text: Jay stared at the illustrious NY Times Crossword Puzzle. Besting one of these bad boys brings all the glory, gold, and girls that should come with such an accomplishment, and Jay was especially interested in the lady part (and their lady parts). Of course, using pencil is what the lesser heroes did. Finishing a genuine NY Time Crossword Puzzle with all the smudges of hundreds of mistakes and second thoughts smeared across every square, garnered no respect whatsoever. Jay would be spit on, literally by the Spit Brigade, if he were to finish such a glorious and powerful etymological challenge like the NY Times Crossword Puzzle using something as pathetic and limp dicked as a pencil. It makes me want to spit just thinking about a man, or someone who dares to call himself a man, to actually go through with such an act. Disgusting coward. Pitiful wretch. Imprudent rat. That's why Jay uncapped his good pen, the pen gifted to him by his grandfather for his timely passing into the afterlife. Oh, Jay's Grandfather, completer of over twenty NY Times Crossword Puzzles in pen, and boldly, a few of those puzzled were marked with perfection with an ultrafine tip Sharpie marker in the devious shade of crimson twilight. Yes, Jay's Grandfather was lauded for that accomplishment. In his hometown, he never had to pay for another spaghetti dinner again, a perk passed down to his progeny. Jay's belly was freshly full of spaghetti, grandfather earned spaghetti, as he inhaled deeply the still potent fumes of that crimson twilight ultrafine tip Sharpie marker. A giddiness washed over him, and he couldn't help but giggle with boyish excitement. The rush of adrenaline filled his loins like a spilled bowl of spicy chili soaking into a pair of grey sweatpants. He gathered himself with a sharp exhale of pure focus, whistling slightly. *Mathematical relation like 2:1 or 4:3* "Ratio" *Growing older* "Aging" *Small, to the French* "Petit" With each correct answer, Jay became more confident. He was standing now, hunched over his kitchen table with his shirt unbuttoned. The clues were practically solving themselves now. He felt like a genius savant with some sort of divine birthright to solve and conquer any and all NY Times Crossword Puzzles with ease. Unbridled laughter escaped his open mouth and wide grin. *Framework of wood strips* "LATTICE!" *View from Toledo (2 wds.)* "LAKEERIE!!" *Political cartoon, often* "SATIRE!!!" Jay was feeling bold now with so many clues solved. He recklessly picked and chose clues at random without even considering acrosses and downs and the relationships between. There was no need for other clues to help with future clues. Jay could solve this entire puzzle completely uncrossed. The dark red ink soaked into the paper page as if each word were a blood pact made by Jay. A pact, perhaps, that wagered his very soul for the glory of completion. In his fervor, Jay completely tore loose his shirt and discarded it in the trash where it belonged. The sleeves only restricting his possessed arm. Sweat glistened on his increasingly more toned and muscled body. Was this the rush his Grandfather felt each time? Was this what it felt like to be a God amongst mere mortals? Yes, it had to be. The powerful, knobby knuckles of his Grandfather’s ghost hands cupped Jay’s burgeoning shoulders, squeezing with them with an ethereal strength of familial pride. He had left a VIP Heaven Party to descend into the mortal realm in this incorporeal form to watch his grandson, the boy he left behind, no, not a boy anymore, but a full grown man, burly in intellect and whip quick of hand. Yes, Jay’s grandfather smiled and whispered encouraging vapors into Jay’s burning ears. Jay hardly gave pause to the next clue. *Kitchen item* "PAN!!!!" As he stroked the last vertical line of the "N", something didn't feel right. Jay quickly scanned the other clues. His stomach dropped. "If 46 across is *One who gives up* 'QUITTER' then that means the kitchen item can't be 'PAN'... No... no, no, no..." Jay's knees gave way and buckled. The weight of the moment quite literally got to him. He collapsed onto the cold, so much colder than he remembered, tile floor of the kitchen. He stammered to himself, "I should have put 'POT'... I should have... I... No... I couldn't have..." His grandfather's pen capped itself in a sudden show of sentience. Obviously, Jay was deemed unworthy, unfit, downright undeserving of wielding such a relic. The kitchen rumbled and hissed. The table legs exploded, sending wooden shrapnel in every direction. Jay shielded his eyes, but his shirtless body caught a bevy of splinters. They sunk into his skin, stinging mockingly. The puzzle itself glowed harshly and emitted a high-pitched alarm. Jay held his ears in pain until eventually the blaring was enough to destroy his ability to perceive that particular pitch ever again. Just moments ago, he felt fit and strong, but now his muscles ached and weakened. The kitchen fell silent aside from the clattering of dishes from the rumbling. The friendly apparition of the Grandfather himself then twisted into that of an agonized demon and was swiftly ripped to hell, but not before cursing Jay with vile inhuman speech in tongues unknown, in which he made sure Jay’s final image of his own highly-regarded, well-celebrated hero of a Grandfather was that of one of pure contempt and hatred for the boy, a man no more. Encumbered by the weight of his own hubris having fallen so far, sunk so low, Jay crawled out of the kitchen. He apologized to his grandfather, to his father, to any all generations that may follow him. He made a mistake. He foolishly played with forces he could not control. The sirens were outside and fast approaching his abode. The NY Times Crossword Puzzle Police Force. The death squad smashed open Jay's front door, sending more splinters into Jay's naked and withering body. Their stately dress of corduroys and cardigans betrayed their cruel and relentless nature. Their punishment for incorrectly answering clues in pen in their puzzle was swift, vicious, and absolute. Before the tip of Jay's crimson twilight ultrafine tip Sharpie marker even finished Jay's foolhardy answer, the death squad was already gearing up. A large slab of beef, a man as thick and imposing as they come, adjusted his thick turquoise shell glasses so that the glare obscured his cruel eyes. He raised a very clean shotgun to Jay’s pallid, scared face and boomed a statement. "Citizen 06191114: JAY, For the reprehensible and audacious act of attempting to complete a NY Times Crossword Puzzle using a Class 1C writing utensil, and for committing such act with egregious error in answer, we, with the power bestowed upon us by Supreme Emperor of the NY Times, sentence you to death, effective immediately. You may scrawl your last words here before execution." The leader of the death squad tossed a simple sheet of copy paper and a newly sharpened pencil at Jay, who was kneeling pathetically on his knees. His head was hung low. The execution may very well have been a welcome release from the shame and misery his wallowed in. Jay feebly grasped the pencil which snapped under even the slightest of pressure. The death squad opened fire on Jay, relentlessly emptying every shotgun shell in their fully loaded guns into his wilting body. His flesh and bones and face and limbs were blown away utterly and completely. With their work done, the NY Times Crossword Puzzle Police Force marched out Jay's home and back into their tank. A peaceful breeze blew the unmarked sheet of paper over the pulpy remains of Jay. Such is the risk we all take when we do the NY Times Crossword Puzzle in Pen.