PALO ALTO, CA—A new report published this week by researchers at Stanford University suggests that Americans spend the vast majority of each day staring at, interacting with, and deriving satisfaction from glowing rectangles.

"From the moment they wake up in the morning, to the moment they lose consciousness at night, Americans are in near-constant visual contact with bright, pulsating rectangles," said Dr. Richard Menken, lead author of the report, looking up briefly from the gleaming quadrangle that sits on his desk. "In fact, it's hard to find a single minute during which the American public is not completely captivated by these shining…these dazzling…."

"I'm sorry," Menken continued. "What were we discussing again?"

According to the report, staring blankly at luminescent rectangles is an increasingly central part of modern life. At work, special information rectangles help men and women silently complete any number of business-related tasks, while entertainment rectangles—larger and louder and often placed inside the home—allow Americans to enter a relaxing trance-like state after a long day of rectangle-gazing.

Researchers were able to identify nearly 30 varieties of glowing rectangles that play some role throughout the course of each day. Among them: handheld rectangles, music-playing rectangles, mobile communication rectangles, personal work rectangles, and bright alarm cubes, which emit a high-pitched reminder that it's time to rise from one's bed and move toward the rectangles in one's kitchen.

"We discovered in almost all cases that Americans find it enjoyable and rewarding to put their faces in front of glowing rectangles for hours on end," said Howard West, a prominent sociologist on the Stanford team. "Furthermore, when citizens are not staring slack-jawed at these mesmerizing shapes, many appear to become lost, confused, and unsure of what they should be doing to occupy themselves."

Added West, "Some even become irritated and angry when these rectangles are not around."

While a majority of the iridescent shapes are employed for recreation, thought-relief, and during the late hours of the night, sexual gratification, others are used to effectively impart orders and commands to the American populace. According to researchers, these rectangles help to notify citizens about which brand of domestic detergent to buy, what direction to drive their vehicles in, and how many more seconds a food item must remain inside its revolving radiation chamber before it can be hurriedly consumed.

The rectangles even help Americans to successfully emote, often by using a combination of visual and aural signals to indicate when laughter or tears should be produced.

"Life would be very different if it weren't for these magical squares of light," cultural studies professor and social critic David Ostroff typed to reporters using one of his wireless messaging rectangles. "Sry. Have 2 go. Movie about 2 strt."

On average, Americans interact with anywhere from 53 to 107 pulsating rectangles every week. For many, however, this is simply not enough. Despite having a leisure rectangle in every bedroom, along with multiple work rectangles, a rectangle just for the children, and one or two rectangles that can do the work of several rectangles in one, many citizens admit to being dissatisfied.

"I wish ours was bigger," said Susan Miller, an Iowa homemaker who feels a deep sense of emptiness and fear when not in front of a luminous two-dimensional object. "Our neighbors across the street have one twice the size of ours. Harold, why can't our rectangle be more like their rectangle? Harold, are you listening to me? They seem happier than we are. Why can't we be happy like them? Honey? Are you even home?"




PAWTUCKET, RI—Bitter, maniacal laughter sounded from the eternal winter of Hasbro CEO Mortimer Z. Hassenfeld's office chambers Monday as yet another relationship fell to the diabolical machinations of his company's popular board game Scrabble.

Hassenfeld, who has not left the gloomy solitude of the Hasbro Corporation's Dark Tower in more than 40 years, was reportedly most pleased as he surveyed on a bank of TV monitors the doom and destruction dealt by Scrabble to the once-happy couple.

"Ha! Foolish Ron [Jeffers] and Karen [Dreyer]! You really thought your so-called 'courtship' could withstand the divisive power of the almighty Scrabble?" shouted Hassenfeld, who is said to personally inspect each game board to ensure that it contains the correct maddening distribution of vowels, consonants, and blank tiles. "Your fate was sealed, fair Karen, the moment you reached out to gently place the letters A-X-I-O-M down for a triple-word score!"

Added Hassenfeld, "Die, die, fledgling romance! Crumble like so many ashes!"

Sources said that since the vengeful, lovelorn Hassenfeld first began marketing Scrabble under the Hasbro brand, roughly 1,447,055 romantic couplings have been destroyed by the game's devastating ability to turn otherwise felicitous partners into fierce, seething rivals.

Although Hasbro is currently the second-largest toy and game manufacturer in the world, sources inside the company claimed that the overwhelming majority of its resources and revenue are now being funneled directly into the cold-hearted Hassenfeld's goal of "total Scrabble-induced obliteration of amorous affection in all its forms."

"Yes, yes, bring out The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary. That should diminish the tension in the room!" said Hassenfeld, who is believed to have never recovered from being left at the altar in 1959 by his high school sweetheart, Ms. Paulette Merriweather. "Oh, what is that you say, Ron? You'd be winning right now if Karen hadn't racked up all her points by adding letters onto words you already created? Well, well, it seems a vile, black cloud of antipathy has cast a pall on our little love nest, now, hasn't it? Ah ha! Delicious."

Hassenfeld reportedly celebrated Scrabble's latest dismantling of young love by pouring himself a glass of 1787 Château Margaux and ordering the immediate distribution of 500,000 new Scrabble boards for use in the sabotage of countless future first dates, romantic weekend getaways, and quiet nights at home.

"Scrabble will do them all a tremendous favor, you see, for love is but a murderous labyrinth of fire, a thorn-lined path I was once fool enough to tread myself," Hassenfeld said as he gazed at the image in a shattered picture frame resting on his desk. "But I soon learned, as all fools must, that, in the game of romance, we will all of us be forever a few letters short of spelling H-A-P-P-I-N-E-S-S."

Added Hassenfeld, "You may shake the tiles as hard as you like, but nothing will ever change that fact."

Representatives for Hassenfeld claimed that the executive's younger, kinder-hearted self may still in fact be alive somewhere within him, buried beneath 50 years of pain, regret, and heartache. However, the chances of that Hassenfeld ever returning, sources said, are "about as unlikely as landing three power tiles on three separate triple-letter bonuses."

"It's strange, but in a way, I almost ... pity them," announced Hassenfeld, his voice a distant echo, as if addressing another time and place altogether. "Then again, why should they know pleasure, when those who truly deserve it cannot?"