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The Minutes of the Demosthenian Society for the meeting of Thursday,
November 17, 1994
Call me Ishmael! Well, um... maybe not Ishmael... that’s been done
already. You can call me anything, really, I’m not preferential,
just DON’T call me Sparky.
OK, that settled, where was I? Oh, yeah, down to business. For
those of you out there that didn’t know, this is the part of the
minutes where the Secretary is supposed to be “funny.” Generally,
they pick a theme and lampoon the President. That clear with everyone?
OK. Right. Now, down to business. Anyway... we now return you to
your regularly scheduled minutes:
Second Officer’s Log -- Stardate 9501.12
I’ve been assigned to the NCC 1995, the Demosthenian. Her crew,
the finest in the land, a full ship’s compliment of near 35 members,
headed by the illustrious -- well, maybe not /illustrious/ illustrious.
I mean, Glenn’s, well... he’s very punctual. And he always cleans
his plate. And everyone else’s plate, too. Oh yeah, we were supposed
to be doing a Star Trek parody.
*Deep Breath*
Continuing: Our captain, the better than average Forest Glenn Tiberious
Morrison the 5th. Just between me and you, He’s a little crazy.
Take the other day, for instance.
(This is the part of the minutes where we’d include a very expensive
special effect called a dissolve or something.)
The President wheeled his intergalactic wheelchair up onto the
bridge and surveyed his crew. “Captain!” piped up Lt. Cmdr Stapp,
“My pecs are itching.”
“Whatshay?” the most geriatric one replied.
“My pecs, sir. They’re itching.”
“Of course, Ms Sullivan is bewitching,” the President -- I mean,
Captain leaned over to pat his chief medical officer fondly.
“No, my pecs,” Lt. Cmdr Stapp began to beat his chest ferociously,
causing several of the ships nurses to swoon, “They’re itching.”
“Sounds like a rather personal problem to me,” said the Captain,
his rheumy eyes focusing on the young buff one for the first time.
“Itching pecs among the Buffions, a sign that danger is imminent,”
piped up a miscellaneous ensign in red.
“Ms Richie looks good in fishnet? I must shay, never thought of
that before.” The captain lapsed into incomprehensible gibberish.
“Captain, someone is hailing us. It’s the Klingon Vessel, the WunderBra.”
“On Screen.”
The Society was called to order at 7:29 PM.
Ms Richie was appointed Critic for the evening.
The Society recognized five first time guests and two second or
third time guests.
Ms Harris petitioned the Society for membership, speaking of the
moon and her love for it in her maiden address, saying, “It’s really
big, and it’s there.”
Ms Harris was accepted into membership.
The Society then moved into committee reports.
Ms Spornberger rose to the occasion, in her role as Censor Morem,
presenting a little piece entitled ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Chaste.’
And there was much hissing.
Mr. Kaiser rose on behalf of the Hall Preservation committee and
spoke at great length about the meeting with Student Affairs regarding
the Hall. The Society is prepared.
The Society then moved into Old or Unfinished Business.
There was not a dry eye in the house as Mr. Derbes rose to give
his Farewell Address. There was open weeping in the aisles as the
old man distributed his keys and related his fond remembrances of
the Society.
Mr. Derbes was followed by The Man, Mr. Riley, who told us all
of his great love for the Society and how it served to reinvigorate
a young, disillusioned Fraternity refugee. Oh yeah, and he also
said that Ms B Polentz was a great kisser. Party on, Riley, our
prayers are with you.
The Society then moved into New Business.
Mr. Barnett beat back all the rest with a stick to take the floor
and present the following resolution:
Whereas the US Military’s purpose is the protection of US
citizens and national interests,
Be it Resolved: The US Military should stop trying to be
a world welfare organization.
Mr. Barnett’s message was simple. The armed forces are in a low
state of combat readiness, and “What if the Koreans went crazy one
day? It’s very possible.”
Mr. Stuart took the floor quickly, as always, to support the resolution,
we think, saying, “I AM Henry Kissinger, AND Richard Nixon.” Whatever
that means.
Ms K Polentz, not to be outdone, supported the resolution. Her
take was this, “The rest of the world may not ant our McDonalds,
that’s why we have Sally Struthers on TV at 2AM in the morning.”
She added that the military’s job is to kill.
Mr. Weaver rose to support the resolution, his fierce battle cry,
“Time to start killing. Canada needs to die. We could draw it out
and kill the Yankees while we’re at it.”
With that said, the question was called and the resolution passed
by a vote of 9 to 8.
Mr. Barnett, the Resolution Machine, rose again to present the
following:
Be it Resolved: Pornography should not be corrupted by the
distracting nuances of plot.
Respectfully,
John A. Barnett.
And really, what else could be said after that? The question was
called, and the resolution passed by a vote of 6 to 5.
Ms Spornberger took us all on a trip down memory lane, dredging
up our collective memories of movies like _The Breakfast Club_ with
her resolution:
Be it Resolved: We are all a geek and a princess and an athlete
and a freak and a basket case.
Respectfully submitted,
Leslie A Spornberger
Kirsten M Polentz.
Mr. Stuart, again quick on his feet, rose to oppose the resolution.
The man for all seasons is a fantasy, and “Alright, so I’m a little
geeky, but I was arm twisted into it and drunk when I did.”
Mr. Hudson rose in favor of the resolution, saying that what we
are is conditional to where we are and with whom we are with. A
geek among the Demosthenians may be heralded as God Almighty amongst
the Brickheapers.
Mr. Strong rose to announce that he likes labels like ‘geek’ and
‘princess.’ They give us something to fight against or something
to identify with.
Mr. Stapp, EverBuff, rose in favor of Zen Buddhism. Don’t try to
make yourself anything, just follow the wave. He then informed us
all that he was not a woman. That Jim, he always did have a fine
grasp of the obvious.
Dr. Parkes rose from his specially padded seat to say that Americans
have a terrible tendency to collect complexes they don’t have, thereby
belittling those who really do need help. There is a lot to be said
for not thinking about all the little things and just getting on
with it.
Ms B “Hotlips” Polentz supported the resolution. Of course, we
are all these things at one time or another. We have the same fears
and doubts and dreams and so on.
The question was called and the resolution passed by a vote of
8 to 7.
And now it was time for the Society to get into the holiday spirit
with Mr. Stapp’s resolution:
Be it Resolved: Due to the physical impossibilities against
his existence, Santa Clause cannot be real.
Ho, Ho, Ho
Jimmy C Stapp Jr.
James A Strong.
He supported his claim by saying, “Of course it ain’t Christmas
until you see the fat man himself, riding down the street in a car
-- but it just ain’t real.” Mr. Stapp did not receive any presents
from Santa, not surprisingly.
Ms K Polentz believed in Santa until the 5th grade. She had to
oppose the resolution (or else she would have looked really silly.
I mean, c’mon, 5th GRADE???) She also received presents from Santa.
Coincidence?
Mr. Deriso believed in Santa Claus until fourth grade, or so he
claimed, until he realized, “Man, that’s just dumb. We don’t even
have a chimney.” He opposed the resolution and received a lump of
coal in his stocking anyway.
Ms Sullivan, always the bright one, rose to say that she caught
dad putting the presents under the tree at the tender age of three
and a half. Of course, since she doesn’t believe, she didn’t get
any presents. None from Santa, anyway.
Ms Handler (Guest) opposed the resolution by saying that it’s nice
to have something for the kiddies to believe in. She was thereby
placed on the nice list.
Mr. Strong rose to seek refuge in the laws of Physics. Though he
can’t quote any himself, he’s sure that Santa can’t exist. He was
most certainly on the naughty list and did not receive any goodies.
Dr. Parkes rose opposed to the resolution, citing a taped interview
with the fat man himself. He didn’t receive presents, though, because,
silly Faculty Advisor, presents are for kids. Shhh, don’t tell Mr.
President that. He’ll be so heart broken that he’ll never get that
Authentic William Shatner Action Toupee he wants.
Mr. Pyrdum (Hey! That’s me!) rose opposed to the resolution. If
you don’t believe, he said, you don’t get presents. Thus, he believes
with every present-wanting’ bone in his body.
Mr. Morrison sorta agreed and sorta disagreed with the resolution.
Santa exists, just not for everyone. Way to fence straddle, there
Glenn5.
Ms Tomlinson rose and shouted “NO!NO!NO!NO” and so on and so on.
She once got a letter from Santa on a computer and everyone knows
computers don’t lie. Tell that to the kids that run OASIS, Ms Tomlinson.
Mr. Weaver was not raised in the Christmas tradition, and thus,
does not believe. He rose in opposition however, because Santa needs
a lot of people who believe.
Mr. Barnett got drunk one year at a Christmas party, and he supported
the resolution.
Ms B Polentz rose to oppose the resolution, saying that Santa is
the spirit of giving, and that is all that matters. Hotlips got
lots of toys for Christmas, but then again, she gets lots of gifts
everyday.
The question was called and the resolution failed by a vote of
4 to 8.
Avoiding his job still, Mr. Pyrdum rose (Hey! That’s me again!)
to present the following resolution:
Resolved: Damn Yankee, Jim, they should get if all over with
already and kill off Cap’n James T Kirk once and for all.
Submitted Respectfully,
Carl S Pyrdum III.
Mr. Sheahan rose in violent opposition to the resolution. Picard,
he advanced, is French, and therefore flawed. Kirk is the sexist
white male voice and worthy of life.
Mr. Hudson stood disbelieving that anyone could even suggest such
a travesty. Kill Kirk? Why? Because they used salt shakers as phasers?
Ms Handler (Guest) supported the resolution’s out with the old
in with the new spirit. Riker is our new sexist white male voice.
Mr. Stuart rose in support of the resolution, revealing that he
is more passionate about Star Trek than he is about anything else.
Well, except for maybe himself. Star Trek TNG is one of the finest
things on TV.
The question was called and the resolution passed by a vote of
10 to 4.
Mr. Deriso rose to present the following resolution:
Be it Resolved: For its failure to fulfill its duty of awarding
a Brickheap Award this Fall Quarter, the Demosthenian Society
shall award the Fall Quarter Brickheap Award to itself.
Be it Further Resolved: The Secretary shall write a letter
to the President informing him of his Society’s dubious distinction.
Respectfully,
David Deriso.
The Society stood shocked by the Vice President’s temerity until
one man rose to lead the charge. This man was of course Mr. Stuart.
He was disgusted. How dare anyone try to compare this Society with
the one that lends its name to the Brickheap Award?
Ms K Polentz stood in agreement with Mr. Stuart (will wonders never
cease) and opposed the resolution. Tradition for the sake of tradition
is wrong. Do this, she warned, and we are no better than the sheep
across the way.
Ms Spornberger renounced the resolution’s circular logic. How dare
we propose to degrade ourselves?
Ms B Polentz was shocked. Such a proposal was shameful. Bad Demosthenians.
Bad.
The question was called and a roll call vote was taken. By a vote
of 0 to 14 the resolution failed.
The society moved to adjourn subject to Ms Richie’s critic’s report.
The Society adjourned at 10:56 PM
The face of a woman appeared on the viewscreen: A green woman,
Italian green. She introduced herself simply as, “Minicozzi.” The
Captain’s jaw dropped, dentures clattering uselessly to the floor.
He tried a smooth recovery, his best line, (said with lips over
teeth to simulate gums) “Hey, baby, come here often? What’s your
sign? Did I mention that I fly a starship?”
The figure on the viewer chuckled cruelly. “Permission to beam
aboard, sir? My ship’s crew of 400 restless lingerie models is in
need of shore leave.” She winked slyly at the drooling Captain.
The Captain’s dreams had been answered. All these many years of
waiting. Glenn was so happy he wet his Depends. “Have them beam
aboard and meet me in my ready room,” the Captain said, visibly
shaking.
Two hours later, from within the Captain’s quarters.
“Oh, it’s so big!” rang the low sultry tones of Minicozzi.
“Whatshay? Pig? No, no, I’m no pig.”
“Big. It’s very big.” She said, not quite so low and sultry.
“Pig? You want me to oink like a pig?”
“No. It’s so very BIG. Your idiom.”
“Oh well,” she sighed again and walked away, Mr. President’s idiom
in hand.
Respectfully submitted this 12th day of January, 1995
Carl S Pyrdum II
Secretary.
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University of Georgia 