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The mutant writers cocked their twisted pens and snarled literately. Subvocalizing wildly for a moment, they scrawled propaganda at the sound of the whip. Chains clanked and groaned as the mutant writers will was mastered , at least for a moment. The videodrome flickered breakneck images at such a rate that epileptic fits were seen from the rafters. Censors expostulated that this full-contact slave-team writing was overwhelming their circuits. Sparks the repair technician would have been there, but he was busy fixing the globular cluster gravity radiator. Adverbs leaked out into the prepositions, nouns became tantamount to action, and the new world order was up for grabs.
