You’d think that spring break would be a veritable gold mine for funnies ideas. After all, MTV has taught the world that spring break is all about traveling to Cancun and making terrible decisions, which are generally pretty good topics for humor.

The trouble is, I didn’t really go anywhere over spring break or do anything out of the ordinary. An article about how I reread “Watchmen” in preparation for the movie is only going to appeal to other nerds who reread “Watchmen” in preparation for the movie.

So if anyone asks, I’m going to make up a better spring break story. You know what they say: fiction is stranger than truth. I have heard people get this quotation wrong on occasion and I am always quick to correct them.

Compare truth and fiction sometime! Wait until someone says something like, “True story – my uncle Leo saw a dancing ferret! Isn’t that strange?” Then, you can say, “Oh, yeah? Well, my uncle Theo saw INFINITY dancing ferrets!” Your story may not be true, but no one can deny that it is stranger.

With that in mind, here is a sneak peek at my essay “How I spent my spring break.” Underclass people: they make you write essays like this all the time in senior seminar.

Having activated his mechanical minions with the flick of a switch, the sinister Dr. Malevolazik turned his cold, fishy eyes to me. “So, Mr. Landis-Eigsti,” he spat, “you honestly thought you could stop my army of destructo-bots before they reached Michiana?”

“It’s pronounced Landis-Eyegsti,” I replied, straining against the chains that bound me to the cavern wall, “not Eggsti. And yes, I did think so.”

“Then you were a fool,” replied Malevolazik. He turned from the switch to proudly examine the rows of hulking iron robots that stood at attention before him.

“For Elkhart County shall be the first to fall,” Malevolazik continued. “Those RV factories shall be put to good use … to produce MORE destructo-bots for my arsenal! And here is the delicious irony of it all. The robots shall all be powered by the energy of your Rec-Fit solar panels!”

Malevolazik laughed his soulless laugh.

“You fiend,” I cried. “That solar power is meant to heat showers!”

“Or so you were told,” roared the doctor, “by my ROBOT version of Steve Shantz! Meanwhile, the true Steve Shantz is vacationing in Hawaii!”

Dr. Malevolazik’s laugh faded into a few half-hearted chuckles that reverberated throughout the chamber. Perhaps the haunting acoustics made him aware of his own solitude. Whatever the reason, the mad doctor’s smile morphed into a worried scowl.

“As long as,” he muttered, “I can fix that one bug in the programming … the one where if anyone sings the Dorian scale, all the robots explode.”

My heart figuratively swelled up like a balloon. This was the moment for which my college education had prepared me! In a fatigued yet confident voice, I began to sing.

“No, you nincompoop!” yelled Malevolazik.

But my notes had done their job. The gargantuan robots began to shake and spark and Malevolazik whimpered and fled.

Still bound in chains, I hopped frantically to the window. There was no time to think. I dove headfirst through the window as the room behind me was engulfed in fire and robot bits ricocheting.

As I fell to the snowy canyon below, there was but one thought on my mind: would the pterodactyls I had rescued earlier rescue me in a brazen example of “Deus ex machina?”

Suspenseful, huh? It would have been quite the struggle to get my actual spring break up to that level of suspensitude:

“As I pulled up to the Taco Bell, I recalled with horror that on the previous trip, they had been out of rice, making a cheesy bean and rice burrito an impossible dream. I trembled, wondering if destiny would again deny me my heart’s desire. Only it turned out that this time they had rice. Yum, yum, yum burritos.”

In conclusion, making things up is awesome. Next time you have a research paper due, fill it with long interludes about the time you rescued the Smurfs. Your professor will never look at you the same way again.