The Comedian's a bald, gaunt-faced, bearded scarecrow of a man, dressed in a black jacket, black pants, black shoes, and small round sunglasses. He smokes continuously, and whines for over two hours on a myriad of topics.
The Comedian's opinions, a selection of topics elucidating:
Abortion. I believe that life begins when the child can shuffle and deal a deck of cards. That's where I draw the line. Terminate the child before he or she can deal a deck of cards and it's a lawful abortion; after and it's murder.
Life. Life is one big minefield and the only place that isn't a minefield is the place they make the mines.
War. I'm against the use of military force except as a first resort.
Violence on Television. I believe that there is nowhere near enough violence on television. For example, there's nothing wrong with the Montel Williams Show that Ed Gein and a Troy-Bilt Chipper-Vac couldn't fix. Observe how a single burst from a flamethrower adds viewer interest to this dreary commercial:
"Gee, I used to think that all denture gels were the same. That's before I discovered new--FWOOOSH! "OH MY GOD I'M ON FIRE OH JESUS HELP ME OH CHRIST AAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
The College president suspects plagiarism.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
Showing posts with label college president. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college president. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
College President v. Columnist
After dispatching the Coach, the College President lights a cigarette. She offers one to Pepple. He accepts, and they stand smoking together for awhile before the College President clears her throat.
You haven't shot anyone recently, have you? she asks.
Pepple exhales. He frowns. The smoke in silence for awhile longer.
I'm looking forward to hiring help, he says finally. And renovating my home.
She wishes him good luck. He thanks her for the cigarette. He drags off the body of the Coach, removes his wedding ring, his gold watch, and buries him.
The College President recognizes the Columnist. She introduces herself. The Columnists asks if the college's heard any word from the Chancellor.
No, answers the College President, but no one's surprised by the disappearance. We take a new one once every three years.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
You haven't shot anyone recently, have you? she asks.
Pepple exhales. He frowns. The smoke in silence for awhile longer.
I'm looking forward to hiring help, he says finally. And renovating my home.
She wishes him good luck. He thanks her for the cigarette. He drags off the body of the Coach, removes his wedding ring, his gold watch, and buries him.
The College President recognizes the Columnist. She introduces herself. The Columnists asks if the college's heard any word from the Chancellor.
No, answers the College President, but no one's surprised by the disappearance. We take a new one once every three years.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Coach v. College President
If the Coach had any hope of finding a partner with whom to ally and, together, intimidate Pepple, his hope is dashed at the sight of the College President. She floats onto the field wearing a powder blue pant suit, chin high. She places him immediately.
Don't tell me, she says. Men's esoteric bat-and-ball coach.
This is true.
Esoteric bat-and-ball sports the Coach coaches, alphabetically: Brännboll, Blind Cricket, Catchy Shubby, Gilli-Danda, Kilikiti, Lapta, Oina, Old Cat, Pesäpallo, Rounders.
You also gave that gave that charmingly anachronistic lecture on the causal link between the spread of cricket and the defeat of tribal barbarism.
Also true.
Yet whereas the faculty, all gathered for supper and an evening of light talks on sport, had taken the Coach's lecture as a witty, straight-faced parody, it was delivered by the Coach with all sincerity. It was, he believed, the crowning work of his life, a work which he secretly believed might lead to a minor teaching position. For it to have ended with cheers and bellowing laughter was, suffice it so say, a bit of a let down.
He tells her about the hotel. The shot. The death. He tells all, stopping short of his plan to confront the caretaker. She listens. When done, she nods.
And the hotel - it's nearby? she asks. He points to the west. They look, but the view's blocked by the line of poplars along the dirt road that runs the west border.
If everything you say is true - and there's no reason for me to doubt your witness to the overtly symbolic death of a clown by a shabby groundskeeper - I'd first suggest we confront the groundskeeper in question, armed.
What joy! The Coach rushes to tell her that this was his plan, too - yet felt odd mentioning it, somehow. But now --
Well, she qualifies, just because I proposed the solution doesn't mean we should act on it. The first instinct's always the most irrational. However necessary, as they often lead to the second. The second usually being much more rational, and in the end better for all parties involved. Even more so the third. What we need now, she concludes, is to dialogue.
They dialogue for several hours.
In the end the College President resolves to draft a letter of inquiry to the National Hotel Board. The Coach, for reasons he can't explain, agrees that this is the best solution.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
Don't tell me, she says. Men's esoteric bat-and-ball coach.
This is true.
Esoteric bat-and-ball sports the Coach coaches, alphabetically: Brännboll, Blind Cricket, Catchy Shubby, Gilli-Danda, Kilikiti, Lapta, Oina, Old Cat, Pesäpallo, Rounders.
You also gave that gave that charmingly anachronistic lecture on the causal link between the spread of cricket and the defeat of tribal barbarism.
Also true.
Yet whereas the faculty, all gathered for supper and an evening of light talks on sport, had taken the Coach's lecture as a witty, straight-faced parody, it was delivered by the Coach with all sincerity. It was, he believed, the crowning work of his life, a work which he secretly believed might lead to a minor teaching position. For it to have ended with cheers and bellowing laughter was, suffice it so say, a bit of a let down.
He tells her about the hotel. The shot. The death. He tells all, stopping short of his plan to confront the caretaker. She listens. When done, she nods.
And the hotel - it's nearby? she asks. He points to the west. They look, but the view's blocked by the line of poplars along the dirt road that runs the west border.
If everything you say is true - and there's no reason for me to doubt your witness to the overtly symbolic death of a clown by a shabby groundskeeper - I'd first suggest we confront the groundskeeper in question, armed.
What joy! The Coach rushes to tell her that this was his plan, too - yet felt odd mentioning it, somehow. But now --
Well, she qualifies, just because I proposed the solution doesn't mean we should act on it. The first instinct's always the most irrational. However necessary, as they often lead to the second. The second usually being much more rational, and in the end better for all parties involved. Even more so the third. What we need now, she concludes, is to dialogue.
They dialogue for several hours.
In the end the College President resolves to draft a letter of inquiry to the National Hotel Board. The Coach, for reasons he can't explain, agrees that this is the best solution.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
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