} Following a six-year period of great personal tragedy you will pen the
} final words to your disertation. Your advisors and the faculty of your
} school will be monumentally impressed with your conclusions, and will
} begin cautious discussions of hiring you on as a full professor. The
} industries will catch wind of your work, and significant corporate
} in-fighting will erupt as they prepare positions and salaries to entice
} your employment. Your family and children will all gain some acclaim in
} their own circles, by benefit of being related to such a celebrated
} scholar. Two months before your graduation, the president will make an
} oblique reference to the breakthrough your work signifies (though he
} won't say your name outright). That same evening, aboard Airforce One,
} he will pen a personal letter of congratulations and Presidential Thanks
} to you. On the day of your graduation, while putting on your robes for
} the ceremony, a private airplane will circle the campus, streaming a
} banner behind it that bears your name, a bold THANK YOU!, and the name
} of the town's mayor. People will look up, applaud, turn and see you,
} and cheer with great vigor. You'll hear thick emotion in the voice of
} your college's president as he calls you to the podium to receive your
} degree where approximately eight feet from his outstretched hand you
} will lose control of your sphincter and soil yourself prodigiously on
} national television. Public opinion will turn, all offers will be
} withdrawn, and you'll die lonely and unknown with nothing but a grey and
} tattered college diploma for company.
}
} Yes, you will complete your Ph.D.
}
} You owe the Oracle the rights to your biography.
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