|
Becky approached
the house slowly, trying to size it up before she got another nasty
surprise. Luckily, it seemed to be a fairly normal building, except
that it was in the shape of a large pair of Dexter loafers. Indeed,
once she reached the front door, she was proven correct -- the house
was essentially two brown leather shoes set together at the heels,
with the door a round opening in what would have been the sole.
Becky of course found this to be quite odd, but still wanted to get
a look inside just to see how such an edifice could be erected.
Alas, she would not get such an opportunity, for she read a note
posted on the door:
To the March Bear and the Dorm Rats --
Tea-Party Canceled
Meet at the Queen's Garden for Ravishing
-- (signed) The Mad Shoemaker
"Curiouser and
curiouser," Becky muttered to herself, "I'd like to join them, but
how do I know where this Queen can be found? I would so like to
meet her, and this Shoemaker chap sounds interesting as well. I
don't know many mad people." Becky decided to strike off into the
forest in hopes of finding the Queen, and find her she did.
She emerged from
the forest into a wide plain, which was dominated on its far side by
a great castle, all stucco, with two towers resembling chimneys and
a giant window in the center, just above the door. It seemed
familiar, but she was separated from it by a tall wall directly in
front of her. Many trees could be seen above it and there was much
chatter coming from that direction, so Becky assumed this was the
garden as mentioned in the note on the door. She found a rusted
gate and quietly entered it, slinking behind the rose bushes and
fruit trees to get closer to the discussion. Finding a good hiding
place behind a hedge of camellias, she surveyed the scene.
Apparently, the ravishing had begun.
A woman wearing a
brown dress and a strange crown stood above a kneeling, tallish,
scantily-clad young man. The woman, obviously the queen, clearly
had the upper hand, barking orders at the subservient, although
seemingly feckless attendant. Becky listened closely to the
conversation between the two of them.
"Thank you, oh
thank you, your gracious Highness for granting me the privilege of
adorning your feet with my shoes, ah.... I, I, I, I certainly hope
you won't be disappointed," the meek Shoemaker stammered.
"I'd better not be
disappointed!" the Queen sniveled. "But you are the only Shoemaker
in my kingdom, so I guess I'm stuck with whatever I get from you.
Will you get on with it?"
"OH, oh yes your
Majesty, no problem, ah, just let me whip this out here..." The
Shoemaker stood and reached into his crotch, sending gasps
throughout the Queen's entourage. The Queen herself shrank back,
preparing to shield her eyes from the...tape measure that emerged
from the Mad Shoemaker's Umbros. All those present returned from
the bushes and watched as the Shoemaker attended to the exalted feet
of their regent.
The Shoemaker fell
to his knees. "Oh, such wonderful feet you have, my lady. I can't
WAIT to find out what size they are...OOOOH! They're a seven!
That's MY size, my favorite size, oh, God, I just can't get enough
of these feet," the Shoemaker gasped as he lowered his mouth to the
woman's toes. "I've got to eat them, lick them, chew them up," the
Shoemaker mumbled as he stroked and tasted his Queen's feet with his
tongue, satisfying and intensifying his fetish with every lick.
"And these legs! Only these legs could be attached to such
glorious, regal, stately, monarchical..."
"UGH!!," the Queen
roared as she kicked the Shoemaker in the jaw, sending him flying
backward into a rose bush. "You foul, insane cretin! You lech!
You flirt! You, you, you heel! Get out of my sight, and
take these strange creatures with you. Bleah!" she shouted as her
attendants, all clad in brown uniforms with what looked like butts
printed on them, wiped the Shoemaker's saliva from her appendages.
The Queen and her entourage disappeared down the garden path in the
direction of the palace, leaving the satisfied but suffering
Shoemaker to recover from his sudden blow to the chin.
The meeting was
called to order at 7:40. The minutes for the previous meeting were
read and approved. There was one first-time guest and 1 second- or
third-time guest. Ms. Katy Lewis, alumnus, attended the meeting
briefly. Mr. Weir was appointed critic.
The Society
entered Committee Reports and Mr. Hortman reminded the
Society to pay their dues before the next week's meeting, and that
they were now $14. He also asked the Society to help him find the
checkbook, and Ms. Ramirez told him where she had hidden it.
Promptly entering
New Business, Mr. Hodgins told the Society that he is in the
process of wasting his youth and is glad for the experience has
gained in this pursuit. He presented the following:
Be It Resolved:
A wasted youth leads to a wise and productive old age.
Respectfully,
Howard M. Hodgins
Mr. Stuart,
otherwise known as Exhibit A, said he wasted his youth completely
but felt none the wiser for it. While he refused to reject his
past, he did recognize the harm he caused himself and extolled the
need to overcome temptation.
Mr. Pyrdum
admitted that he was not a paragon of excess as typified by the
previous two speakers, but he does know Meatloaf. He saw a logical
problem with the concept of a wasted youth producing anything, for a
useless pursuit cannot yield something worthwhile.
Mr. Shumaker
agreed with the semantic argument of the previous speaker, rejecting
the concept of a wasted youth entirely. We learn a lot in our
youth, often through experience, but the unlimited potential we
possess in our youth makes responsibility that much more important.
Mr. Van Meter
stated that wisdom is not simply knowledge, but the proper and
prudent use of that knowledge in one's life. Youth is only wasted
if one refuses to act wisely and responsibly, instead seeking an
experiential existence of randomness and chaos.
Mr. Hortman,
questioning the meaning of "wasted youth," professed belief in
the axiom that that which does not kill you makes you stronger. He
objected to the gross generalization evident in the resolution and
made a case for such a youth to be positive or negative.
Mr. Weir
opposed the resolution and explained the progress of human
consciousness through their lives, regardless of their wasted
status. He argued that as one grows older, the shades of grey grow
more evident and absolutes become more tenuous.
Mr. Gable
asked us to look again at the semantics of the resolution, noting
that upon close examination the resolution is self-defeating. In
the spirit of the resolution, however, he chastened the Society to
"just live a little!" Not an admonition that was needed, mind you...
Ms. Polentz
broadened the resolution to encompass experience beyond alcohol and
drugs (huh? what?) and drew examples from her own life. Once you
realize that you know nothing, your past will educate you,
regardless of how rough or seedy your youth may have been.
The question was
called and failed 2-9.
Mr. Pyrdum
rose next and informed the new members and guests of the tradition
of the Brickheap Award, including the Society's recent problems with
finding an appropriate candidate. He presented his for the Fall:
Be It Resolved:
For mismanagement and foolishness in handling the Centennial Olympic
Park bombing, the
Fall Quarter 1996 Brickheap Award shall be given jointly to the FBI
and the national media.
Be It Further
Resolved: The Secretary shall send at least five letters to FBI
officials and/or national media figures, informing them of
their organization/profession's dubious honor.
Respectfully,
Carl S. Pyrdum
Mr. Hortman
agreed with the resolution because of the rapid jump to conclusions
made by both the media and the FBI. He attributed this move largely
to prejudice against Bubbas held by a bunch of damn Yankees and he
thought they ought to hear about it.
Mr. Stuart
accused the presenter of turning the meeting into a telecast of
Talkback Live by ignoring the facts and relying on feeling and
emotion to convict these institutions in the eyes of the Society.
He argued that the FBI did have evidence that implicated Jewell in
the bombing and that we should find more repulsive a society that
would pay so much attention to such a story.
Ms. Tomlinson
agreed that the FBI deserved the Brickheap for their poor
performance during an investigation that meant so much for the
country. While she also considered the media irresponsible, she saw
many practical problems with giving the award to the proper figures
in the industry.
Ms. Cunningham
related her personal experiences from working in the Olympics press
center during the bombing. She reminded us of the mood of
seriousness and fear that dominated the Games after the tragedy and
believed that the media would not have intentionally hurt someone
just to break the story.
Mr. Carswell
maintained that simply because the FBI is supposed to protect us and
the media is supposed to inform us does not mean that they always
perform their duties, nor should they be immune from criticism.
These mistakes are adding up, and suppositions made by the FBI or
the media can no longer stand up as evidence or news reports.
Ms. Ramirez
said she has always been critical of the media and believed that the
bombing clearly showed the tabloid nature of contemporary
journalism. America needs to decide if it wants Inside Edition or
ABC World News Tonight, the dirt or the truth.
Mr. Gable
opined that if the media or the FBI had withheld information about
their suspect in the bombing, the public would have been outraged.
Given the choice to investigate someone reasonable or no one at all,
he believed the FBI made the right choice, one that is the price for
speedy justice and even faster news.
Mr. Hodgins
unexpectedly introduced Metallica and Don Henley (the FBI's next
suspects in the bombing) into the debate and called the
investigation absurd from day one. He contended that the right to a
fair trial is more important than the public right to know.
Mr. Weir
wondered what the FBI had to gain by leaking this man's name. He
indicted the media as totally irresponsible, from Tom Brokaw to the
AJC, in reporting personally damaging information about a man that
was never charged and is now a free man.
Mr. Bowman
reminded the Society that the resolution asks us to consider the
behavior of the FBI and the media to be acts of gross stupidity.
The FBI's questions as presented by Mr. Pyrdum may have been stupid,
but the investigation was not clearly inane; the media, while
possibly unethical, was not stupid in seeking higher ratings through
their reporting of the story.
The question was
called and passed 8-6.
Mr. Van Meter
then descended from the bench to bemoan society's descent into a
disconnected postmodern age of divorce, meaningless sex, heartless
crime, and throwaway friendships. He presented:
Be It Resolved:
In our meaningless postmodern society, it is a curse to care.
Respectfully
submitted,
Ryan J. Van Meter
Mr. Pyrdum
refused to believe that today's society is all that different from
those in the past except that the post-Malthusian age has forced us,
practically, to be less personable. He admitted that we are in a
transition, but reminded us of the ever-growing outlet for
connection called the Internet.
Mr. Bryan,
guest, stated that it was his parents' divorce that caused him
to care. One has to care in order to fix the problems cited by the
presenter, and any other response will only perpetuate the
disconnection through capitulation.
Mr. Stuart
posited that postmodernism is a joke response to our inability to
define our own era. Our problem in the past was that our parents
cared too much about everything in the 60's and 70's and we continue
to seek compassion through the victim mentality.
Mr. Shumaker
drew an analogy between our current era and the Victorian age and
used the poetry of the 1800's to illustrate the similarities.
Denying that care for everything is a worthy goal, he believed that
this tendency is not unique to the present day and the fast pace of
modern life is causing us to lose perspective on what meaning should
be.
Mr. Hodgins
agreed with the concept of the resolution, professing a desire to be
a hard-hearted, self-absorbed buttmunch. Instead, he continues to
care, accepting the pain that is ultimately felt when you make
yourself vulnerable in exchange for the satisfaction of human
connection.
Mr. Gable
stressed the "meaningless" aspect of the resolution, for in a
postmodern world, no one cares because there is nothing to care
about. It is a curse to care in a world where there is no framework
in which to care or objects to care about.
Mr. Bowman,
after noting to the Society his obvious speaking prowess, pointed
out that the resolution does not specify caring about others as
opposed to things or other subjects. Caring is better than a stoic,
nihilistic desire not to care about anything, but some amount of
callousness is necessary to maintain one's sanity.
Mr. Fonseka
agreed that caring is a good thing and that proximity plays a large
role in our ability to care. He likened the need to care to a
desire to see someone as a complete, three-dimensional figure rather
than a blurred image, and asked us to establish communities rather
than accept living in faceless apartment complexes.
The question was
called and failed 5-7.
Following Mr.
Weir's critic's report, the Society adjourned at 11:08.
Becky suddenly
noticed several other creatures that she had not seen before in the
garden. They had remained on the outskirts of the clearing while
the Shoemaker did his thing, but now they gathered around the fallen
cobbler, who clearly was a friend of theirs. Becky also tried to
get closer to the madman to get a better look at him and his
companions, but she made enough noise for the largest, furriest
animal to turn and see her in the bushes.
"Hey," the
bear-like individual remarked," what do we have here? Someone been
spying on this little party here, eh? Well, we'll just have to get
a better look at our visitor."
Becky emerged from her hiding place as the bear moved in her
direction. "Oh, dear, I'm not trying to scare anyone. I just
wanted to know what was going on here. Why were you hiding from the
Queen?" Becky asked the bearish figure.
"Well," the animal
explained, "you see, I'm the March Teddy Bear. I'm from the monthly
line of bears that you might have seen in your local toy store, but
anyway, I'm the one for March. I'm supposed to be the scholar bear:
real well-read, into modernist literature, a bit on the cynical
side, you know the type. Well, bears April, June, September and
December have already shown their faces around here and are now
permanent residents of the palace you see there in the distance.
Our lady the Queen seems to have a bit of a thing for teddy bears,
and I just don't want to be the next victim of her cuddly
infatuation. I'd say that my friend the Shoemaker here may have
helped my case, though -- I don't think she won't be coming out this
way anytime soon!"
"Oh, I see, that's
quite understandable," replied Becky. "I'm Becky, and I'm just
wandering here, trying to get back to the Hall. But who are these
others?" she asked, pointing to the row of shorter creatures
standing next to the still-unconscious Shoemaker.
"Oh, they're the
Dorm Rats," the March Bear responded. "They're more of our friends,
and they all live in the dorms on the other side of the palace
grounds. We forest folk don't know why they refuse to escape this
oppressive place, but some of them have been in the dorm for years!"
"Ooh, that's too
bad," remarked Becky as she scanned the line of rodents. One was
tall, round and perpetually smiling. Another was short, feminine,
and carried a music score under her arm. A third had a glassy look
in his eyes and what looked like an elephant's tail instead of the
long brown appendage the others had. In fact, another had the
elephant-like tail, but was tall and lanky, wearing glasses and
looking very sneaky. There were several others, each with their
distinguishing features, but they were all similar in one way --
they were all DEFINITELY rats.
The Mad Shoemaker
was coming to, and as he regained consciousness, he became aware
that there was a woman standing next to him. "Ooh, and who might
this lovely lady be?"
"There you are,
Shu," said the March Bear, "glad you could rejoin us. This is
Becky."
The Shoemaker was
in awe. "Oh, you're such a wonderful lass for worrying about me
while I was on the brink of death. That's why you were here, isn't
it, with all my dearest friends, hoping I would recover from my
comatose state! Oh Becky, how may I repay you, my dearest girl?"
"Ah, well, I
don't..." Becky stammered, attempting to get a grip on this
presumptuous man's intentions. But hey, he was kinda cute, she
thought as she scanned his shirtless body, and at least he's
completely hairless and human -- two things that seem to be at a
premium in this Society. And hey, she continued thinking to
herself, who knows what else he has down there where he pulled out
that tape measure? Maybe I could do some measuring of my own....
Becky was obviously smitten. "I wouldn't mind getting some shoes
myself," Becky requested. "Do you give the same treatment you gave
to the Queen to all your customers?"
The Shoemaker
gasped with excitement. "Oh, of course! Anything a customer needs
from her Shoemaker, I am more than happy to provide. May I take
your size? And did I mention that I'm a seven?" The Shoemaker
lowered himself toward his subject, licking his lips in
anticipation.
Just as he unlaced
her shoes, however, the Shoemaker was startled by a familiar voice
behind him. "So, that's how quickly you can find another foot to
love, eh?" It was the Queen.
"Oh, ah, hello,
your Majesty. Ah, ah, um, back so soon eh?" the Shoemaker
stuttered, backing away from Becky's feet.
"Well, I decided
that I've got to have shoes sometime, and now's as good a time as
any," the Queen declared. "Besides, I've never been nibbled that
way before -- you're good, I'll give you that. But I never
thought to find you with another woman, you freak! Who is
this little minx?!"
But before the Mad
Shoemaker could respond, there was a loud Blpht! The Queen,
startled, looked in the direction of the noise, enraptured by the
sound. "Did you just fart?" she asked the March Teddy Bear, who was
cowering in the shade of a prune tree.
"Uh, yes, I did as
a matter of fact," responded the Bear. He knew he was a goner.
"That was so
PRETTY!" boomed the Queen of Farts. "Guards, take this lovely
creature back to the palace and give him all the chili, burritos,
and spicy foods he wants. I want the castle to be filled with his
aroma when I return. Oh, and look, he's so cuddly too!"
"But, but, I don't
usually fart -- you won't get it out of me -- no, please, I don't
want to go!" But no amount of protest would save the March Teddy
Bear, who was carted off to create massive amounts of gas in the
Queen of Farts' living room for years to come.
Forgetting the
Shoemaker for the moment, the Queen turned on Becky. "And as for
you, I'll just have you placed in the gas chamber for a while."
Becky couldn't imagine such a fate, considering what type of gas the
Queen of Farts must have been talking about, but before she could
plan her escape, the Queen bounded up, stood over her, and brought
down her gigantic gavel onto her head, making a gigantic
Bhltphtdtl!!!
Becky opened her eyes to see Mike, Ryan and Hortman standing
opposite her in the lower chamber. They were laughing at Hortman's
latest emanation in one of their frequent fart fests, which often
rivaled rotting pumpkin guts and dead rats in the pollution they
created in the Hall. But as Becky lay there on the couch, taking it
all in, she thought about how it was nice to know that all that had
been a dream, that it wasn't real (she looked again at the men in
the Hall) -- or was it?
Respectfully
submitted on this 14th day of September, 1996
Ryan J. Van Meter,
Secretary
|
University of Georgia 