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Mutiny Rides the Bench
Mr.
Miller: That can’t be true!
Mr. “Grandpa”:
Yep, sonny. And the ghost still roams the hall to this day in the
form of ... Mr.
Stuart Weaver!
Mr.
Smiley: But I’ve seen Ms. Richie in the hall far too often.
“Grandpa”: Well . . . This is a mysterious ghost that can
take on other forms like Ms. Polentz
(alumna).
Mr. Shumaker:
Enough already. Do you all want to hear a real story? A nightmare
so
horrifying, so graphic, that it must
be true?
Mr.
Lowe: I suppose.
Mr. Shumaker:
OK. Now, I’m only telling you what I’ve been told by someone
cowering in the
corner of the bench while all of
this was happening. I wasn’t there.
Mr. de
Guzman:Where were you?
Mr. Shumaker:
I was... in disposed.
Mr.
Bloomfield:You were in da what?
Mr. Shumaker:
I was... I was tied up with a whip and a thong bikini by Ms.
Mingledorff, Are
you satisfied?
Mr.
Lowe: I suppose.
Mr. Shumaker:
OK. It all started on a dark and rainy Thursday night. All
appeared normal yet
something was deadly wrong. Everyone
was being too polite and wearing dresses
and suits: long dresses, dark suits.
The bench began to quake and the minutes
were read in a hasty, uneven
fashion. The society seemed to rush through it’s
business, sending a chill up the
spine of the artist formerly known as Mr. Choi.
Even Mr. Hortman was succinct at the
lectern.
Mr. Norman:
Hortman... where have I heard that narne before?
Mr. Shumaker:
He was the ship that made the Kestle run in under 4 par-secs. He
also owned a
golden harp until he fell off a
beanstalk. Anyway, the bench was worried that,
because there would be no Old
Business, Mr. Hortman would LIVE, live to fight
his evil battle against the forces
of good. Just as Elections were called, a herd of
pygmies and former college
Republicans invaded the upper chamber wearing
nothing but togas and carrying
spears made out of Bulova watches. They
barricaded the door and killed Ms.
Yarber immediately. “Objection!” cried Mr.
Pyrdum, but he could not be heard
over the savage grunts of America’s future
leaders. I had managed to break free
of the clutches of dominatrix Mingledorff
and could hear all of this from
where I was: locked in the bathroom with Dr.
Parkes.
Mr. Stevenson:
What were you doing in the bathroom with Dr. Parkes?
Mr. Shumaker:
I was... I was...
The meeting was
called to order at 7:35. One second or third-time guest was
a’present. Mr. Smiley was chosen as critic. One guest, Mr. Norman,
petitioned the society for membership and was accepted. There were
lots of alumnae present, up to and including former president Mr.
Fitzgerald, Ms. Polentz, and Mr. Wells.
In Committee Reports: Mr. Hoffman
rose as Treasurer to present the finance committee report, which was
accepted, and as Hall Preservation Chair to update the society on
upcoming hall restorations, Ms. Shillington announced the plans for
the Spring Banquet and the get-together afterwards. Ms. Mingledorff
announced the quarterly librarian’s report; and Mr. Van Meter rose
to read the letter to the Heap from last week’s resolution.
The society then moved into
elections, but had to move out soon after because of the noisy
neighbors. So as to avoid confusion, the new officers are as
follows: President, Mr. Horttnan; VP, Ms. Visser;
Judicial Council, Mr. Guy and the Missesses Brignac
and Mingledorff; Chief Justice, Ms, Brignac;
Secretary, myself; Treasurer Mr. Bowman; Historian,
Mr. Weaver; Librarian, Ms. McKinney; Custodian, Ms.
Yarber; Sgt.-at-Arms, Mr. Slone. There will be a quiz
later.
In lieu of Old Business, the society
moved to adjourn at 12:10, subject to Mr. Smiley’s critic’s report.
Me: I am
only reporting what I have been told. In a brash move, The Hort-Man
of Steel rolled
out his own stump and, forgoing the
address entirely, his moving speech was said to have
consisted of merely five words: Move
to call the question. But no one moved. Those
that dared even to fidget or cough
were quickly eviscerated by the pint-sized politicians.
Mr. Hortman then stepped of the
bench, snatched the gavel from the clutching hands of
the ex-president, raised it in the
air like the sword of Omen, and cried “Who’s with
me?!”
“Uggah-Uggah,” affirmed Mr. Guy
“You da (expletive) man!” stated Ms.
Shillington.
Ms. Brignac stared around at the
carnage and blood and hastily agreed.
Soon, Demosthenian voices became a
chorus and chants of “Hort-man! Hort-man!” could be heard throughout
at least three buildings on North Campus.
“This is Mutiny!” screamed O-+->
(the artist), but his screams were in vain, as Mr. Hortman, or
Margaret Thatcher as he prefers to be called, was already
instituting his new Reich and appointing all of the offices left to
be decided from among his minions. Mr. Gable and Ms. Moultrie were
to be sold as sex slaves and the ex-bench was to be guillotined on
holy ground, the 50-yard line of Sanford stadium, at dawn. This
sent TAFKA Choi into fits and had the ex-secretary chain-smoking
Morleys and saying “This is not happening! This is not happening!”
By this time, I
had managed to free myself from the Turkish prison, and after a bout
of forced Cole Slaw wrestling, I ran upstairs to see what was the
matter. Being the last person upstairs and the only one willing to
take the job over beheading, I was subsequently appointed by the
Emperor to the office of Secretary.
What I have
spoken, my children, is the truth. This is now the year zero.
The beginning,
the word: Hortman. The reign of terror has begun. God save us all.
Mr. Slone:
Wrestling in Cole slaw?
Mr. Shumaker:
I was.. I was...
Respectfully
Submitted this fifth day of June, Nineteen Hundred Ninety Seven,
Mr. Michael
Shumaker, secretary
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University of Georgia 