position in the backseat. The first  fisherman picked him up and walked him into the cafe, laying him down gently on a seat made of a wood crate with an old coffee ad stamped onto it. He picked up a pillow, which was printed with a vintage tourism ad, and placed it under his head.

They’d grown quite fond of the hapless foreigner in the time they’d spent caring for him. “I think he’s going to like this place,” the first fisherman said to the second. Unfortunately, the second fisherman didn’t hear a word the first one said, because fond of the foreigner or not, he had just seen the waitress who was coming over to take their order, and she had stunned the very fire of life right out of him, down to its smallest, most infinitesimal spark, and it was all he could do just to remain standing. He gasped when she looked at him, and quickly averted his eyes.

Feeling a bit lightheaded herself upon seeing the sunlit smile of the second man who’d entered, the waitress said kindly to the first fisherman, “We’ll take good care of him. Don’t you worry.”

Nigel, for his part, slept through the whole exchange, unable to thank the angels of the river who had come to his rescue. He woke up just before lunch with a raging hunger. The kind waitress, who seemed to have a spring in her step, brought him a menu, and as soon as he saw ‘smoothies’ and ‘guacamole’, he knew he was in a safe place and nothing bad or scary could ever happen again.




find part one:  former backpacker shocked by revelation that he is a complete yuppie now here

find part two:  family super embarrassed of member killed by (baby) lions here


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A Visit To The Publisher

I squirm in my chair as the woman across from me reads my excerpt. I call it my pilot, which is normally what you call the first episode of TV shows, the vast majority of which get rejected before the reviewer even finishes the episode. They schedule five reviews an hour. For twenty-minute episodes. Of course, this occurs to me right now. I know my face is washed a hue of eager, with a touch of anxiety, and the mildest hint of crippling fear.

She looks up. My world, in this moment, will either end, or be given wings. I’ll be given wings in it. Or something. Whatever.

“Look. It’s never easy, coming in here. I know you must be nervous.”

I giggle. It isn’t the appropriate response.

“The best thing I can give you is honesty.”

I see where this is going. I want to kindly ask her not to give me any of that. She’s already talking. She’s pretty set on it.

“Your tense switches from second person to third person to first person flash back narrative, within two thousand words.”

“Pretty breakneck pace, hey? Engaging?”

She’s not impressed. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, which happens to many people when they encounter great talent. She fumbles a bit and continues.

“I’m not sure you know what plot actually means…”

“It’s true… I don’t have much experience with farming.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. I’ll try a different tack.

“Plot, though, really, don’t you think that’s a bit… outdated? Do you think readers still expect it? I think they’re looking for something different.”

“That… perspective… notwithstanding, from the dialogue you’ve included, I must admit that I’d be surprised if you know how humans actually talk.”

This isn’t going how I’d expected. I don’t think she understands.

“I don’t think you understand.”

She cocks an eyebrow. Pretty sure I can safely interpret that as a sign we’re getting somewhere.

“My auntie reads all my stuff. She thinks it’s delightful.”

“That’s…that’s not to be ignored. Have you had any others review your work?”

Alright. She wants to talk business. Numbers.

“I’ve reached double digit views on my blog. Multiple times.”

“I don’t… I don’t think that is quite the calibre of reference I was hoping for.”

I see where she’s going with this. I had hoped to avoid bringing in the cavalry so soon.

“I see where you’re going with this,” I nod slyly. “Maybe Chairman Mao is a more… lucrative…  reference for you?”

I struggle to get my wallet out of my pocket, which probably builds suspense. Once I get it unsnagged, I lay out three crumpled pink Maos and a couple greens for good measure.

“Maybe… four hundred Maos would change your mind?”

She looks at me in disbelief. I shouldn’t have put so much on the table at once. You have to do these things bit by bit, I’ve been told.

“You do understand that we are an international publishing house.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You do realize that if you are asking me to take even a second look at your trash attempt at a choose-your-own-adventure romantic memoir, let alone recommend it for review, you’ll have to give me a helluva lot more than four hundred Maos. In fact, that’s not even half the hourly rate I’d charge to cover the spa and meditation treatments I will need to purge your drivel from my system.”

“It’s a choose-your-own-memoir adventure romance.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“It’s really not. Did you hear anything I said after that? Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a long day, your writing is subpar at best, you’ve tried to bribe me with your pocket money, which is really not cool, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just drop this attempt to force fiction of worth out of your delusions-of-grandeur addled brain and just go for something easy, one of the low arts.”

She better not ask me –

“Literature, serious fiction, it’s not for everyone – ”

I can feel it coming –

“Have you tried humour writing?”

Never. Never in my life had I been so offended. The lack of professionalism in publishing these days is appalling. To be spoken to so! To even insinuate that I would dally in the world of cheap laughs and wooden punchlines! The world waiting to be impacted by me, to take my words into the threads of its garments, and she would dare to peg me for a jester; so little time to be true to my gift, and here my pearls lay scattered and sullied before the gaze of this mean lady. I gathered up my insulted Maos, put them back in my wallet, and stormed out as animatedly as I could.

Being rejected by the system. It’s all just part of being an artist, you know. I hear her sigh behind me – an indignant glance backward reveals her massaging her temples, behind which lays her frontal lobe, the house of reason, in whose halls I’m sure she has already begun to consider how she’ll come to rue this day.


Thousands of protestors issue joint apology to riot police

Facing mounting pressure from riot police unions, protestors have released a joint statement apologising for their recent behavior, which included general unrest, violent demonstrations, and somewhat impolite demeanour over the past weekend.

What began as a calm gathering of weekend picknickers quickly got out of hand early Saturday afternoon. Under the impression that two of their members had been unrightfully detained by uniformed individuals whom the picknickers mistook for riot police, they began angrily demanding their companions be returned, causing quite a stir as they pelted a nearby park attendant kiosk with any projectiles they could find on hand. The cries drew a crowd which rapidly transformed from curious to indignant upon hearing of the injustice foisted upon the helpless by uncaring faceless uniforms.

Swelling to over two thousand people over the course of just fifteen minutes, the protest began to migrate, seemingly at random. First, they blocked access to the popular public park in which the now infamous picnic began. They then orchestrated a spontaneous sit-in at a nearby Old Navy, long suspected to harbor pro-police sentiments and good weekend deals. The crowd then attempted to sing anti-police songs, but nobody really knew what to rhyme with ‘police’, so they decided to go to karaoke instead, which was pretty fun. They followed that up with a visit to a local ice-cream shop, where they rabidly devoured the entire stock in just a few minutes and didn’t even really say thank you, before moving en masse to the local iMax theatre, where they enjoyed a run of Jurassic World, even though many of them had already seen it. After the movie, still indignant with righteous fervour, the demonstrators raced to a nearby wine bar to catch the two-for-one happy hour, before electing to continue their night at several local establishments, culminating in what one demonstrator described as a ‘pretty sick weekend.’ By this point, with numbers estimated at over ten thousand, most protesters weren’t totally sure what they were angry about, but they unanimously agreed that protesting was pretty awesome.

Meanwhile, the park attendants who had been mistaken for riot police were feeling sort of left out, especially after some of the protestors said some pretty unkind things in passing. The two missing picknickers were discovered taking part in the protesting festivities, having simply left the park earlier in the day in search of a dumpling restaurant one of the guys said he was ‘sure was around there somewhere.’ Upon their return, to their delight, they stumbled upon the thousands of protestors, which they assumed was a flash mob. Riot police, who, of all parties, appear to be the most upset about the weekend’s proceedings, confirmed that they ‘have feelings, too’ and that ‘it kind of hurts to have people sing mean songs about you.’

It appears that reconciliation efforts are already underway, however, as protest leaders have invited riot police representatives to join next weekend’s protest festivities. Old Navy, the ice cream shop, and the iMax cinema have offered their services as corporate sponsors for any protests occurring in the near future.


Family super embarrassed of member killed by (baby) lions

baby lion nat and alex uganda 02

Hong Kong resident Nigel Dortmund has been missing for several days after embarking on what is now being considered an ill-fated safari trip through northern Uganda. He is presumed deceased after his personal effects were found near a well-known play area of several infant lions.

While safari reports record the size of the suspected lions as ‘small’, their age as ‘infant’, and their cute factor as ‘major’, it appears that they were still able to kill the 30-year-old tourist.

The Dortmund family has repeatedly requested that the newspapers reporting on their missing and presumedly deceased son remove any and all references to the size, ferociousness, and dangerability of the lions which took his life. Private sources indicate that the family is concerned their image and name will be negatively impacted by the fact that their dearly departed was slain by animals which appear in pictures to resemble cuddly, stuffed children’s toys.

At the recent memorial service in his hometown, pictures of the alleged killer lions were responded to with ‘Awww!’s and similar exclamations of delight and pleasure from the crowd. Many seemed disappointed when the slide show switched to childhood pictures of Nigel and murmurs of disapproval spread throughout the audience.

“Nigel was great, sure,” commented one guest. “But you have to see those lions. They are seriously the cutest.”

One guest confirmed that she “literally couldn’t even handle how cute the lions were”.

In an attempt to stem the damage to their reputation, Nigel’s family, joined by close friends, organised a protest and awareness march through downtown on Saturday night in which they aimed to educate the public on the fact that “baby lions are dangerous, too” and that “people who may or may not have been killed and eaten by baby lions are really manly and tough, just as much as anybody who gets done in by a more serious animal, and, actually, getting eaten by something super cute might make you even tougher than other people who get eaten by (subjectively) scarier, larger things, like sharks, dinosaurs, or bears.” It was a lot of information to include on one placard, to be frank, but they wanted to get their point across.

Unfortunately, as per usual, having too much text backfired, as the billboards and placards of the marchers also featured large, hi-res images of the creatures, who are admittedly just the most adorable. Instead of being demonised as the dangerous killers they really are, baby lions are now enjoying an unprecedented boom in the public’s approval rating, accompanied by skyrocketing general feelings of warmth and happiness among those who viewed the images.

After reports surfaced that Nigel was most likely eaten after wandering through his campsite at night looking for muesli, several large muesli producers have taken steps to distance themselves from the incident, with one major anonymous source confirming that they do not believe eating muesli increases in any significant way the likelihood of death by baby lion.




find part one:  former backpacker shocked by revelation that he is a complete yuppie now here

find part three:  tourist rescued by passing fishermen here




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Former backpacker shocked by revelation that he is a complete yuppie now


In an attempt to get back to the good ol’ backpacking days he is incessantly mentioning to friends (and  most likely leaning on for social validation), Nigel Dortmund, 30, of Hong Kong, signed himself up for a four day safari tour of western Uganda.

In the weeks preceding the trip, and even through the four-hour drive to the reserve, Nigel regaled his companions with tales of the travel adventures of his early 20s, detailing the numerous mishaps, serendipitous encounters, and downright escapades he had been a part of over the past decade.

Upon arriving at the safari entrance, however, his horizon began to darken. In a sign of what was to come, Nigel felt a sinking in his gut as he realised that there would be no bathrooms, hot showers, or Starbucks for at least three nights. In that moment, he understood with a start that he had become a full-blown yuppie, changed irrevocably by the years spent as a professional in Hong Kong. He hated being sweaty outside of an upscale urban gym; he thought about cheeses from time to time; all of his business socks were intentionally paired with his outfits; he didn’t go to Starbucks, because he had some rant against corporatocracy, but he really liked having them around, because they made him feel comfortable and safe; he drank unnecessarily complicated cocktails; he had footwear which he referred to as his “Tuesday shoes”.

A safari was suddenly looking like an exceedingly unwise proposition. He had voluntarily signed up to be apart from all of his favorite things, and now he was paying to sleep on the ground in a tent and be around smelly zoo animals. He didn’t even notice the exotic animals the group drove by on their way to the campground.

As the group began retiring to their tents, Nigel began asking frantically if anyone had some Greek style yoghurt and muesli for breakfast. Secretly, he had determined to wait until everyone else was asleep so that he could use the group’s abundant drinking water for a quick shower. He’d even heat it up over the campfire. Given, however, that they were camping on a safari with dangerous animals, exiting the tent in the middle of the night would mean that there was an estimated 50/50 chance of being eaten immediately by a lion, or big, weird beetles, or malaria.

Nigel, beyond the influence of statistics at this point, had already made up his mind.




find part two:  family super embarrassed of member killed by (baby) lions here

find part three:  tourist rescued by passing fishermen here




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Selfless citizen runs free quality check on mirrors, reflective surfaces

Dan Thornberg, an entrepreneur and social worker in the area, is no stranger to selfless giving, though you’ll rarely hear him admit it.

It’s said, however, that those who give in secret can’t do so for long. Once again, Dan has been caught by several local residents serving in an unexpected way.

For months now, even when he thinks no one is looking, Dan has been observed giving mirrors of all shapes and sizes, and even somewhat reflective objects, a thorough once-over. The reason for this was unclear, pun unintended (or, as you might say, punintended*), until very recently.

A source who has elected to remain anonymous has told us that she knows Dan, though we assume that means nothing more than that she may have been to a party he was at once, or ran into him at a  networking event for entrepreneurs, or noticed him in the grocery store, where they were both taking advantage of a great discount on muesli.**

“I know Dan,” our source said. “He really seems so thoughtful. It’s like he’s always looking to see how he can help. I haven’t had the chance to talk to him yet, but we actually live in the same complex, and I’ve seen him doing that, what you’re talking about. I think I know what it is. He’s just doing what he always does, serving the community! You don’t get it? He’s making sure the glass is up to par! Making sure there are no issues with the reflection!”

“I’ve never seen him leave a reflection until he’s satisfied,” our source confirmed.

Several other sources we interviewed said the same, noting Dan’s singular determination to quality-check every reflective surface and his tireless unwillingness to leave said surfaces until he has confirmed that they are reflecting to the best of their ability.

In fact, as one of our sources got into the elevator not fifteen minutes ago, she found him just wrapping up as he ran a diagnostic on the mirrored walls inside.

All that goes to say, with a community servant like Dan, you aren’t likely to catch him tooting his own horn, or trumpet, or any other brass instrument, anytime soon.

Unless, of course, he’s checking the quality of its reflection.




*On second thought, don’t. Don’t say punintended. Even if you make a pun, punintentionally.

**I have no idea, honestly, what the origin or the depth of their relationship may be. I’m just starting out as an investigative reporter, and I’m still getting used to keeping sources anonymous, protecting witnesses, all that good stuff. I almost told you that her name was Rachel, at the beginning, like a real novice. Also, I know I keep saying “us” and “our” and “we”, but there is really only just me. Detectiving is really starting to get lonely. Actually, if you, or anyone you know, wants to hang out later… I’d be up for doing literally anything else. And I lied about the muesli thing, up there. I bought all of it. I’m a hoarder of discounted goods. I have ten kilos of discounted muesli in my freezer. We can eat muesli if you want.








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Shanghai expat somehow managed to survive alone for years

A Shanghai expat has somehow managed to survive for over twenty six years without having come to understand how to manage the basic life needs of his body.

Every day, come approximately noon thirty, Jared Dunhill is inexplicably shocked by a crippling wave of hunger that tells his body that it is time to eat. Despite having experienced a similar sensation daily for 26 years, which would mean this has happened approximately nine thousand five hundred times, the expat has still not adapted to expect the sensation of hunger which indicates that his body would like a meal, which it will convert into energy to use in accomplishing its fairly critical daily goal of of not dying.

Frantically leaving his office in search of sustenance, the expat forages in several known and trusted locations, where he has consistently been able to purchase sandwiches, bowls of pasta or noodles or rice, various fried vegetables, the odd fruit, and on really nice days, something a bit classy, like yoghurt with muesli and berries.

Having consumed these, the expat is immediately satisfied and able to return to work. Productivity skyrockets, peaks at a respectable level, and continues humming along at a steady clip until around a quarter to six, when Jared’s energy levels come screeching to a sudden halt as his body is riddled once again with pangs of hunger. Again, and I mean literally every day, the expat is shocked to the point of incredulity, having ‘just fed [it]’, which is believed to refer either to his stomach or to the beast with an insatiable appetite that he believes resides inside of him.

By a quarter after six, Jared can generally be found crawling to another favored hunting ground, where most days he is able to scavenge, steal, scrounge, or legally purchase food. Exhausted, he then retires to his habitation, where, despite his best efforts, he suffers undesired bouts of unconsciousness every single night, lasting approximately seven hours.




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Bodyguard for Linkin Park has a really loveable face

HAWORTH SHOWROOM SHANGHAI – After a social event for entrepreneurs in Shanghai in which Linkin Park discussed ideas for educational startups, socially-minded venture capital opportunities, and possibilities for globally scalable, sustainable development, guests were primarily focused on the really loveable face of one of the band’s massive bodyguards.

“He was gigantic,” reported one guest, whom we first found describing the elaborate tattoo which covered most of the right side of the bodyguard’s neck and shaved scalp. “He could have ripped me in two pieces. But look at him. He just… he wouldn’t do that.”

As members of the band mingled with the crowd as the event concluded, the bodyguard approached one of the musicians and the guest with whom he was chatting, and patiently intimated, with manners that would make a monarch blush, that it was, unfortunately, time for them to get going, and he was quite sorry to interrupt the conversation, and they were so happy the guest was able to make it out tonight. As he spoke, he emphasized his words by gesturing with his gigantic arms, which could suffocate a dinosaur, if they had to. They haven’t had to, yet, sources have confirmed. But they could.

As the affable bodyguard turned to make his way to the door, giving the duo a moment to wrap up the conversation, he flashed a smile that could light cities and melt hearts of stone, and surely has done so in the past. In fact, one guest noted that, as he walked by, she felt her hopes rise, and started to think, spontaneously, that maybe dreams really can come true, if you just believe.

“That guy, I’m sure he’s concerned about practical steps we can take to resolve the issues that are affecting our young generation,” commented another guest, as he watched him walk toward the door, a mass of muscle which could overturn a moving car without breaking a sweat, which I mention confidently, because he actually did, one crazy weekend. “It’s like, even if he were to have to pummel me into a bloody pulp, he wouldn’t make me feel bad about it, you know?”

At press time, the tattooed bodyguard, who could grind you to sand with one arm, was intently listening to an older woman in the elevator recount the many interesting things that had happened to her that day. He responded to her comments by asking insightful follow-up questions about these experiences, which showed her that he was really listening, not only with his ears, but with his heart – the very biggest muscle anyone can carry.

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Wenger close to fulfilling ambition of fielding eleven midfielders

Arsene Wenger has spent the better part of two decades with a single aim in mind:

Field an entire team of midfielders.

Despite the widely-held belief among many pundits and fans that football is a complex sport requiring athletes who are quite specialised in largely mutually exclusive areas of expertise, such as scoring goals, defending the flanks, managing possession in the midfield, and goalkeeping, Wenger believes that all eleven positions are in fact best filled by midfielders.

It appears that his undying ambition may finally be nearing fruition.

In the upcoming Arsenal season, Wenger has confirmed that he will shore up an oft-maligned back four with midfielders; replace his heralded new goalkeeper with a midfielder; fill the central holding position with either one or two midfielders, depending on the defensive requirement of the match; identify two players with pace to deploy as flanking midfielders; fill the central attacking role with a midfielder; and complete the attack by putting either one or two midfielders in the traditional striker roles up top.

With the summer transfer window far from over, there could be even more firepower brought in, as it remains to be seen whether Wenger will accomplish his goal of bringing in a marquee, world-class midfielder to the fold.

The Premier League season kicks off on August 9th against West Ham. Expected starting eleven below.

Keeper-midfielder: Francis Coquelin. Defensive capabilities on full display last season, Wenger has elected to move him to arguably the most defensive position on the pitch.

Centreback-midfielders: Mikel Arteta and Matieu Flamini are looking to finally cement a starting position anchoring the defense.

Fullback-midfielders: Gedion Zelalem and Aaron Ramsey. Wenger has elected to give Zelalem a chance at left back; it remains to be seen if his confidence in the youngster will pay off. Meanwhile, Ramsey’s beard is sure to add a Spartan-like grit to the right side of the defense.

Holding Midfielder: Jack Wilshere. The summer has not been kind to Wilshere, as the English media has caught wind that he may have been thinking about smoking a cigarette while on holiday. Despite these off-the-field troubles evidencing a tendency to be a terrible example to the nation’s youth, he looks to be a sure-fire start.

Left Midfielder: Santi Cazorla. Rumour has it that Santi Cazorla is literally the best at costume parties.

Right Midfielder: Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain. The only starting Gunner to sport a hyphen in his name, which may or may not hamper his attacking efforts on the right side of the midfield.

Central Attacking Midfielder: Mesut Ozil, in his preferred position, will be sure to lead the attack with his creative playmaking abilities and clean-line hairstyles.

Advanced Attacking Midfielders: Alexis Sanchez and Theo Walcott. The attack is sure to be dangerous with Theo’s pace and Alexis’ creative flair; there is nothing middling about these talented midfielders, who are listed on Arsenal’s official website as forwards, which we think is kind of funny, because they are definitely midfielders on our fantasy team.



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