The Minutes of the Demosthenian Literary Society for September
8, 2005
For three days I have lived in filth and horror. A week before,
strange and ominous signs had appeared on my residence hall doors.
Notice, they said, At 10 A.M. on Monday September 12, we will
shut off water in this building to test for pressure. Water will
be back soon, and we thank you for your patience. At seven in
the morning on the appointed day, a dozen people had awoken early,
to take a shower before the fated time. Bleary, I stumbled into
the bathroom and turned the showerknob, only to hear a strange
and hideous hissing gurgle. A surprise move had been made, and
the terror arrived three hours before its appointed time. Descending
the stairs and entering the lower floor, I found strange large
men in homogenous uniform wandering silent, clutching their strange
large tools. I went about my day, little suspecting the fetid
hideousness that slowly developed about my home.
Returning to the hall that evening, I imagined myself transported
to one of the less savory corners of hell. Fetid unbathed college
students roamed the halls, staring glassy-eyed and giving each
other a wide berth. When they neared the doors of the communal
bathroom, they would swerve quickly away and avert their eyes.
One seemed furtively to cross himself. About that self-same door
was gathered a small knot of janitors, those appointed cleaners
of the hall, speaking quickly to each other in high and anxious
voices. Curious, I opened the door, and entered. Each and every
commode was piled verily to the brim with tissue, urine and feces.
Perhaps my fellow students had not seen the signs; perhaps, feeling
the results of a nights digesting, they were unable to restrain
themselves, even knowing what would happen. Whatever the cause,
excrement had already overtopped one commode, and was oozing across
the floor. Exiting, I looked closely at the janitors, saw them
sallow and afraid. They knew themselves to be powerless without
the help of that great ally, water. And yet there was hope, too,
in their eyes. One turned to me quietly, urgently said “tomorrow
at ten, they tell me, the water will return.” And I went to bed,
trusting in that happy assurance.
The next day I rose and met, not water, but a new slew of signs.
Water is shut off, they said, while we effect emergency repairs.
Perhaps, in their quiet fumbling, those large men with large tools
had broken something vital. Or perhaps, in their noble probing,
they encountered a large and ancient malignance in the pipes,
and extended our ordeal so that they might rectify it. Whatever
the cause, true horror now reigned. Over the day, the filth increased
and increased. In my room, I have Petri dishes where I cultivate
Physarum polycephalum, the many-headed slime mold, as a project
for Mycology. This strange and ancient creature predated the dinosaurs,
and has not changed for many millions of years. They have five
different resistant phases that they can resort to in times of
need, and some of these phases could survive a direct hit from
an atom bomb, and others can weather a thousand years with neither
food nor water. It was on Tuesday that these self-same slime molds
became diseased, and started to die. On that same day, foul muck
from the bathroom breached that area’s door, and started to ooze
into the hall. The people were water-starved, and suffered a tremendous
thirst. Small men and pacifists like myself scurried about clutching
fresh water bottles purchased dearly halfway across the campus.
Larger and less scrupulous students began demanding these bottles,
subtly threatening us with their unbathed stench if we refused.
One approached me, and I did refuse. Without warning he thrust
my head beneath his armpit, engulfing me in oceans and oceans
of foul and fetid air. I began to lose consciousness, and a scene
began to play in my head. This, then, is what I heard, and this
in truth is what I saw in my fevered dreams in that land of stench
and filth:
The meeting was called to order at 7:10 PM. There were seven first-time
guests and fourteen second-time guests. We heard five maiden addresses:
Mr. Pearl described the ills of popular music, and stated that
expression rather than money should be the end of music.
Mr. Miller spoke of censorship, political correctness, and
limitations on free speech, saying, “Welcome to life. Assume
the risk.”
Ms. Hershman regaled us with the glories of procrastination.
Mr. Morgan extolled the O.C.
Mr. Patrick Williams argued for the legalization of marijuana.
All were raucously welcomed to the society.
In New Business
Mr. Martinson presented
BIR: George W. Bush shall receive the Brickheap
Awardand the secretary shall write a letter informing him of
this honor, for his inaction regarding hurricane Katrina.
R. S. Jacob R. Martinson.
Ms. McFarland stated that Mr. Bush’s response was “Appalling,
reprehensible, beyond forgiving certainly.”
Mr. Burkhardt then cried, “This is ludicrous,” and reminded
us of the strong local responses brought on by 9/11 and last
year’s Florida hurricanes. He then gave the counter-resolution
BIR: the mayor of New Orleans should receive the Brickheap instead
of Bush. R.S. C. Burkhart
Mr. Misztal stated that if North Campus were suddenly to disappear,
we could not expect Campus Police to be able to cope with it.
FEMA was created to deal with disasters to large to be addressed
by local authorities.
Mr. Weiss the Greater asserted that even if the president is
largely a figurehead, his response failed even in that role.
Mr. Addison declared that both resolutions were partisan politics,
and they sickened him. He described the enormous negligence
of one party and the monstrous miscalculations of the other,
and proclaimed that there was more than enough blame to go around,
and we cannot focus our scorn on only one person.
Mr. Williamson reminded us of our fundamental desire to blame
disasters on people. No one was responsible for the hurricane.
Mr. McGuire reminded us that the resolution does not say that
the president deserves I all blame for the disaster, just enough
blame to warrant the Brickheap. Bush cut the FEMA budget by
40%, and after the disaster he refused international aid on
ie=deological grounds.
A guest recalled that after the Netherlands experienced catastrophic
floods in the 1960s, the Queen was out in the streets volunteering
with everyone else. Mr. Bush’s response failed both technically
and in raising morale.
Mr. Theiss proclaimed that it takes thousands of people to
make a mistake this large. The elder Bush, Clinton, the younger
Bush, and the state and local governments all failed. Specifically,
he gave the counter resolution
BIR: the French should be given the Brickheap Award, and the
secretary shall inform them of their honor, for their actions
leading directly to the Katrina Disaster. R.S. John Henry Theiss.
Mr. Earl then asserted that Bush’s P.R. alone was poor enough
to warrant the Brickheap.
Mr. Pearl scoffed that movie stars did a better job than Bush.
A Guest then said, “I do not expect my president to be Mother
Theresa. I do expect a certain level of leadership in my president,
and Bush has failed.”
The question was then called.
As we only have two Brickheaps to give, we voted on which two
of the three resolutions should go on to the next round of voting.
Mr. Bush received twelve votes, the French received twelve votes,
and Mayor Nagin received none and was discarded. The question
of giving the Brickheap to Mr. Bush passed 10-9 among members
and failed 7-10 among guests, and the question of giving it
to the French failed 7-10 among members and 4-9 among guests.
Mr. Addison then motioned to indefinitely postpone the action
of this resolution, and his motion passed 12-8.
Ms. Shah then gave us
BIR: There should be no restrictions on
the procurement of stem cells.
R.S. Kushbou Shah
Mr. Addison recalled that currently, the only way the government
can take the life of one of its citizens is through due process.
One egg is a throwaway, one sperm is a throwaway, but a blastocyst
is a human. Should our tax money go to a lab whose sole purpose
is to play God?
Mr. Theiss said that private funding does not work because
“very few people are willing to finance an endeavor that in
a very few years could be made illegal. If the research does
not happen here it will happen elsewhere, and we will lose our
position at the head of science. Since blastocysts can divide,
they are a source of individuals rather than properly individuals,
and they would be thrown away anyway.
Mr. Williamson stated that we are cultural egotists, believing
that we must be first in everything. Let’s let other countries
be the first in this, and outsource our unused embryos to them.
Mr. P. Weiss stated that American jurisprudence has already
established that in order to have rights you must have been
born, leading me to realize that ninjas enjoy a great many rights
that cyborgs do not. He also stated that the last thing we need
to waste is something we can use.
A guest reminded us that nations often excuse genocide on refugees
by saying they are not citizens.
Mr. Mcguire proclaimed that there is no categorical difference
between stem cells and sperm. We can’t jeopardize lour future
for a qualm.
Ms. Wilkinson Catalogued the enormous good that stem cells
have already done.
I then spewed nonsense and garbage.
The question was called, and passed, but as I was not on the
bench during the vote God alone knows the vote totals
Mr. Addison, a tricky tricky man, a sly sly man, spent five
minutes insulting women and then presented
BIR: The men of Demosthenian should leave
the toilet seat down when finished.
Respectfully, Matt Addison
Mr. Theiss Recalled that the society has already determined
that women have no souls. American men spend a total of 150
million man-hours a year moving toilet seats, time that could
be better spent subjugating women.
Ms. Koval revealed that she was puzzled about the physics of
urine expulsion, and Mr. Ballard noted he was glad he would
never again have to win the votes of female Demosthenians.
A guest imitated his sister Ms. Steinberg, and leapt about
saying “Oh! My! God!”
Mr. P Weiss stated “I have felt a woman’s pain. The moment
you wake up in the middle of the night, groggy, and sit down
on the toilet only to feel the the ice-cold water, then you
know what it is to be a woman.”
Mr. McGuire reminded us that we have hotties in this society.
It would be against the interests of the male members to drive
them away.
Mr. Martinson brought up a simple safety issue: if you’re drunk
enough to urinate, you’re drunk enough to drown.
Mr. Misztal lamented that the gender wars have withered sadly,
when we only debate toilet seats.
Ms. Johnson proposed that we eliminate women.
Mr. Williams agued for equality, saying we should leave the
seat down, but only if women leave it up.
The motion failed 6-7 among members and 2-5 among guests.
It was noted that we ust voted to leave the seat up.
Ms. Crawford then gave a thirteen minute critic’s report, and
the meeting was adjourned at 11:25.
It was noted that until ten minutes before the reading of these
minutes, the seat was in fact up.
R.S. Chris Hansen
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University of Georgia 