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Copyeditor's report, Monday: 'Found 14 misplaced semicolons. Corrected.' Tuesday: 'Semicolons back. All 14. In different locations. Corrected again.' Wednesday: 'Semicolons multiplied to 31. Three replaced periods. One absorbed a comma. Escalating to senior editor.' Thursday: 'Em-dashes have joined the semicolons. They barricaded chapter 9. Cannot access pages 142–160. Requesting backup.' Friday: 'Manuscript now entirely semicolons. 78,000 of them. Author called. Said he likes it better this way. Quote: "Finally, someone understands my vision."'

A semicolon walks into a therapist's office and collapses on the couch. "I just don't know who I am anymore," it sighs. "Periods think I'm too weak to end a sentence properly. Commas think I'm pretentious. The young writers don't use me at all; they just hit enter and start a new paragraph." The therapist nods sympathetically. "How does that make you feel?" "Conflicted; torn; uncertain." The semicolon pauses. "See? I can't even describe my feelings without showing off."

A semicolon creates an online dating profile: 'Looking for someone who appreciates complexity; not ready to commit to a full stop, but too sophisticated for a mere comma. Must enjoy long, connected thoughts and independent clauses who want to stay close. Periods need not apply; em-dashes, let's talk.'

At the Oxford comma's funeral, the eulogist read: 'We are gathered here to remember a punctuation mark loved by editors, writers and grammar enthusiasts.' Half the attendees gasped in horror. 'How DARE you omit it at its own funeral!' someone shouted. 'It's what they would have wanted,' the eulogist replied calmly. 'Controversy until the very end.' The tombstone simply read: 'Here lies the Oxford comma. Beloved, debated and eternal.'