The Oxford Rebellion

Share Yom Kippur Adages

2011-07-06T19:50:00.004-05:00

How the snow clouds puke white stuff? Winter translates into mistaken identifies.

My mind was made up and I dreamed up another story.

"See, I was stuck in a frosted land, hip with disembodiments and rancid heartworms. Carelessly I let slip that I was hoping to hop outta town before the sun came up. Without forewarning, the sun came up and I was two hours late for my train trip outta town.

A former poker star knocked on my door and asked if I was ready to be late?

"Wait, I'm naked," I screamed even though he had no chance of intruding since I was the only one with a key to the room.

"You seem to be late, sir." I thought he was bluffing. I checked my Timex, and sure enough, I'd lost all my chips. The train ticket had squeezed me out of 23 pesos, or whatever is equivalent to a little bit of money that I so desperately needed. Without this ride out, I'd be stuck in this foreign land full of foreign customs.

"Rain or shine, I'll find a way there," I said from behind the door, still delicately nude.

"You seem to be screwed." No doubt his bets were off on me leaving by 3:00, but I was willing and able to secure a flight out of town by 3:35, barring no delays.

Bad news bear scout, the plane was delayed, according to The Weather Channel. A calming incision was the last thing I needed, but I pulled out the scalpel and started to sort the bud out of the plastic sack.

I was out.

No bud to be sorted but why not play with imaginary recreational material, right? Wrong. The gambler kept banging on the door as I stared at myself in the mirror. Why clothes no matter? Because you are alone in a room with nobody to care. Except for a fairly large fellow beating the metal out of your wooden hotel room door.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?," I screamed.

The beatings stopped but the pain didn't. Kiss this vacation good-bye. I was stuck. Stuck real good. Stuck in the Jersey(ruslem) Shore without a clue as to what I should do. No planes, no trains, no autoerotic asphyxiation. Just kidding, who does that, David?

The barbed-wire wallpaper was bit much but so was the room service. 23 pesos for a diet pill and even more for a ceiling fan. My room stank. Real bad. Really badly did I want to dive out off of my balcony and onto a flattened earth, made possible by the good people at BassAkwards Inc. But I had no such thing. First floor occupant. No big deal, I didn't mind being stuck, for we live in perpetual tremors. The earth rattling beneath our 34-year-old bodies as we sort out the fake from the transverse and the paranoia sits in when you respond to 34-day-old text messages from parents whom have certainly forgotten about your experimentations abroad. Feeling sick or sticky? Something tells me both are knocking on the door. Not gum tissue or wet smooches crowding your dense mind. Those are distant memories. Over matter. Stuck to the non-existent ceiling fan.

Stuck in my room with bad tv and good imaginary material. Such is a life choking you half to death."

Skies or Skys Inside a Wooden Wart Farm

2011-01-12T21:23:00.002-06:00

World War 3 looks less theatrical than World War III. Good, ask your neighbor before we ask ourselves.

"Is this pretty? Is this cool?"

Do you write? Do you write well? Are you a turtle shock collar? Shock caller, dialing into your favorite local weatherman's answering meatmachine.

"Spotted 45 hurricanes eastbound slightly overchill about to hit the grammar school, over."

His reaction was priceless.

"My reaction wuz here," the bathroom stall said. Then Cody left the smelly confines of Wooden Wart Jr. High and hopped onto the Tranny Bus for Kids.

"What is your name? Lemme guess, Jo? Is it Jo? You look like a cutie-pie Jo," it said.

Cody wasn't familiar with these types. These nefarious types. But he didn't care. The bus ride was free and his pockets were Mark Twain's initials. The glass wall-o-fame purchased by his uncle was expected to arrive any day now. Cody would be in charge of signing off on the package once the delivery man arrived. Or delivery woman. Or delivery it. These were the days of his life.

Cody was dropped off at approximately 6:01 AM. Man, school slowed its jets.

The door was wide open and Cody expected a predator to be resting his heels on his daddy-o's favorite chair. His heels, yes. Not expecting a Mrs. or an it. He would be in huge, gigantic trouble if daddy-o found out, mister.

Cody allocated enough breaths to prepare himself for the masked intruder, the half-eaten monster, the boogie-man, the boogie-eating man who wet his pants, was made fun of in school, and never recovered, thereby turning into a menace II society and breaking into perfectly sound homes in broad barnshitting daylight. Intro so saxxy:

"Who is there?"

"Nobody," it said.

"Okay. Okay. Alright. I heard that. Who is there?"

Cody's heart pounded a million drums. Drum roll pwease.

"Hello? Seriously, this isn't funny." Cody wasn't old enough to suffer a heart attack. He's just too young a black mother would have argued.

"Son, it's me. It's your pal."

Oh, thank God. Thank any God currently tuning in. It was just his uncle. Tranny Uncle Jay.

The First Company on the Moon

2010-10-25T16:37:00.002-05:00

This endeavor we trip. 20,000 Leagues above the Sea. Our company motto was once, "How Far Can You Go?" Our customers were unable to adequately provide us with a response. For a short time, this hurt us tremendously, both personally and financially. Then, in 2103 B.C., a time-machine was discovered and christened, the Mono-Tona. Despite our best efforts, the Chinese refused us entry into their vega-infused silos where we could test the Mono-Tona under ideal conditions. Though we now excel thanks to innovative marketing techniques and Austrian-school based economic concepts, our reach fails to exploit the minute niches we earlier thought were possible to grab. To this end, we seek further eyes and ears, mouths and feet. Guided by an astronomical amount of R&D expenditures, we set our sights on space. Though we blast-off leaving dust and dusk in our wake, with haste we float further into the truth, the light, the foundation of our immortal existence as an entity. Until proven otherwise, we are a person, a friend, a unit of measure.
3. 2. 1.

Where Were You During the Rave of 2009?

2010-10-01T15:29:00.003-05:00

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From the sounds of it, my RUF crush was already feeling the groove. It was party time and she knew how to convey the immediacy that any party requires. You can't get there later, you gotta get there now. You can't wait. Just come. Be not there. Be here. Do not wither, float. Quickly. Are you almost here? Be here.

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J.D. Williams Library is the last place you'd expect to have a good time. It would be the dead, d-e-a-d, last place to envision a techno rave, complete with costumes, pacifiers, cheap glow-sticks and about 2,000 burned-out students. They aren't mentally decrepit from drug abuse. No, it's finals week. The most dreaded/anticipated week of the year. After May comes summer, and during summer comes love. But before you can reach the climax, you must resign yourself to studying for one final week. It's finals week. Mind losing to body. Body losing to sleep, or lack there of. Your teachers hide in their offices as you beg for that one letter grade and your parents pray each night that you are getting the required amount of sleep to function at a reasonable rate come morning. Until morning, you are nervous, giddy, full of something, maybe stimulants, but above all, burned-out.

A student-led initiative leads you and your classmates inside a three-story building that houses more books than you could ever read, even if you were stuck in prison. The otherwise quiet corridors and aisles are crammed with coeds and eggheads, all anticipating a historic moment- a few minutes of chaos. Music, mayhem, technicolor nonsensical dancing party people. It's time to let loose. What would your parents think? Who cares? It's a school-sanctioned event. The powers-that-be shake their heads hoisted on their ivory necks and think, "gee golly, kids these days. As long as alcohol isn't involved." They smile and allow this otherwise rebellious behavior. It seems harmless and it is. It truly is. Kids can have fun without endangering their future and the powers-that-be want to endorse this activity. It's safe and fun. Nothing is wrong with this picture.

And the kids eat it up. Yay, wild times. Sanctioned. Join the organized, fully-accepted, good times. The elders are okay with this? Great, let's go for it. Aren't the elders cool?

And as the kids accept the elders acceptance, the party is planned. It begins. Student organizations join in the brigade. Cameras are charged, ready to catch the action and immediately zip it to YouTube and various other media outlets. This is our party. The campus party. And it's safe as milk.

---------------

I wasn't there

Courtesy of Party People Magazine

2010-09-22T17:47:00.004-05:00

Oxford Rebellion Editor's Note:This interview with former writer, comedian and entrepreneur Stewart Swenton comes from the June issue of Party People Magazine.

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"We oftentimes forgive and forget those that helped us along the way." - Stewart Swenton

In 1995, a college dropout (he was expelled) from Davidson College moved back into his childhood home in Louisville, Kentucky and started writing. He didn't stop until 1998 when he had amassed 12,305 pages of pure filth, rubbish and godawful entertainment. After sending over 20 copies to various publishers around the nation without any luck, he decided to go global.

Finally, in July of 1999, a tiny publishing house in London returned the poorly stapled manuscript with only a Post-It note and a return envelope. "Send us your phone number."

Within weeks, the college dropout and Grade School Press had worked out a deal. Grade School would print less than 1,000 copies and place them in small bookstores around England. If they sold well, they'd print more. The "money" part of the deal was kinda fuzzy, but the American didn't worry. He just wanted readers.

What happened next to Stewart Swenton is of mythical lore. It is a whirlwind tale of twists and turns and comical rug burns. He went from dashing and dancing with British boobs to petty romancing with British Bobbies.

Yet, his story never hit the States. Stewart remained an underground legend and never made it big after his drinking and carousing took over his mind. Walter Clarke, a London-based author and publishing agent contends that less than 20 people ever read Swenton's work. However, he believes Swenton's book may have very well changed those 20 lives.

The reclusive Swenton recently sat down with Party People Magazine to discuss his dancing days and to rehash on his stint in rehab. He agreed to this interview after we promised to bring a bottle of whiskey along with us. From the 4th floor of the Drake Hotel in Chicago and over several glasses of Elmer T. Lee, we conducted the following interview:

PP: Tell us about your life before the little-known book, "Let Me Retire in Peace."

SS: Well, to start off, I left Davidson over some really stupid circumstances and felt like jumping off a building. Seriously. The moment I returned to my apartment after talking to the Dean of Students, I asked my roommate if he knew how to access the roof.

PP: What happened?

SS: Around 4 of my friends and I allegedly pulled a prank involving a baby elephant from a traveling circus and an on-campus eating house. They couldn't prove that I was involved, and even if they could have, it wasn't a big deal. The elephant was returned and had been fed plenty of peanuts on the trip to campus.

PP: Sounds like you were guilty.

SS: Prove it.

PP: So what happened next?

SS: I called my parents and explained the situation. Initially, they found it quite humorous until I explained that I was being asked to leave school. My father (an alumnus) promised he'd make some phone calls and fix everything. About three hours later he called back. He had been informed that I'd not been to class in over a month. Damn. That is when it got pretty serious. I rented a moving van and was back in Kentucky within 48 hours. Longest drive of my life thus far.

PP: Was it weird being back home?

SS: It was odd because none of my friends were back from school. I was accustomed to seeing everyone over the holidays and, you know, summer and stuff. Instead it was just me and my house because both of my parents worked. My mother worked at a marketing agency and my dad still does corporate law so I was home alone. I got really bored, especially being a college-aged kid and still being full of energy, and my dad suggested that I go visit my grandparents. They lived (RIP) in Chicago and I went to visit them the second week I was home. My grandfather (also an alumnus of Davidson) was pretty cool about the whole thing. He found the prank funny and talked about how he had left Davidson in his junior year as well. Of course, the difference is that he had left Davidson to go serve his country in the war. I left because a kidnapped elephant took a dump on school property. I felt like a real letdown.

PP: Did he offer you any advice?

SS: I still consider him to be one of the wisest men I ever met. However, he kept talking about how I needed to focus on finding another college to attend. The second day I was there, we went to the country club where he played golf and I got to meet some of his friends. Of course, every one of them asked why I wasn't in school and my grandfather said without a hint of embarrassment, "Oh, they asked him to leave. Isn't that wild? You pay money to attend the place and they kick you out?" I could have melted on the spot. And he repeated those lines at least 10 times. He was the kind of guy who, if a joke worked once, or if he was asked the same question more than once in a short period of time, he'd respond with the same answer he'd used earlier. Never failed. Hell of a golfer, too, but that is something else.

PP: Did you write any in Chicago?

SS: No. I'm not even a writer. I wouldn't know how to begin writing if I tried. At least not then. I stayed in Chicago for, gosh, maybe 2 or 3 days. And then drove back. A friend of mine from Davidson called my house and told me some gossip- this was maybe a week after I had gotten back from Chicago- and then he dropped the bomb. Davidson was considering letting me re-enroll in the Spring. I asked him how he knew and he said one of the faculty members had let it slip the day before. I immediately called the Dean of Students and his first words after I told him who was calling was, "Stewart, it's only a rumor." I mean, he knew exactly why I was calling. Wow. That is when it hit me. I am officially kicked out of college.

I will never forget walking into the living room and pouring myself a stiff drink and looking outside into my backyard. My parents live on a golf course and I could see older men around my grandfather's age just laughing and joking on the course. Backslapping and putting, you know, the whole nine yards. And I thought to myself, "Can't I just skip college and work and just retire?" For reasons I can't explain, I found a big notebook in a drawer and started writing about my life as a retired golfer in Palm Springs. I had never even been to Palm Springs but it sounded majestic. Of course, I was college-aged so my writing was, shall I say, a little crude. Lots of profane stuff. The story was just me, a 60-year-old on the course, hitting shots and thinking about the life I've lived so far. The Palm Springs story later became Chapter 5 in "Let me Retire in Peace."

PP: So you just kept writing?

SS: It was addictive. I was amazed. I'd never written more than 10 pages at a time in my life and the Palm Springs story was already 25 notebook pages long and I'd only been writing for maybe 2 hours. I poured another drink and within 3 hours I'd written 30 more pages. The story was getting a little weird, thanks to the whiskey, but I was laughing out loud at some of the content.

PP: In the Palm Springs chapter, one of my favorite parts is when you notice your caddy is sniffing "sugar" from a little bottle that he keeps in his pocket. You ask him why doesn't just eat it and he responds, something like, "It tastes better going up your nose." Is there some historical context to this?

SS: "It tastes better shooting up your nose." I mean, you know all the jokes like, " I don't like cocaine, I only like the way it smells," or whatever, but this did come from a true story. When I was in 9th grade, I had a babysitter who went to the bathroom to "blow her nose," and my younger sister accidentally barged in and said something to the effect of, "Why are you putting sugar in your nose?" Cocaine wasn't even that big in Louisville at that time, or at least I didn't hear about it in the 9th grade, but I always thought it was wild that she did that in my house. I won't say her name for the sake of her privacy and plus, I think she is married with a kid now.

PP: You decided to keep writing. And writing. Could you not stop or was it a difficult process?

SS: I probably wrote over 200 pages in notebook paper that first week. I'm not sure what that translates to in regards to novel pages. But yeah, I woke up each day and just wrote until I was bored or had something better to do. Oddly enough, the alcohol helped a bunch. I'd be writing from maybe 1:00 in the afternoon until about 4, and then think, "I deserve a drink." Within hours I'd double my production.

PP: So you were a functioning alcoholic then?

SS: At that point in my life, yes. I only took a break between 20 to 30 times in that first year.

PP: And what did your parents think about your writing?

SS: My parents didn't really ask me questions about my day besides, "Did you have a good day?" They assumed I was playing video games or playing golf, which I did occasionally. My father rarely came home. Extremely busy and anytime he actually was at the house, the last thing he wanted to do was dwell on something like, "is my son being productive?" One of the benefits of having hard-working parents is that they want to maximize time spent with you so they abstain from bringing up unpleasant topics. Instead, if my dad had a few days off, he suggest something like, "hey, we should go out to eat," or "hey, let's drive down to the lake this weekend."

PP: Sounds like you had the place to yourself.

SS: Oh, it was great. I had a wonderful childhood. A wonderful, mischievous childhood. It wasn't necessarily as fun being 20-or-so-years-old because I couldn't invite friends over to play. They were all away at school. Even that first Christmas was weird because only a few of my friends wanted to hang out. Rumors had circulated that I had done something really horrible at Davidson so they "needed to steer clear of Stewart". I blame Louisville mommy-gossip for that one, but it was no big deal. It just allowed me to write more. The only person who actually wanted to hang out was my once-estranged friend, Rena.

PP: In your book, Rena is the name of your ex-wife. Is that the connection?

SS: Yes. Rena had a very similar childhood to me. Her father is an Israeli-born orthopedic surgeon and her mother is a Bulgarian-born super-intellectual who has been an adviser to the United Nations, worked for several think tanks, written policy papers, etc. A very intimidating woman. Naturally, her parents were rarely home, too, so she would come over all the time. We were basically best friends until about the 3rd grade. She may have had a crush on me but when you are in the 3rd grade, you don't really notice girls.

See, when Rena was around me, we got along great. Played make-believe and would entertain ourselves for hours and hours. But at school, she was an oddball. This skinny, little, brown girl that was incredibly brainy but would never say a word to anyone except the teacher and me. I was her only friend, but it was hard to be friends with her because everyone thought she was uncool. It was my fault, I know, but I began to ignore her. My male friends would tease her endlessly for being so different, and I never took up for her. To this day, she doesn't let me forget this.

PP: But you became friends again?

SS: Well, we didn't go to the same middle school, but we ended up at the same private high school. I mean, I had not spoken to her in maybe 6 or 7 years and then, bam, back to seeing her almost every day. We ignored each other and that was that, despite being in the some of the same classes. As in, nobody would have ever known that we were childhood best friends because we hung out in different circles. By our senior year, we actually chatted every now and then, but never mentioned our past. Just things like, "hey, saw your dad on the course last week," or, "how about that Calculus test?"

PP: Had she changed much since elementary school? Obviously, she had grown in size, but...

SS: She was tall. I mean, tall. Probably 5'10, 5'11. Her mother is tall, too. She was so slender. Like a model. I'd seen her around the neighborhood maybe once or twice during those years that we didn't speak. But yeah, I would not have even recognized her except that she had such a unique look in an otherwise 95% white high school.

PP: After you were kicked-out, she wanted to see you?

SS: (laughter) It was a Thursday morning around 10. December. The phone rings and for some reason I decide to answer it. I usually let the machine catch it because it was rarely for me. I pick up and say, "Hello, Swenton residence," and a voice says, "Is Stupid there?" All of a sudden memories flooded the living room. My jaw dropped. I had not heard that nickname since, well, the 3rd grade. Rena called me "Stupid" instead of "Stewart" anytime I annoyed her. I said, "Rena?" And the conversation went like this:
(Stewart insisted that we write the following in this format)

Rena Talmon: Is Stupid there?
SS: Rena?
RT: Stupid, home from school?
SS: Uh, yeah. You could say that.
RT: Heard you were too stupid for school, Stupid.
SS: No, actually...
RT: Heard you failed out. Davidson too hard for you, Stupid?
SS: No, that is gossip. Why are you being rude?

SS: At this point I heard a click. She apparently was tired of talking. I thought it was pretty funny, but I didn't understand why she had called me. I knew from my parents and from other people in the know that Rena was at Yale and was majoring in something science-related. She had graduated with honors at our school and I assumed was doing really well in school. I had also heard that she'd had a boy come stay with her one week during the summer. I guess it was the summer before our junior year, or, the summer before I was expelled. Either way, I don't think she'd ever had a boyfriend.

I go into the kitchen to start writing and I hear a knock at my backdoor about 20 minutes later, which scared me, because nobody ever comes to our backdoor. I walk into another room in my house and down a hall and there she was, standing at my backdoor. It was shocking to say the least. She was wearing a red, bright red turtleneck and a pair of denim black jeans. Her hair was in French braids and she looked like she was freezing. It was December, you know...

(Stewart pours his 3rd glass of Elmer T. Lee and refuses to mix it with the Coca-Cola we brought along with it.)

So I see her in, and she just has this know-it-all look on her face. She goes, "I knew you wouldn't make it in college. You never cared about school." Then she just walks through my house, which she no-doubt remembered from childhood, walks into my kitchen and fills a glass full of ice. Then she walks into my living room and makes herself a drink. I'm following behind her thinking, "My God, who is this woman?"

PP: She was so different from the Rena you once knew?

SS: No, she had always been abrasive and kinda witchy in person, but never at school. She was shy. A real introvert of a woman. Not as mean-spirited as she was when we played together. But to see her fix a drink. It was eye-opening. I won't lie, it was attractive.

PP: Was she pretty?

SS: Ha, next question.

PP: Okay. So what did y'all talk about?

SS: I told her the story. Actually, she had known the story all along, but liked the idea of me being too stupid to stay in school so she kept telling me over and over that I was "too stupid for school." Honestly, Davidson was probably going to suspend me anyway because of me playing hooky. Oh well. But we laughed and we made more drinks. It was the best time I'd had since I'd returned to Kentucky. She talked about Yale and how she loved class but disliked her classmates- imagine that.

After about four drinks I mentioned that I'd heard she had a boyfriend. I'm totally not smooth after a few drinks. So she says something like, "Yeah, he's in England this year. He's a pain," and she left it at that. After that, we probably hung out 3 or 4 times until it was time for her to go back to school. Despite being a typical lush, I never once asked her what led her to come over to my house that faithful day. I was curious as Hell but I never asked her.

PP: Why not?

SS: I don't know. Guess I never wanted to know the truth. In my mind, I created this scenario where she heard the news and found my story really cool. Maybe she wanted to re-connect. Her parents were the complete opposite of mine. When we were little, they were constantly asking her about her grades. Her father would call our house from the hospital making sure that she had studied for some test or another. I'd be thinking, "My God, man, that test isn't until next week." Plus, she is in the (bleeped) 2nd grade.

So. I figured she probably found my expulsion rebellious or something.

PP: So after she left, you wrote her into your book?

SS: Well, I'd probably written 6 or 7 stories and I felt like he needed an ex-wife. Then I had this idea where I'd married this exotic, foreign heiress who hated my guts and divorced me but still re-entered my life every now and then. I actually rewrote the story where I attempt to sail down the Nile River to include her. I'd written it in that first month and came back to it because I didn't like the initial ending of that story.

PP: Right. She shows up unexpectedly the night before you leave. She's flown by helicopter and your character hears the sound of a helicopter engine and starts reminiscing about the days when you'd order her helicopter pilot to fly you to Vegas. Then she lands next to your hotel and berates for trying to accomplish the feat of traveling the Nile.

SS: Yeah, Rena gets mad because she thinks I'm too old to try something so strenuous at my age. I pictured someone just like Rena saying this, except in the book, Rena is from Bolivia.

PP: And you allude to the fact that her father may have earned all of his money through...

SS: Well, Rena alludes to the fact that her father has bank accounts "all over the Caribbean." And I tell stories of meeting members of her family who only use cash and whatnot, but yeah, we never really know.

PP: Do you know?

SS: We never really know.

PP: Does Rena even know?

SS: We never really know.

PP: Okay, so Rena is gone. You start to write her into the book. You continue writing. What next?

SS: I'm writing a ton, actually. In the spring, there are no major holidays and I write all the time. I'm starting earlier, drinking earlier, going to sleep later. Getting a ton done. I start tying some stories together and at this point I'm at about 1,000 pages. I mean, I write about 20 or more pages a day. Maybe less. But my writing is getting better. I'm actually thinking things through, which I wasn't doing when I first started. So maybe I wasn't writing as much, but I spent much more time writing.

At one point I visited Davidson when both of my parents took a trip to Rome. They had forbade me from going back, but with them gone for a week, I had to go back. It was my only chance. And guess what, the trip wasn't that fun. I mean, Davidson had also asked me to not come back, which was a drag. So I tried to stay indoors during the day and then saw people at night. I was hoping to show up and everyone throw a party for me, but instead people were just like, "man, you are nuts for coming back here." Even there, the stories had gotten out-of-hand. As I may have mentioned before, (ed. note: he had not mentioned it before) I was the only one expelled. The others either talked their way out of it or, even worse, threw me under the bus. Rumors started flying that I was the only one to leave because of this or that.

I heard wild ones. One guy, my old roommate from freshman year, actually, told me that he'd heard that I'd sexually harassed an exchange student. I was at one of the few bars near campus and a girl says, "aren't you the guy that had an affair with a professor?" Would have loved to have claimed that, but no, never happened. The most repeated rumor was that they'd found a ton of stolen property in my room when they came to question me at my apartment.

There is some truth to that.

PP: Explain.

SS: But they didn't really care. It was a non-issue and it lent nothing to the fact that I was already getting my ass sent out of North Carolina.

I'd once drunkenly entered a school building and stumbled into a storage room that had old, out-of-date computers. I mean, they weren't plugged in at all. Some of the monitors were busted out. These computers had to be from the 80s. Anyway, I took one computer and its keyboard with me. I set it up in my apartment as if it were operational, but it wasn't. I never could get the darn thing to work.

Well, when two Davidson administrators visited my apartment to ask about the elephant incident, one of them noticed the computer and as a joke said, "let me guess, you stole that, too." I say as a joke because when they arrived, they tried to play it cool like they were on my side. I didn't fall for it one bit, but anyway. I say something like, "nah, why would you think that?"

He stares at it a little longer and then says, "wait, is that one of our old computers?" This guy had been at Davidson for years and years. Apparently, that was the type computer he was first given when PCs arrived on campus.

When they finally made the ultimate decision, which they made in less than 2 or 3 days, the guy visited me as I was packing and was like, "we are going to need that back." I didn't even argue.

PP: There was validity in the rumor that you were caught with stolen property.

SS: Yeah, I guess so. But it was a total non-issue. Anyway, I left Davidson and returned home. No girls showed any enthusiasm over my daring hi-jinks. The guys didn't care. Of course, it didn't help that I came to visit just two weeks prior to final exams.

That summer my parents weren't as busy so I wrote when I could, but we took a good number of trips. We visited my grandparents in Chicago and my grandmother in south Florida. We went to Maine for the July 4th. Not once did they ask if I was planning on going back to school or getting a job. My mother actually mentioned to my dad at one point, "I think Stewart has been writing a little. I think that is good, right honey?"

Again, it was great, and I am very blessed. Looking back on it, if I had been out on the town every night spending lots of money at the bars, they would have probably urged me to get a job. Instead, I was at home all the time and keeping the house pretty straight. We had a maid come once a week but I still took credit for the cleanliness.

Oh, plus my sister was home from school. She had just finished her freshman year at The College of William & Mary. She loved it there. We would hang out a little and some of my friends were hanging out again.

PP: You wrote very little that summer?

SS: Right, well, at the end of July, my dad calls home from work and leaves a message on the answering machine. He says something like, "Hey, I've got to be in Atlanta for a while starting in August. I asked for a few days off before I abandon the fam, so wanna go play golf somewhere?"

I call him back and he says, "wanna go play St. Andrews?" I thought he was joking.

PP: You mean St. Andrews, as in the golf course in England?

SS: I mean, the Old Course at St. Andrews in Scotland, the, I think, oldest golf course in the world.

PP: Oh, wow.

SS: Uh, yeah. I had been to Europe once when I was, I think, 12-years-old. But to fly over to the UK just to play golf for a few days sounded too good to be true. I mean, are you kidding me? So I packed my bags and we flew out the next morning.

For the next 3 or 4 days we played golf and drank the finest scotch. The food was forgettable, but the golf was great. The weather was fine. Even met some Scottish girls that suited my fancy. Their accents were great. Anyway, the trip warranted a return trip. I knew I wanted to go back at least once a year for the rest of my life. I felt that way then, at least. Inspiration was at every corner while I was there, so on the return trip to America, I wrote about my 60-year-old self playing in St. Andrews. I could really go into detail about his time there because, well, I'd just been there.

On the flight from New York to Louisville my father finally asked-and I could tell it took him some courage- he asked, "so what are your plans?"

I felt terrible because he is very non-confrontational around the family. He never injects conflict into any situation. When my sister wanted to go to the College of William & Mary, he just nodded and went along with everything even though I know it hurt him that she didn't even consider Davidson. He met my mom there (He was a senior, she was a graduate student. She attended the University of North Carolina at Charlotte for her undergraduate studies.) and still sends them money to this day despite them kicking me out.

I always assumed he was as laid-back at work, but over the years my parents would have dinner parties and I'd hear stories about him bulldozing over the competition. He was chosen as a partner when he was just 33, so I guess there is a side to him that we never see at home.

So to have him muster the courage to ask basically, "son, what are you going to do with your life," it was tough.

I just looked down and off of the top of my head said, "uh, well, Dad, I've been writing." So we started talking about my writing and I convinced him that I wanted to write a book. He liked the idea and said he'd help me out a little as long as I wrote.

PP: Must be nice.

SS: Once again, I was blessed.

Stewart continued writing. Two years later, he felt like he had written enough. We skip now to the day he finally finished and what he did next.

SS: Around August of 1998, I had finished my 100th story. It ended with me, as a 69-year-old, retiring completely from golf. I won't give away the ending, but I was satisfied with it and decided to start shopping it around.

PP: How many pages had you written and what led you to end it all?

SS: I wrote over 12,000 pages.

PP: 12,000?

SS: Yes, hard to believe. I knew my retired self couldn't play golf forever. Golf to me means so many things. Time spent on the course is never wasted. You treat each hole as a conquest and futilely attempt to do your best. Not to sound ridiculously cliche, but, in the end it means nothing. Just a score. Just a feeling. But you challenge yourself while also enjoying yourself, though I know plenty of people who treat golf as a weekly chore. A year after I finished my stories and had them typed out, Fred Oliver (ed. note: Fred is the founder of Grade School Press) sent me an essay that a English professor had written about my manuscript. To this day, I can't get over all of the meaning that he found in my stories. This essay was at least 30 pages long, yet terse. This professor was obviously a master of the English language and I wish I could have hired him to edit my work.

PP: So he found meanings that you didn't intend?

SS: Yeah, you could say that.

PP: But after speaking to Fred Oliver, he said that, in his own words, "Stewart knew what he was doing. He still feigns ignorance to this day whenever anyone critiques his work."

SS: You have that written on your piece of paper?

PP: Yes.

SS: May I see that piece of paper?

PP: After the interview, if you don't mind.

SS: Right. I see. I can't just sit here and speak all day. Been here for an hour at least, right? And I'll be getting hungry soon, no offense.

PP: Under an hour. We can fetch food for you soon.

SS: Jesus. Fetch food? This is why I don't do interviews. (laughs) Nobody asks me anyway.

Stewart leaves the room for a few minutes and returns with an empty glass.

SS: I'm gonna pour a little more. Fred and I haven't spoke in a long time. Does your card say that, (bleeped). Anywhere on that card. Look on the back. Look on the side of the card. Look inside it.

PP: When did you last speak to Fred?

SS: Been a while, friend.

PP: So you finished your story. What happened next?

SS: I got online. Dial-up, no kidding. Started looking for places to send my manuscript.

PP: Did you send all 12,000 pages?

SS: Yeah. By this time, my dad had really gotten behind me. He paid for a typist to type all 12,000 pages. It ended up several hundred pages. What was crazy is that this typist finished it all in about a week. It was a mistake to send the whole thing. Some of the stories weren't funny at all. From then until Christmas, I sent it off to various publishing houses. Some sent back responses, others I never heard from at all. Either way, they all said no.

PP: That stinks.

SS: What stinks is that my mom decided to quit work around November of that year. She was tired of the travel and with her being home, she noticed I just sat in the kitchen all day writing and drinking her liquor.

PP: Time to get a job?

SS: Well, she felt like I was mature enough to return to school. Louisville has some pretty good schools and she kept hounding me around re-enrolling for summer school or for next fall. For some odd reason, I just didn't feel like going back.

PP: You didn't want to go back to school, period.

SS: Yeah, and I was no longer the king of the castle. Well, Christmas rolls along and I happen to see my old friend Rena at a bar in Louisville. We had hung out a little off-and-on whenever she was home. I see her at this bar and she is obviously a little out-of-it. I'm like, "how long have you been here?" and she says 12. It was only 10 at night so I knew she must have meant Noon. I ask her how she is getting home and of course she says she'll make the trek. I immediately grabbed her keys and told her I was calling a cab. This, she did not like. She immediately unleashes this fury on me that I had never seen before. She cusses me out, brings up stuff from our past that I thought she had placed behind us. Says all men are idiots and that we think we know what is right. She calls me horrible names and says her life has been (bleeped) up ever since she met me. Again, this was eye-opening. It was kinda nice to think you meant this much to someone, but that might just be a little sick on my part. I called her a cab and told her to come to my house in the morning and I'd take her to her car. It took like four of my friends to get her into the cab. She was hysterical. Cussing us out in foreign languages. It was great because I had never seen anyone like this.

PP: At least nobody got hurt.

SS: The next morning I hear a knock on my bedroom door. My mom yells out, "Rena is here to see you." I go downstairs and she looks like death. I'm thinking she'll thank me for being such a nice, young gentleman. Instead, in front of my mother, she says, "take me to my car, you piece of (bleeped)." My mom gasped and left the room. I was a little hungover myself. My friend, Perry, had driven me home in my car. I had gotten pretty trashed on Christmas-themed shots and we had crashed a high school party which sounds just as pathetic now as it did then. But we pulled some pretty funny stunts that night. Anyway, I wasn't feeling too hot myself and replied to Rena, "How about you walk, (bleeped)." Never before had I called a girl the b-word.

Fortunately, my mother was not in the room when I said this. Rena's eyes began to water and she slumped over and fell into the love seat. What a jerk I am. So, I walked over to help her up and she just started wailing at me. I mean, hard hits. Not wee, little girl taps. I mean, Middle Eastern tough-as-a-metal-dreidel, tank shots to my face. I try to protect myself and then try to restrain her and finally my mom walks in and begs us to stop. We compose ourselves and I tell my mom that I'm going to drive Rena to her car. I grab her keys and then we jump in my car to drive back to the bar. On the way there, we don't say a word. Not a peep. I turn on the radio and just drive.

PP: This girl sounds feisty thus far.

SS: She was a complete wreck. We arrive at her car and I hand her the keys and she says, "thanks, (bleeped)." I grab her arm and tell her, "look, what is your deal?" We then struggle with one another and finally I tell her that if she doesn't explain, I'll block her in. Her car was in the corner of a parking lot and I had an SUV which could definitely block her in. She knew I wasn't bluffing because these were the kinds of things I did when we were kids. Perhaps this is the source of that animosity she was talking about at the bar.

PP: Ha, good one, cheesy poof.

SS: What now?

PP: How many cute little questions have I asked you?

SS: Probably enough to bore your reader to sleep.

PP: Go easy on the sugar-coating, buddy.

SS: Pass the mic, hoss. Time is a fan-favorite in these parts. And got no more of it.

PP: Answers the swigging second fiddle.

SS: Darling lovechild, you approach my mistakes with nuts and jokes. Bolts take a backseat nowadays.

PP: You really should stop.

SS: I can speak anyway I choose.

PP: I was talking about the glass meeting your mouth.

SS: Tell it like it is, sister.

PP: You think jumpstarts stay in space? See us floating?

SS: But why else? You come in here in your pasty tie and your treehuggin' jeans and expect me to sit and get motion sickness from this tired story? You couldn't pay me all freaking years left in this rotting life to say another simple sentence about these gooked-up nonsensical bygones.

PP: Oh, bouts of panic shrink you into despair and now it sparks a terse guise really. Fond of the froth. Enemy of erudite pleasures. Jump into your bubble bath, queen mother. We'll pack your bags and send you back to Hollywood. Or was it called Holly Brook? I always get the two confused when it comes to lives broken alongside the bottles.

SS: I'd call your bluff on anything you tried to posture as tremendously trite. Dr. Writer. Medical Malpractice by the stroke of the pen. Senator, I beg you attend to this pressing matter. Rough. Bug off and send for a cab. I'll be expecting a former writer behind the wheel and an explanation of why I was ever entered into the record. You expect audiences to scroll this far down? They'd panic if they knew it was worthless to get this far. I'm kidding, of course. You just can't read sarcasm in print interviews. Ask Mayer. This was partially my fault for buying into this in the first place.

PP: You had a choice? Look what he made you. A fictional fairytalisman with a cliffhanger drafting you for the big leagues while you're on summer break with the wrong family.

SS: Stop your talking. He pains me. You can tell this from the beginning if they read carefully.

PP: They can't see your eyes and their aura. Or should I say, weathered veins.

SS: Clap on that one, pal. Way to smooth sell it on the eyes to victory. Hurricane on the horizon. Trust me.

PP: I get where you are coming from, honest. It was over when it started.

SS: But don't they help?

PP: http://www.dailymail.co.uk

SS: Why are you posting a link?

PP: Why end it period?

Stage Set For "Fear of Death"

2010-09-16T21:00:00.002-05:00

My buddies and I volunteered to stand backstage during the sound test for the band, Fear of Death. These guys play folk rock mixed with a little country. Sounded good from where we stood but we were mostly in the green room scoffing down finger sandwiches and staring at the band members' girlfriends.

One girl was named Mandy. She was from Arkansas and said we were the "worst sound technicians ever." Not quite sure what qualifies her to make such a superfluous statement but we let it go. My buddy, Crewchief Hawkstein (not his real name), started to argue but his mouth was full of turkey and Gouda cheese. Can't waste a free meal.

The bassist's girlfriend was named Suzy or Juzy, one of the two. Juzy spoke softly and always looked like she had just dealt one and was too embarrassed to leave the scene in case one of us said behind her back, "Whoa, who just cut the Gouda cheese?" She had attended a small Christian school in Kansas and majored in English. I asked her if she considered it wrong to edit the Bible.

"Nothing is wrong with the Bible," she stated.

"I think I saw this one verse that ended with a preposition."

"What verse?"

"How should I know," I quipped, "You're the Bible major." My antics drove her away and as she exited the green room and entered the hallway I loudly spoke,

"Whoa, who just cut the Gouda cheese?"

Crewchief Hawkstein burst into laughter because he was thinking the same thing. Unfortunately, half of his sandwich exploded from his mouth, thereby wasting a free meal.

The lead singer's girlfriend was by far, and trust me, I'm a good judge of whether you are HotorNot.com, the least attractive girl this side of the Snake River.

We'll call her Betty Sue. Mainly because that is her actual name and if she happens to read this, I want her to know exactly how we felt about her. Betty Sue, get a room. In another country. Maybe a brothel, like the one in the movie "Hostel." Oh wait, I meant hostel. Oh golly, silly me. As if a BROTHEL would take your repulsive arse. A brothel in East Germany wouldn't take you and they....wait the wall fell? Oh. Anyway...
You are stunningly hideous. I know your boyfriend is in a 2-star folk band that will never advance beyond touring the state of Mississippi and maybe Alabama if they are having a crappy week and need a crappy band from Arkansas to round out another crappy week, but please spare him this humiliation we call "your existence".

Okay, I'm kidding. She was by far the hottest one of the four girls. I only say all of this because she ignored me when I asked if she liked the movie "Amelie" and when I asked if she was into French wine. She ignored me for a third time and rolled her eyes when I asked if she enjoyed reading "Madeline" books.

See, earlier in the day, I read in a manly magazine that girls love anything foreign. Foreign films, foreign food, foreign dudes, etc. I went home and Altavista'd "French Films." Amelie (pronouned Amy Lee) popped up, or should I say pooped up since Altavista only returned 4.8 results. Then I searched for "French wine." Suddenly, my computer started smoking and my monitor began to visibly cry. Apparently Altavista.com can't handle more than two searches in one hour. I set the record. I immediately received a phone call from Caller ID "Bangladesh Calling Card". Some guy with an accent who claimed to be "the only IT employee Altavista.com has ever had" told me to lay off the website because "it takes longer to Google your search queries than you think." When he finished Googling "French Wine" he read the results aloud. Either his accent is pretty thick or I have trouble hearing, but I couldn't pronounce a single wine he said. I decided to stick to "French wine" if I ever asked a girl about her favorite French wine.

Asking Betty Sue about Madeline came out of nowhere. Call me Don Coyote if you want to. I'm just that smooth.

Yet, she rolled her eyes. But that is fine. You live, you learn. Alanis said that once.

The fourth girl was named Benny Hannah. She was cute in that, "God, she is cute," kinda-way. We only spoke briefly because by the time I got around to staring her down Fear of Death showed up and starting yelling and throwing out all these accusations that I frankly didn't have time for. My buddies and I left and vowed never to be sound men for Fear of Death again. Their girlfriends sucked anyway.

Errrors and Errol

2010-09-08T14:13:00.003-05:00

Gotta make this nasty quick.

When the professor flipped everyone in the class the "bird" I laughed hysterically. Why would you flip-off a classroom full of blind kids?

Appealing to presidents to set precedents in the present-tense is merriment-in-a-bottle. Expensive weddings hosted by ex-presidents makes me wonder: Why wasn't I invited?

Is it because I'm relatively unknown and not a close family member? (as far as I know) Am I judged based on my vague political beliefs? George Wikipedia, the founder of Wikipedia Gas Inc., once told me that the most impressive way to try to impress an ex-president is to hand him a dollar bill and say, "You should be on this instead, you know." They'll usually buy you a drink or offer to buy you a glass of tap water and sometimes even mention their only daughter's upcoming wedding. Then you're in like Flynn.

Or he may ignore you completely. Then you're out like Flint, MI.

Ghosts in Fact and Spirit

2010-08-23T18:42:00.003-05:00

Living next door to a perennial crush has its advantages and disadvantages.

Advantages: peepholes, excuses to take out the trash, art exhibitions on my back patio plus or minus wine tastings

Disadvantages: Creepy encounters at 4 am, creepy encounters at 5 am, creepy encounters at 6 am

She may not know of my true intentions but I should tell her. Her parents moved her in this past weekend and I offered help.

"I can lift small objects."

They balked. I watched from the front window as they carried futons, desk lamps and other items through the apartment door. I offered to lift her keys and take them to the hardware store to make copies. They balked.

Good thing I won binoculars at the county fair this past July. They seem out of focus but that's nothing the local binocular repair man can't handle.

Forging friendships with crushes isn't as easy as it seems. Actually, it doesn't seem that easy. I can make small talk or large talk.

"Crazy weather, huh?" Small talk.
"You're big, huh?" Large talk.

She might read the news while sitting in the bathtub. I'll write an editorial in the comics section about living next door to this incredibly attractive babygirl. The comics will feature a loony caricature of myself next to this article. She'll get the picture.

I overheard her telling her mother that she is enrolled in some difficult courses this semester. No worries, sweetheart babygirl, I'm the perfect tutor. I know everything from A-Z. 1-3. Give me time and I'll know a little about 4. Derogatory technocrats would argue that few ever read the news, much less learn about it. I'd call their bluff in a heartbeat, sweetheart babygirl. You believe in ghosts? Only in spirit. I ain't afraid of no ghosts.

If she commits felonies, I'll harbor her in a heartbeat, sweetheart babygirl. This I promise you. Until we approach one another after a wicked late nite where the cops have been called thrice and the back patio art exhibition is on fire, I'll stick to rushing the quartersacks and plaguing you with my misery.

Good date. Ready for the check?

New Shoe Company

2010-07-30T21:54:00.002-05:00

Mister Nobody down at the Yeah Whatever supermarket decided to start a new shoe company....for dogs. THIS WILL NEVER WORK. He got angry when I shouted this at him in aisle 4. Mister Nobody then grabbed a bag of chips and threw them in my general direction before running away like the little engine that couldn't. He slipped in the puddle of water that he had been sent to mop up. Fell hard. I laughed. He cried. People came. I left.

3 month later and this guy just built his 2nd shoe factory in the Marshall Islands. Guess who looks stupid now? Me. I should have never laughed at him.

Edited to add: He just sent me a picture of the house he just bought. It was a picture of the Taj Mahal. Starting to wonder if he is making up this whole shoe-construction business, especially since I can't find his website at all. Try typing in www.shoesthatwillfitnicelyondogsorsmallpeopleonly.com. It may just be the browser I'm using. Not sure. Does anyone else use Internet Explorer (32 bit version)?

This Space Around

2010-07-27T23:19:00.003-05:00

When I was a younger kid, this great, big world seemed so much larger than it is now.

I could lie in my oft-neglected sandbox and look up at the pine branch-covered sky and think, "Mom hasn't come looking for me."

Now I'm an older kid and the walls are coming closer, the noise- less noisy. Branches are being chopped off and surveillance cameras are installing themselves. Prickly pinecones are picking each other up off the Bermuda grass. Bermuda grass is slithering away. My sandbox is losing sand at an alarming rate and the vast plane of sky is eagerly splitting at the seam.

Less color, more empty. More zoom, less space. Minutes from now it will be me as the remainder. And nobody is seen to blame.

The Intervention Didn't Go as Planned

2010-07-23T20:26:00.004-05:00

John, here is the deal. You're probably not gonna like this. John, sit down. John. John. John. John. Seriously, John. Craig, hold him down. Grab. Sh. Son o. John, seriously. No, nobody cares about that. Craig, seriously. Okay, John?

John. This is a problem. We have all debated this issue for weeks. Well, yes, just Craig and I. Marv would have made it, but you know, with his new wife and his mortgage and. Okay, fine, he didn't want to come but he had legitimate reasons. No, he didn't explain, really he didn't. Okay, shut up. Listen. Confronting you on a day like today-your birthday- was a decision that I had to make. However, we realized. John, seriously. Shut up. Dude, shut up. Let me get this out. John. John. Craig, Lord, hold him down. Craig. Craig. Do you see what he is doing? John.

John, this isn't fun for any of us. No, I don't plan on telling your parents. No. No. John. No. How are they going to find out? I doubt they even read my Facebook status updates. They do? No, seriously. John. She finds them funny? Wow. Wait, what? When did she say that? Holy cow, I haven't seen Miss Tammy in years. Hahah, yeah. That is so true. Well, back to the point. John, we all need to discuss this. Yes, I know. Yes. John.

Unless you plan on dying at or soon or, yeah soon, you've got to quit what you're doing. Here you are, 32-years of age and still doing this stuff every morning, evening, afternoon, whatever. Enough is, seriously, enough. John. What the? John. Where did he get that? John take that away from your mouth. Okay, grab the duct tape. Yes, I brought this just in case. Okay, take his right hand. John, quit fighting. John. John. Okay, good. John? John, stop. Okay.

How much stuff does that cost you? Be honest. 30 dollars? That's it. Holy. Wow. Well, I can understand...yes, I understand the economies of scale, John. No, I'm not interested. Is that in market value or? Gosh. It's not something I would normally consider, so, no. No. No. John, shut up.

John we need to understand you, first and foremost. We love you. Craig and I really do. Yes. Yes. John, it breaks our hearts to see you like this. Believe me, I wish something else could be said, but we must tell the truth and be honest with ourselves. You expect to get better but I don't see how, man. John, you've said that like 90 times now. Hand him his cowboy hat. Yah, I don't see why he can't wear it. Is your phone vibrating? What is that noise? Craig, is that your phone? I thought I told you to silence it before we walked in. John, it's yours. Who is DeMayne? DeMayne Wilkins is calling. Who is that?

Um, no, then I'm not answering. I think he is the last person you need to be in contact with. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and delete his number. John. Seriously, John. Craig, hold him while I do this. John. Okay, he just texted you. Says 60 for 2. Does that mean what I think it means? Um, it says he is. Son of a. He is in the drive-way. Did you talk to him earlier or something? When did you even?

Hey. Hi. My name is, yeah, hi. No, no. His duct tape is. Right. Ha, no. We were just playing around. Yeah, I'll undo that right now. Sure, haha, I know, right? Weird is all I can say. We'll see. Right. Okay, I'm doing it right now. Sorry, I'm doing it right now, sir. No, this wasn't anything major. John, seriously, quit joking around. He is lying. No. DeMayne. DeMayne. No, haha, he is such a good liar. No. No, that isn't even true. Why would I put duct tape on his, no, haha, that isn't true at all. Okay, yeah, yeah, I'm straight. No, I'm straight. No, I usually don't partake. Okay. Alright. Okay, yeah. Yes, sir. I see. Well, thanks DeMayne. This is actually my first, wow, pretty strong stuff, huh?

Julius Chromozoa

2010-07-22T20:27:00.002-05:00

Dear Many or All,

Few have ever meant as much to me as those who mean so little.

Being yelled at while entering the shower is like being arrested on your wedding day for forgetting to tie the NOTTTT!!!!!!!!

SIKE!!!!!!!!! This isn't r3ally me it's my alter-ego. Just prove it. Mirrors on the wall conceive impartial juries according to a recent wall post.

I said "not" on several occasions as a child because all the babysitters were doing it.

Pizza and coke parties go with an elementary education just as beer and coke parties go with a college education.

Never seen so many friends til the ends. The entry I submitted earlier resembled something of a respectable nature. Really though, when do the music DJs arrive and stuff? This chain is gonna be off!

Go ahead, ask her about diabetes and other sensitive subjects. It's her job. Nursing school paved her way. Prepare for this bubbling tirade my boss is prepared to launch into. MY INSURANCE DOESN'T COVER THIS. He is kidding of course. He signed the checks. Stamped the envelopes. Recycled the excess text messages.

----

Before my paper collapsed, I had a respectable job, dog, life, car, emotions. Now I have this. What more could another fellow want? Sorry for the plagiarism. I can't afford any original thoughts.

Wacky World Putt-Putt and Spa

2010-07-20T00:08:00.003-05:00

Greetings to all daredevils,

Went job-searching in Mount Olive, MS and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

--------

My name was airbrushed on the back for an extra $4.50. Reasoned with the designer and he gave me a 12% discount after tax. Still haven't lost my touch.

On the way back, I stopped in the cutesy little town of Louisville, but only because my GPS system led me astray. Noticed lots of cattle staring at me as I crossed through an unkempt pasture. This is when I began to question my GPS "navigational" system. Tossed it out the window and put the Kia in reverse. When the owner of Triple C Farms flagged me down, I waved back, assuming he was extending southern hospitality. In his extended hand was a cell-phone, which was being used to communicate with the sheriff's department. Spent 3 hours trying to convince the local authorities that this was all a great, big misunderstanding. When they asked me to show proof, I drove back to the pasture and pointed out my discarded so-called GPS navigational system.

§ 97-15-29 states that your first offense for littering requires you to pay a fine of not less than $50 and no more than $250. Good thing I got that t-shirt deal down in Mount Olive.

Got back on the highway later that evening and decided to use the old-fashioned GPS system, my BRAIN. Technology is so overrated I can't even begin to fathom a world in which we place all of our trust in their inefficiencies.

When I finally took a pitstop in Red Bank, AL, I decided to ask for directions. No way in the world I would ever buy a map, especially not during this economic downturn.

Grabbed 4 bottles of "Fuji" water and asked the cashier if she knew how to get to Oxford, MS. She started laughing uncontrollably and pointing in all directions. This type of customer service should be reported to the proper authorities. The manager then informed me that, in the future, I should purchase items from the actual gas station, and not from some vagrant squatting behind the building selling knockoff Fiji water and bootleg copies of "Fish 'N' Bloopers." Sorry, fella, but I couldn't ignore some of Bill Dance's finest work selling for less than $5.00. After using the restroom, I jumped in the saddle and prepared to head home.

The mechanical horsey didn't get me far, but Stonewall (the name I gave the horse) seemed to wink at me when I passed the video game room. I could almost hear the horsey naying, "Come ride. Only 75 cents. I won't bite." Sure enough, he didn't bite.

I filled my car up and pulled out of the gas station, remembering that I'd forgotten to ask for directions. "Screw it," I thought, "It's only 11 PM."

My car followed the winding highway and the country song on the radio accurately explained my situation.

"Been on the road all day/ not sure where I'm going

Headed home I sure hope/ least my age ain't showing

This ole' car full of miles/ not sure if it'll last

Headed home I sure hope/ least it's full of gas

Drove through an unkempt pasture/ saw a bunch of cattle

Stopped at a pit stop in Bama/ rode a mechanical horsey"

As my mind began to drift to happier times, the radio station lost its signal and a gospel song tried to fight against the static. Sometimes I feel like radio stations fight one another for space and time, but that might just be the physics nerd in me.

Nearly an hour after I'd crossed the Alabama/Mississippi state line, the steering wheel to my Kia began to take a life of its own. It started swerving to the left, then the right, then centered itself. Felt like a higher being was taking over my vehicle. Decided it was best if I let the higher being win this battle and minutes later, I was in an abandoned cemetery.

I say abandoned because all of the plots had been dug up and the flowers were missing. (I assume there were once flowers) The gate to this cemetery was rusty and the fence outlining the acre of land was hardly a fence at all. It saddens me to think that as time goes by, people stop visiting the graves of their loved ones. This is probably what happened in this case. People stopped coming and grave-robbers took action. Hey, that is American Capitalism for ya. Who knows how much a suit from 1954 would be worth today?

I gathered what was left from the empty graves, piled them in my trunk (Kias are spacious) and said a little thank-you to those who had passed before me and had left these little tokens of appreciation for taking the time to visit them even if they were no longer there.

The rest of the ride was uneventful until about one mile later when I spotted blue-lights in my rear-view mirror. Great, another ice-cream truck trying to solicit me.

Turns out it was a sheriffs deputy (go figure) asking me if I had visited the local abandoned cemetery lately.

"No sir," I replied as flies and other insects of the night hovered around my head.

"Well, somebody about a mile back said they spotted a car with this specific description leaving the cemetery around, well, the amount of time it takes for a Kia to drive exactly one mile."

"Nonsense," I said to the yokel. "That sounds absurd. Does that make sense to you?"

"The witness described this exact model, sir," the officer explained.

"HA," I said loudly, causing him to step back an inch from my car. "HA," I said again, inching him back one more inch. I noticed a pattern and continued until he was on the other side of the road.

"HA," I said for the 42nd time until he finally noticed the same pattern and walked back to his original spot.

"Sir, they saw a silver and gold Kia with a "Don't Tread on This" bumper sticker leaving the premises."

"And?"

"And, that description fits this car."

"Sir, I've already been cited today for one minor offense and I don't have time for another."

The Tippah County Sherrif's Department is not all what it's cracked up to be. For one thing, when they say they offer free breakfast, they forget to mention that it's only served hot. What if you are a fan of cold grits? Get with the program, Sam. Also, when I request reading material, don't suggest a state law book explaining exactly what sort of trouble I'm in. That's why I hire public defenders. They read that mess, not me.

Everybody in my phone book refused to bail me out, mostly because nobody answered my phone calls or text messages. I'd blame technology for this, but I covered that earlier. For now, I'll rant about so-called best friends.

Let's say for example, you are chosen as the "Best Man" for your best friend's wedding:

You show up to the bachelor party with a keg of vodka, party favors, party hats, free ringtones, wacky sunglasses and gift cards to Wacky World Putt-Putt and Spa. Naturally, you'd expect everyone to be like, "Holy cow, this is the best "Best Man"ever." Instead, you are greeted to, "What are you doing here?" and "You weren't invited," and "Somebody call the police."

You find out that instead of being selected as the "best man," some other numbskull was chosen who had only known your best friend for like, 10 years whereas you'd known him for 11. Sure, this nobody lived with him all through college and now practiced law with him in their hometown, but what does that even mean?

Weren't you the guy that bailed your best friend out of jail that time he was accused of stealing a purse from an old lady when really it was you that stole the purse and it was you that threw it in his trunk when the cops arrived at the nursing home? Uh, yep.

Weren't you the guy that introduced your best friend to his wife when she was a waitress at the little, dinky coffee shop that you kept threatening to sue because they always refused to serve you a "vodka-coffee" because it wasn't on the menu. Huh? Did you forget that, buddy?

And weren't you the guy that inexplicably convinced him to get married one night during karaoke when you sang "He Stopped Loving Her Today," by George Jones over and over and over again until finally the bouncer wrestled the microphone away from your sweaty hands but not before you broke into tears and started claiming that angels did exist and that one day you would marry a fallen angel? Yeah, you must have forgotten.

But I sure didn't, and I showed up to party. The bride's little brother (also a groomsmen, by the way.) convinced everyone to let me stay because I looked like a storm-cloud of fun. They reluctantly said "fine" but begged me to promise that I wouldn't stay in the same hotel room, or the same hotel, as them.

"Let the games begin!" I screamed aloud inside the luxury suite.

By the way, whenever an adult questions whether or not you should be trusted, questions your decision-making abilities or questions your motivations for dating his daughter, always turn your attention to the minor in the room because they are usually bigger risk-takers. I think it's the kid in them that tells them to take a chance. This is what I did in this case. I turned to the bride's little brother and with a wink, guaranteed him a night that he would never forget.

I say this because I felt pretty awful when he was the only one arrested for indecent exposure at "The Chicken Coup" down on highway 352. Placing a plastic fork to his throat and demanding that he strip for the friendly dancer on stage... "or else"... might have seemed a bit extreme at the time, but he should consider it a learning experience.

So the next morning when I arrived at the church 15 minutes early and the bride's father began yelling at me at the top of his lungs, obviously I was stumped.

First-of-all, this is a place of worship, and second-of-all, I'm the groom's best friend.

And wouldn't you know, the moment the bride's father pointed at me and asked if anybody knew me, my best friend slowly shook his head and turned away.

What kind of best friend does that? More importantly, what kind of man does that? Won't even stand up for your best friend? Wow. It still stings, yet I wasn't all that surprised that he didn't answer his phone when I called him from the Tippah County Sheriff's Department.

Three days later, I decided to make the most of my situation and began to ask about job openings. I told them how I had been a successful newspaper publisher for many months and how the whole town loved me.

The secretary laughed and said, "Why don't you run for mayor, then."

I laughed back. Honestly, the only reason I laughed was because I was nervous and was unsure if she knew that one of my deepest desires was to be the mayor of some town, any town. I then convinced myself that she couldn't read minds because if she could read minds, she wouldn't be working a petty desk job. Instead she would be out there with the heroes, fighting crime, because she can read minds and knows exactly what the dead bodies are thinking.

A few more days passed and I had become accustomed to the hot grits. Out of the blue, a man in a silk button-up shirt approached my cell and said, "today is your lucky day."

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"They are setting you free."

"Why?"

"Because I worked out an agreement with the sheriff. He's a good buddy of mine."

This all seemed fishy and I knew I'd probably regret leaving the cell to walk with this strange man, but I rolled the wooden dice that my cellmate, Suzie, had made and climbed out of my bunk.

"Let's go, boss!" I said with a pep in my step.

I climbed into his bulky SUV and he silently stared at me as he placed the key into the ignition.

"Where we going, boss?" I kindly asked.

His nostrils flared and his hands began to shake. His forehead began to draw up beads of perspiration and his devilish eyes sunk to the back of his head. His teeth chattered and his breaths grew heavier.

He was having a seizure. I swiftly kicked him out of the driver's seat and drove to the hospital. I wasn't sure where it was, but I used his GPS system.

Remarkably, it worked and I arrived in Batesville in less than 2 hours.

I drove straight through the emergency entrance and violently beat my head into the steering wheel, causing the horn to blow like a mighty freight train roaring through the outfield during a minor league baseball game.

What seemed to be medical personnel banged against the driver-side window as I continuously beat my head into the steering wheel. I wanted everyone to know that my guardian angel was having a heart-attack and I desperately needed someone to save him.

They finally tore the door from the SUV and asked if there was an emergency.

"OF COURSE THERE IS, YOU MORONS!" I hollered. "MY GUARDIAN ANGEL IS HAVING A HEART-ATTACK!"

In retrospect, I realize I was being a little overly dramatic.

"Where is he?" they calmly asked.

"TIPPAH COUNTY! JUMP INTO YOUR AMBULANCES AND FLOOR IT!"

----------------------------

I found out today that my guardian angel is in stable condition, and is in fact, not really my guardian angel. He was having a seizure, not a heart-attack. I had been right the first time.

He had worked out a deal with the sheriff that was quite unethical. It went like this:

Apparently, the sheriff didn't even know the guy. The guy had broken into the jail, thrown tear-gas canisters before his entry, stolen every cell key and had chosen me at random to become his live-in slave. There was never a deal in the first place, HA!

My charges were dropped and all is well, except that I still don't have a job or a car. It is still in Tippah County and nobody will take me to get it since nobody ever answers my calls.

But until then, I will continue to look for a job. Don't worry, kind readers. I will one day resurface.

From the Publisher:

2010-05-05T09:42:00.003-05:00

Dear Faithful Readers and Lysergic Acid Freaknik of '96 Attendees,

In case you haven't noticed, we went out of business. Shocking, I know, but times are tough. "Print Journalism" is on its last leg. Money is tight and ad revenues are shooting through the basement. We aren't technically "print journalism," but that hardly matters at the moment.

My great step-grandfather founded this paper with his two bare hands. As he supervised 20 unpaid workers, he wrote in his journal, "Nothing like watching 20 unpaid workers build your masterpiece. That in itself, ole' chap, is a masterpiece."

Before the days of digital media and instant Twitter feeds and iStuff, there was my great step-grandfather and his cohorts, objectively skewering the news to fit their own half-witted agenda, and we should honor their legacies.

Our paper was doing fine when I first took over. The bills got paid. The phones were answered. The coffee was hot. Then the year 2000 hit, and our computers went haywire. Initially I blamed Y2K, but then 9/11 happened, and I knew who the real culprits were.

Ever since that horrific episode, The Oxford Rebellion has famously researched and reported on the Taliban without fail. Whereas other hokey newspapers moved on to other issues such as Global Warming and Michael Jackson spend-the-night parties, our paper stood firm- terrorists, make our day.

Then our offices in downtown Oxford were raided by the IRS. They said we owed taxes, but I knew the truth. The Taliban had struck the American heartland once again.

For the safety of my employees and also my pets, I decided to leave the issue alone and focus on more localized content. Perhaps I salvaged one American life. Pat me on the back when you get a chance.

That brings us to the present. Bills are unpaid, phones are dead, and the coffee is frozen. I'm smoking 2 packs an hour and I have a house account at Star Liquor. Many of you have inquired as to why I haven't been in church lately. The truth is, I'm usually too drunk to drive. But I do watch it on television when the remote control works properly.

My paper would still be in business if certain folks around this town bought ads. Yes, in fact, I could open up shop tomorrow if just one lousy no-good American-hating Oxford citizen would offer to purchase some space in our next paper. In the past, my relationships with the smelly, cheapskatin' townsfolk has been great. I don't know what has changed.

Some argue that the reason I haven't published an issue in quite a while is because I don't have any ideas. Are you sirius like a satellite radio station? I think of new article ideas every day. I am usually just too drunk to type, er, can't afford to print the paper because of a lack of ad revenue. Examples:

EXAM WEEK REPORT: Adderall Much More Effective When Snorted

EXAM WEEK REPORT: Probably Your Last Semester Here, Dumbass

EXAM WEEK REPORT: Teacher Looking Forward to Summer Vacation Spent Teaching Summer School

EXAM WEEK REPORT: Cramming Before an Exam More Productive Than Huffing Paint Before an Exam

EXAM WEEK REPORT: 'Dog Ate My Exam' Excuse Works for the First Time in History

EXAM WEEK REPORT: The DM Now Accepting Cave Drawings for its Editorial Cartoons

SUMMER REPORT: Skin Cancer Not As Cool As Tanning Bed

SUMMER REPORT: Orientation Leaders Convince Incoming Freshman To Demean Themselves

SUMMER REPORT: Chancellor Jones To Backpack Through Europe to 'Find Himself'

SUMMER REPORT: Counselor at Christian Camp Starting to Feel Guilty About That Spring Break Threesome

SUMMER REPORT: Girlfriend Promises to Stay Faithful During Her Two-Month Internship in Cozumel.

SUMMER REPORT: 'It's So Peaceful Now That All of the Students are Gone,' Says Student

SUMMER REPORT: Coach Bianco Cancels Reservations For Two at Omaha Steakhouse & Grille

Misc. : Double Decker Bus Refuses to Go Green

Misc. : Entrepreneur Pat Patterson Crowned 'Supreme Commander of Oxford'

Misc. : Paranoid City Hall Official Swears She Hears a Ringing in the Red Phone Booth

Misc. : Ya-Ya's Salon & Spa Challenges Ya-Ya's Frozen Yogurt to a Duel

Misc. : Oxford Celebrates Arrival of 5ooth Attorney.

Misc. : '3.5 miles from the Square' Books Holds Grand Closing Sale.

Misc. : College Student Rejoices After Attractive Co-Ed Misidentifies Wal-Mart Fleece as a North Face Fleece

The list continues but I've got some whiskey to attend to. Are we out of ideas? Are we out of money? You be the slimy, corrupt judge.

Either way, we won't go down without a fight. (unless it is the Taliban) If you or your loved ones want to help revive the most worthy newspaper in Oxford, please contact me. We need your help. More so now than ever before. God Bless Your Charitable Soul.

-the publisher

Head Buck Permits Lafayette County Deer to Stab Any Humans in Oxford

2009-09-14T10:21:00.012-05:00

In an effort to control human overpopulation in Oxford, the Head Buck of Lafayette County has urged all residents to take aim and kill the animals that have threatened their tranquil way of life.

"With so many new residents moving here each year, building condos and cutting down trees, and with all the vehicle traffic that comes with that, it is a matter of time before we have a tragedy," Head Buck Joe said. "But I talked to some other deer and we feel this is best."

Head Buck of Mississippi, Stag, a 250 pound buck from Madison, MS, has explained to county officials the rules to follow during this controversial hunt.

"This ain't no trophy hunt," Stag said. "Don't go out there trying to only stab famous humans like Mayor Pat Patterson or sports coach Houston Nutt. Kill any human in sight- infants in strollers, college kids on bikes, elderly folks on scooters."

Not all deer are convinced that this is an appropriate method.

Doe, a deer, a female deer, and a member of the Deer for the Ethical Treatment of Humans, believes there are other ways to deal with the current situation.

"The bottom line is that lethal methods don't work. Once we kill some humans, only more will move in to claim the condos and property left behind."

DETH recommends several alternatives to antler stabbing for population control, including building inexpensive condos several miles outside of town, opening bars near the condos that stay open until 2:00 a.m., and finally, and most importantly, offering cold beer in that same location.

"Most deer will keep the meat and take it back to their homes in the forest," Stag said. " Don't let the human meat go to waste. That would infuriate me."

Struggling Daily Mississippian To Print Issues On Construction Paper

2009-04-02T12:33:00.005-05:00

Surveying the empty offices of The Daily Mississippian, Editor-in-Chief, Tyler Clemons, shakes his head in disbelief.

"First our website goes haywire and now this," he says. The student-run newspaper recently changed its publishing format to resemble a high school newspaper by adding colorful pictures and "zany" quotes, stopping only short from introducing a gossip column. Many question why an award-winning newspaper would make these changes. Others, however, are thrilled with the "renovations."

"Pretty pictures; me likey!" remarked Bud Landrum, a third-year-sophomore. Unfortunately for Bud, the DM will soon only be able to provide the color associated with the particularly piece of construction paper which it is printed on.

"Somehow we forgot that the students will read this crap no matter what we print. We completely forewent the journalistic route and decided to print more "Fair or Foul" articles," explained Clemons. Incredibly, advertisers chose to buy ads in the Oxford Eagle since journalism was actually taking place within their offices.

"We'll bounce back," Clemmons believes, "fair or foul?"

Ajax Preemptively Closes to Avoid Likelihood of Fire, Drug Bust, Sex Charge, etc.

2009-03-20T10:43:00.008-05:00

Owners of Ajax Diner announced Thursday they would be closing their doors indefinitly to avoid any cataclysmic embarrassment destined to plague the restaurant within the coming months.

"It ain't worth it, man." says 35-year-old Russell Finch, a dishwasher at Ajax whose name bears a scary resemblance to a recently disgraced restaurateur. "I tend to like younger-looking women, too. That's just asking for trouble."

As planks of inflammable wood clamped onto the windows of the famed diner, onlookers passed by without taking notice of the boarded building.

"Must be the economy," says Richard Yelverson, a tourist from Clearwater, Fl who is unaware that walking into any Oxford restaurant these days may implicate you in a felony.

In a time in which small towns are transcending into ghost towns, some locals are afraid the worst has yet to come.

"If the trend continues, McDonald's may be the safest place to feed my children," says Dana Wohart, a mother of four who has yet to make her mortgage payment for the month of January. "I can't afford to pay a bail bondsman a hefty fee because I decided to splurge one weekend afternoon and take my kids out to dinner. For now, McDonalds or Burger King is it. I haven't heard any negative press about them lately."

Party Pics Confirms Girlfriend Did Go Out Without You Last Night

2009-03-05T09:30:00.010-06:00

Despite stressing the need to study for countless hours in order to prepare for her Spanish oral exam- even by convincing you to give her a ride to the J. D. Williams Library- your girlfriend definitely barhopped last night while you played Gears of War 2 with your roommate. You grew suspicious when she never called you back to pick her up. Then, today, your suspicions were confirmed thanks to Party Pics.

"I'd love to sit here and study while you and Zach conquer another level, but I need to be somewhere quiet," she lied through her teeth last night.

At one point, you found it peculiar that she was applying make-up while en route to the library, but mentioned nothing of it. And the fact that she carried her backpack along with a nondescript gym bag seemed nothing out of the ordinary. You assumed she had quite a lot of studying to do.

"Dude, you should have seen how many books she was carrying," you said to your roommate as he yelled obscenities into his headset.

"Dude, you should see how many kills I'm carrying," he responded.

Even while glued to the new 32-inch flat-screen your parents gave you for Christmas, you noticed your girlfriend text messaging at rapid-fire rate, a rate only surpassable by the rounds per minute your machine gun was spewing.

"This gun is so awesome," you explained to your disinterested girlfriend for the 5th time that evening.

There were other signs she may have been " living a double life"; a phrase coined by your roommate upon viewing the scandalous photographs:

When you invited her to the "Halo III Jamboree" hosted by your friend, Sid, she arrived three hours late and heavily intoxicated, muttering, "How is this my life?"

Your effort to name her new Labrador puppy, "Gandalf", was thwarted when she explained she preferred traditional puppy names.

Her best friends list you in their cell phones as "Don't Answer"

Her Facebook wall has postings mainly from other guys that say, "great seein you last night. you ARE crazy!" and "No more shots tonight, i'm serious." She explains that these are guys from her "night class".

Her "night class" meets on different nights each week, including some Saturday nights.

Despite considering the damning evidence, you still remain unconvinced.

"Dude, this was probably photoshopped by one of those dudes I destroyed in Rainbow Six a few weeks ago. What a bunch of pranksters. Besides, it's not like I could do any better, ya know?

Josh Randle Campaign in Disarray After Accomplisment Left Off of Campaign Flyer

2009-02-11T15:46:00.001-06:00

Office chairs smashed windows and office computers were set ablaze early Wednesday morning inside the Randle for ASB President's office when a young intern realized an extra-curricular activity was omitted from Josh Randle's official campaign flyer.

"Somebody will burn for this, I swear to God," Randle yelled across the room as he tossed a Molotov cocktail into the women's restroom.

Throughout his collegiate career, Randle was a member and an officer for the College Republicans of Ole Miss, however, a campaign worker forgot to include this when the lists were compiled for printing.

Mistakes like these can be costly during hotly contested campus elections. Many cited Cal Wells' failure to state his GPA on his campaign flyer as the sole reason for his loss to Rebecca Bertrand in the 2005 ASB Presidential elections. Some argued this omission was intentional.
Wednesday afternoon, students were quick to voice their opinions.

"I glanced at his flier and realized he had listed only 41 awards and accolades instead of 42. What kind of leader does he think he will be with such little experience?," James Howard, a junior from Madden, MS argued.

"This may seem trivial as of now, but what if he forgets to zip his fly during an ASB meeting?," Alley Reed, a senior from Jackson, MS questioned.

Others, however, were remained supportive despite Randle's misstep.

"He is in my fraternity, you idiot, of course I'll vote for him," Tolbert Hamm, a senior from Birmingham, AL quipped.

Despite differences in student opinion, the Randle camp was in panic mode Wednesday and blood and tears was a common sight.

"We regret the error and I hope Josh does not castrate me like he keeps promising, " said Kent Ford, a campaign spokesperson.

Andy and Kimber Kennedy Sex Tape Unlikely to Surface

2009-02-03T12:01:00.001-06:00

A day after the police video of Andy Kennedy's arrest in Cincinnati leaked onto the internet, many began to wonder if a sex tape featuring the coach and his wife would surface.
"Not in a million years," says Officer Rex Skeilton of the Hamilton County Sheriffs Department. "You are more likely to find a tape of me treating an inmate with respect than you are to find a tape featuring Andy and Kimber in mid-coitus."
Though Coach Kennedy refused to comment, several Ole Miss co-eds expressed their concern that a camera may or may not have been involved.

In Related News: Nation Hopes Coach O Tape Never Surfaces

Ole Miss Basketball Team Tears ACL

2008-12-19T20:48:00.000-06:00

Debate Correspondent Remains Lost Somewhere in Lafayette County

2008-12-01T21:18:00.000-06:00

Joel Bellstein, a presidential debate correspondent for The Queens Gazette, is still lost somewhere in the middle of Lafayette County according to Victor Kohl, Bellstein's assignment editor.

Bellstein, a graduate of the University of Rochester with a degree in Health & Society, was recently hired by the newspaper to better serve them in their National News department. Bellstein admitted before departing for Oxford that he knew "very little" about "small-town life", but was looking forward to engaging rural folks in "serious dialogue".

According to his employer, Bellstein has attempted to send pictures of his surroundings to several of his co-workers with his cellular phone device. Unfortunately, his service area is limited to the New England region of the United States.

"Every time I send him a text message, he responds to it seven days later. That is not a good sign," said Martin Tregman, Bellstein's cubicle mate.

Bellstein's assignment was to interview Oxford city officials on the subject of the upcoming preparations for the presidential debate and photograph communities in and around Lafayette County. He was to return to the Gazette offices the week before the presidential debate.

Tregman says Bellstein was last seen taking pictures of a trailer on County Road 517.

"Victor talked to an official with the Sardis Lake Recreation Department and asked if they'd seen a man fitting Bellstein's description. The official told him they'd seen a "yankee feller snoopin' around them parts" and that they'd let us know if "his body turned up."

"Yeah, it didn't sound good," Victor Kohl added.

The last recorded contact with Bellstein occurred a week after he arrived in Oxford. In an e-mail sent to his roommate, Wade Evitz, Bellstein described Oxford as, "hott (sic) as hell," and "about the size of our old neighborhood." Bellstein may have also alluded to his potential plans for the evening when he concluded his e-mail by saying, "I hear this guy north of town has some moonshine. Peace Man."

Colonel Rebel Still Unemployed

2008-11-15T11:27:00.000-06:00

With the recent economic downturn affecting millions of Americans through financial losses and massive layoffs, many are unsure of where to turn to next. Though for some, such as Colonel Rebel, this is nothing new.
Colonel Rebel was formerly employed with the University of Mississippi as its official mascot until he was ousted by the university's administration in 2003. Since then, Colonel Rebel says he's been hanging around Oxford, trying to find work.
"I've shown up at a few birthday parties and entertained at office Christmas parties, but nothing beats pacing up and down the sidelines, cheering on my favorite team," Col. Rebel said.
Col. Reb, affectionately known as "Johnny Reb", has also sought employment with other universities in hopes of becoming their official mascot.
"Unfortunately, most teams have a mascot by now. Maybe if some college starts up tomorrow, they'll want a lively old man to fire up their team's morale."
In an effort to distance itself from its turbulent and racially charged history, university officials Chancellor Robert Khayat and athletic director Pete Boone removed the beloved mascot citing his appearance and attire. Though thousands of alumni have voiced their disapproval, to this day, Colonel Rebel is still banned from attending official university functions. Unless he is ever summoned back to the sidelines, the Colonel plans to continue to collect unemployment checks and live out the rest of his life in Oxford.
"I may not be visible, but I'm content in knowing that I rest within the hearts of the Ole Miss faithful."

Related News: The Bodies of Rebel Bruiser and Rowdy Rebel Still Missing

Rebel Ride Bus Driver Wishes Annoying Drunk Kid Would Drive Himself Home Instead

2008-10-23T11:03:00.000-05:00

Late Wednesday evening, Rodney Stamps, a veteran Rebel Ride bus driver, was once again stuck escorting an inebriated and quite rambunctious Jay Lapke safely back to his dormitory for the fifth week in a row.

"Can't that kid just drive home for once? Why does he always have to bug me?" asked Stamps while mopping up splotches of vomit from inside the shuttle. "Somebody let that kid borrow a car so he won't bother the rest of us."

Lapke, a self-professed, "lover of the Square" has recently sought after Rodney's signature "black and gold" shuttle, a shuttle formerly used in Tunica, for trips home from the bar mostly due to its sparkling mirrored ceilings and the plush fabric lining the passenger seats.

"He loves to stand on those expensive seat cushions and hang from them golden bars like some kinda Tarzan, hoopin' and a hollerin' as if he is still boot-skootin' at the bar. He can boot-skoot all he wants in his own vehicle when he learns to drive himself home."

Rebel Ride was recently reintroduced to the Oxford community in an effort to provide students with an alternative to driving under the influence after a night on the town. Within the past several years, the university has come under fire for alcohol-related incidents involving students. Many feel the shuttle service is a wonderful asset to the community. It is estimated that each week, hundreds of university students and Oxford locals utilize the service to avoid congested traffic and unsafe driving conditions.

Stamps is not convinced. "What is unsafe is allowing that boy to ride in the same shuttle as me. He is loud and obnoxious and is always asking to talk over the loudspeaker. If he grabs that intercom one more time to make an announcement about the party being in his britches tonight, I will personally drive him to my car, give him the keys, and let him drive as far away from me as possible. Its unsafe for him to be distracting me like this."

When asked to comment on this story, Jay Lapke offered only a little insight into the situation.
"Wait, who?"
However, Lapke was able to conclude that he would "more than likely" be going out tonight.

Fraternity Rush Chairmen Prepare for Upcoming Debate: Natty Lite vs Keystone

2008-09-25T12:59:00.001-05:00

With only a few hours remaining before the start of one the most talked about events of the year, Greek rush chairmen all along Fraternity Row are scrambling to finalize their strategies for the upcoming debate. Some of the men are nervous while others feel inspired by this momentous occasion, one that may not occur again until next weekend when they have to make a decision of which beer to buy in large quantities.

Ruff Hewlett, a Phi Delta Theta rush chairman from Mobile, AL, truly believes anything is possible in this debate.

"Do you feel it, man? asked Ruff while lying flat on his futon flipping through a newly purchased PIKE calendar. "Everyone is talking about hope. Well, I say bring on hope. The future is now. The future...is Keystone. The future is... Holy sh...have you seen Ms. September?"

Keystone Light, a once unknown candidate who has come out of virtually nowhere in the past few years to become a campus favorite, has dazzled the young and underage demographic with its smooth taste and affordable pricing. Many pundits believe this type of support may be exactly what Keystone Light needs to get voted into the fraternity houses.

"Change doesn't come from the frat house. Change comes to the frat house," said one Keystone Light backer who chose to remain anonymous due to his age.

However, not all fraternity men are thrilled with the notion of a brand new beverage taking over the reins.
Buck Grainer, a 6th year Phi Kappa Tau from McKinney, Texas who has been elected as his fraternity rush chairman for the 3rd year in a row now, is quite content with the current administration.

"Gonna let some pretty-faced, no-name, no-history, sweet-tasting beer into this house? I don't think so. Sure, the freshmen may 'oooo' and 'aaaah' over the hype everyone is giving Keystone Light, but us elders know what to look for in a candidate- experience. Natty Light fought for this country during troubled times. A patriot, I tell ya. Heartbreak? Grab a Natty. Rough day? Let's have a Natty. Dad won't put any more money in your account because you spent it all in Tunica? Thank God for Natty."

Elsewhere, other Greeks-in-name-only echoed Gainer's thoughts.

"My parents drink Natty so I do too. It's easier to just align yourself with how your parents think and feel," said Wes Murphy, a Sigma Chi rush chairman from Tupelo, MS, while searching for his Master's visor. "Besides, I'm not so sure my fraternity is prepared for change. We have rules. We have traditions. Rituals that I can not even talk to you about. You see, we live by honor..and by truth.. and by light. But that doesn't necessarily mean Keystone Light.

Neither Keystone Light nor Natty Light cared to comment on this story since the their consumption in this state is of little importance to them.

Scientists Now Believe Hurricane Orgeron May Have Devastated Oxford Between The Years of 2005-2007.

2008-09-04T13:43:00.000-05:00

Student Who Rides Bike to Class, Better Than You, Reports Student Who Rides Bike to Class

2008-07-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

Grant Hodges, a freshman philosophy major from Boone, NC, is becoming a more eco-friendly citizen of this Earth by both, riding his bike to class instead of using a car, and by also telling you about it in the process.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I rode a bike to class today. That explains my windblown hair and the fact that I did my part to help save the environment," Grant reported.

While taking an inordinate amount of time to secure his bike to the bike rack, Grant made sure to keep his bike helmet secured to his head so that when he entered the classroom, other students would take notice of the fact that he was environmentally conscious, and also a superior being.

"People need to take notice of the Earth, and also take notice of me taking notice of the Earth."

As of today, the number of students who have briefly considered swerving to hit Grant while driving their cars to campus is unknown.

Local Independent Band Very Dependent on Parents

2008-06-18T13:08:00.000-05:00

Courthouse Condominiums Nearly Complete

2008-06-10T11:34:00.000-05:00

Mayor Richard Howorth announced on Monday that the newly remodeled Courthouse would be ready for tenants by early July.

"We are very pleased that the construction is nearly complete. There just aren't enough condos in this town and people need a place to stay, no matter the historical cost. "

The mayor was then heard to be muttering "ka-ching, ka-ching."

Despite the mayors affiliation with the Democratic party, he continues to welcome outside investors to Oxford with open arms.

"Hey, that guy from The Great Gatsby sold out, why can't I?"

When told that the The Great Gatsby was actually a work of fiction, the mayor responded:

"Oh, you're right. Everyone should read that book. Just hop on over to Square Books on the historic Oxford square and pick up a copy. If you can't find it there, just hop on over to Square Books Jr. or Off-Squ..."

At this point, our reporter walked away.

5,000 Celebrate Newfound Unemployment

2008-05-10T18:59:00.000-05:00

Chancellor Khayat Braces Students for Possible Influx of Ugandan Refugees

2008-04-17T13:31:00.000-05:00

Late Thursday evening, Chancellor Khayat sent a mass e-mail to students warning them to be extra cautious when near the vicinity of the Grove this coming weekend.
"It has come to my attention that this university may become unwilling hosts to political refugees this weekend, April 18-20. Do not be alarmed. We will request for National Guard deployment if we feel it is at all necessary. And trust me, the National Guard knows how to get here, " Khayat wrote.

Chancellor Khayat wrote the e-mail in response to rumors circulating around campus and through the pages of The Daily Mississippian stating that homeless individuals representing Uganda would be convening in the grove for a night of communal living.

"Though the smell emitting from the Grove may be God-awful and worse than any Kincannon bathroom stall, we ask that all students behave appropriately and treat the Ugandans with respect and kindness, despite the fact that they have no hope," Khayat continued.

Beth Simmons, a junior from Memphis, TN, is planning to welcome the visitors with open arms.
"This is a once in a lifetime chance for Ole Miss to accept these tortured people and help them find a home, even if their children are invisible and hard to find."

Eddie Reidner, a junior from Florence, AL, believes Khayat should do more to stop the intruders from invading.
"What? This campus? Ugandans have child soldiers. They'll be carrying machine guns and ammo. How is my boxcutter supposed to stop a bullet?"

Scruggs: "Hey, at least I'm not Eliot Spitzer"

2008-04-03T15:15:00.000-05:00

First-Year Professor Proud to Know His Students Frequenting the Library on Thursday Nights

2008-03-04T19:07:00.000-06:00

After hearing frightful tales of student apathy and hardcore partying, Dr. Gary K. Drekinski , a first-year professor at Ole Miss, is pleased to know his pupils are heading to the library each and every Thursday night.
"Whether the forecast calls for rain or shine, my students repeatedly tell me they plan to go to the Library no matter what. This is the sort of discipline and dedication I hoped to encounter when I was studying 8 hours a day to be a teacher." Drekinski explained.
Drekinski, a molecular biology professor who received a Ph. D. from the University of Colorado at Boulder, admits he was skeptical before choosing to teach at the University of Mississippi.
"Everyone told me the students here in Oxford were adverse to concentrating on their studies in a serious manner. Perhaps that is true in other classes, but not mine. My students are seemingly thrilled with the notion of getting to the library around 8:00 PM, just to beat the crowd. That is pure excitement. Reminds me of myself in their day."
Despite being very enthused with his students' study habits, he was rather surprised with the results of their first exam.
"I was hoping the first exam average would be at least a little higher than a 46.3. This was by far the easiest test they will ever see me give. However, with the amount of time they're spending at the library, I know they will rebound from this setback. Maybe next time I will place the exam on a Friday to reward them for going to the library the night before."
Though Drekinski is unsure of why exactly his students choose to study at the library on Thursday nights, he has formulated his own theory.
"Most of the students mention to me that a certain DJ Mario will be there on Thursday. I am not sure what the D or J stand for because he is not in any of my classes, but he must be one heck of a tutor."

RELATED NEWS: Professor Depressed to Hear His Students Frequenting Murff's, Period

President Taggert to Deliver State of the Student Union Address

2008-01-28T21:00:00.001-06:00

Oxford Police Department Forced to Focus on Real Crimes

2007-12-21T12:15:00.000-06:00

With the absence of Ole Miss students due to the winter break, the Oxford Police Department has shifted their priorities to matters they normally neglect during the other 11 months of the year. Michael Martin, Chief of Police, says its all part of the job.
"Yeah, I tell the boys that it's just that time of the year. Since the kids are gone, it allows us to play catch-up. You know, investigate other crimes that happened during the year such as aggravated assault, motor vehicle theft, destruction of private property, arson, burglary, forcible rape, illegal weapons possession, money laundering, etc."
Roger Goolsby, a lieutenant with the OPD, has his own opinions about the month devoted to fulfilling actual police work.
"This is a bunch of bull****. Oxford is a college town. That means we gotta look for college crimes. More than half of the population is gone. And you're telling me that now we have to investigate the crimes that happened while I was busy pulling over freshmen co-eds? Hell, all the crimes were probably committed by students anyway, and they aren't even here to bully or question. What kind of investigating is that?"
Officer Goolsby, a three-year veteran of the force, says the Oxford locals provide little motivational boost.
"Now I have to tend to crimes that affected the people who actually live here. I tell you, this town has some of the weirdest people. I'm ashamed to even be serving and protecting some of these freaks. They're always walking around, conserving gas, wearing scarfs and mismatched outfits. You think any of these weirdos are out drinking and driving? Of course not. Any extra money they have goes to paying an exorbitant amount of property taxes. Even if they fail to pay that, somebody else goes after them, not even us. Boooring."
Some officers, such as Officer Jamie Bridges, remain optimistic.
"I admit the mood in the office is kinda grim once it gets close to December. However, the chief says that come January 2nd, it's back to business," Cannon announced to a few employees at Shipley Donuts. "Its like when you buy a dozen of these. You can always expect that one of them won't taste as good as the rest. Might be kinda chunky and hard to swallow. That one, you see, is the month of December. But the other 11? Mmmmm."

Players Surprise Coach O with Early Christmas Presents

2007-11-20T19:01:00.000-06:00

Jerrell Powe Cleared to Participate in Ole Miss Intramurals

2007-10-18T18:41:00.000-05:00

After weeks of intense lobbying and rampant speculation, Jerrell Powe and his legal team finally received the news they had been anxiously anticipating- Jerrell Powe will be allowed to play in Ole Miss Intramurals.
"This is very exciting," exclaimed Powe, a freshman from Waynesboro, MS. "We had been expecting this for a while now. To finally get confirmation is music to my ears."
The 20-year-old had twice tried to gain admittance into the recreational sports program offered by the university, but failed on both occasions.
On the first occasion, August 20, 2007, Powe arrived at the Ole Miss Intramural office in hopes of signing up to play. Unfortunately, Powe arrived without his school-issued I.D. In the Ole Miss Intramural Handbook, Rule 12-4a states that if an individual seeking to participate in an Ole Miss Intramural designated event is unable to present an Ole Miss I.D. upon registration, the individual is disallowed from participating. So, while The BlockaBoys played in a flag-football game against Guess Hall, Powe had to watch his team from the sidelines.
"It hurt man. It hurt real bad," Powe recounted. "It just seems like they were trying to find a reason not to let me play."
Powe again attempted to participate in an Ole Miss Intramural event on September 18, and again, he failed. Though Powe was able to present his Ole Miss I.D., the name printed on the card read "Jarrell Powe", instead of "Jerrell Powe". After minutes of deliberation, intramural officials deemed the I.D. fake, therefore prohibiting Powe from joining his teammates in a rousing game of wallyball.
"This was the last straw as far as I was concerned," said Powe's attorney Don Jackson. "This poor kid just wanted to play and we knew we had to help him." So Jackson, along with several other regional attorneys, began a tumultuous process to get Powe into the program. After weeks of compiling files and documents to submit to the intramural office, the "dream team" was able to complete their mission.
Within the past few years, Jackson and a host of lawyers had tried to make Powe eligible to play football for Ole Miss. Unfortunately, the multiple attempts had proven unsuccessful.
"Once we learned he couldn't play D-1, we thought surely he could play in intramurals, but Jerrell seems to never catch a break," said Jackson.
And despite the constant hardships in this ongoing saga, Powe has remained optimistic.
"You know, somebody once told me I'd never step on the field at Ole Miss. Well, here I am. True, I'm kicking a soccer ball around, and it's on a poorly groomed intramural field, but here I am."

Food Poisoning Occurring in Sorority Houses Daily Reports New Sorority Members

2007-10-16T18:00:00.000-05:00

Newly admitted members of several Greek sororities have recently reported their concerns about possible food poisonings occurring on an daily basis. Though they themselves have yet to exhibit the typical symptoms of food poisoning, such as nausea, abdominal cramping, vomiting, and diarrhea, their worries mostly rest with other members of their respective sororities.
Sarah-Ann Baker, a freshman political science major from Nashville, TN, and a new member of the Delta Delta Delta sorority, says she enjoys her new home, however, she is unsure of what could be causing such sickness.
"I mean, I love the swaps and all of the girls here are, seriously, so nice and so sweet to me, but obviously, something must be wrong with the food here."
Cindy Taylor, a freshman marketing major from Austin, Texas, and a new member of the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority, echoed the same concerns.
"I mean, I love the swaps and all of the girls here are, seriously, so nice and so sweet to me, but obviously, something must be wrong with the food here."
Selma Turnage, a 12-year veteran of the Chi Omega kitchen, says these types of reports are not uncommon.
"Each year a new batch of girls complain about the food, mainly about the taste. But then some even say the food makes their older friends sick. Food seems fine to me. Besides, I feed the leftovers to my kids. They never get sick." Turnage also disputed any claims that the food being served was not nutritional.
Judy Carmen, the housemother for Delta Delta Delta, added to this statement.
"We intend to feed our young ladies food that is not only tasteful, but also nutritional in order to keep them healthy, and of course, not fat."
Baker says she first became suspicious of the food because of her regular trips to the bathroom after lunch.
"I have Biology at 11 on Mondays, and afterwards, I will walk to the Tri-Delt house to catch some lunch. Usually, I finish eating around 12:30, and run to the restroom to freshen up before my 1 o'clock. This is when I usually hear my sorority sisters getting sick. When I ask them about it, they usually give me blank, incredulous stares."
When asked about the recent increase in reports of sickness in sorority houses, most of the older members of various sororities refused to comment, and instead, gave us blank, incredulous stares.
Heather Cotten, a senior Spanish major, and member of Pi Beta Phi, however, was quick to comment.
"Wait, did a freshman tell you this? Yea, follow up with her in two years and see what she has to say."

RELATED STORY: Pledgeship "The Best Time of My Life", Reports Bruised Pledge

Suspects in Grove Murder Held Without Bond

2007-09-24T21:29:00.000-05:00

Two felines accused of murdering Squeaks McFluffy, a prominent squirrel from the Grove, have been arraigned and ordered held without bond. The arraignment was held early Monday. Bond was denied for 6-month-old Whiskers and 7-month-old Muffin, two campus cats reputably known for being "messes" and "bad kitties".

Authorities first became suspicious of the two young kitties when an anonymous tipster reported seeing blood around their notorious hangout, Dumpster #2 in the Village Apartments.

Whiskers refused to comment on the ordeal, however Muffin maintains his innocence.
"Mayne, I ain't guilty. I was framed. {expletive deleted}, if that rat from next door snitched on me. He just mad 'cause I raid the Grove on Sunday mornings after football games like a champ. Ya'll should question him."
Attempts at reaching this supposed rat were unsuccessful.
The two felines will remain in custody at the Oxford Humane Society while awaiting their trial date.

B-List Celebrity Mistakenly Considered A-List By Locals

2007-09-13T10:35:00.000-05:00

DKE House Takes It Step Further; Plants Burning Cross, Hangs Nooses, Digs Up Emmitt Tills Grave, Etc.

2007-09-06T17:53:00.001-05:00

Just hours after The Daily Mississippian published reports that an African-American student was assaulted by brothers of the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity at a weekend party, members residing in the fraternity house decided to take matters into their own hands.
Russ P. Menbrook, a junior finance major, said he was completely embarrassed by the reported incident.
"To be accused of being racist in the sort of fashion that the paper reported, man, no way. DKE ain't going out like that. We gotta work harder than this"
According to the article, freshman Jeremiah Taylor along with his roommate, were invited to attend a social party at the DKE house on August 22. Upon entering the party, Taylor said he felt very uncomfortable and considered leaving. Later on in the evening, the freshman claims to have received verbal abuse and was taunted for his ethnicity. While exiting the party, Taylor also alleges that was physically pushed down a flight of stairs and was struck in the back with an alcoholic beverage container, a container not permitted on the University campus. Taylor was able to exit the building without physical harm. However, the psychological damage caused to him may be forever hard to gauge.
"Dumbfounded, shocked. This speaks against my character. I'm not even racist, but if I were to be accused of being racist, I would at least want to perform some extreme act that would justify me being called racist," senior Caldwell E. Reed said. " I know several years ago, some Betas like, tied up some pledge to a flagpole down at Valley, and spray-painted him with racial epitaphs. CNN helicopters showed up and everything. Now THAT's being racist. Don't associate DKE with some weak-ass form of racism."
Several of Reeds' brothers echoed his complaints. So in honoring the hallowed last lines of The Objects of Delta Kappa Epsilon: ...and the union of stout hearts and kindred interests to secure to merit its due reward, brothers of the fraternity secured a 7-foot burning cross in the front lawn, giving true merit to the claims that the fraternity was, in fact, racist.
David K. Edwards, a junior marketing major, marveled at the culmination of such a feat. "The truth is, both my mother and father are black. I was adopted at a very young age, and I love them very much. Hell, my adopted sister was born in Malaysia. I love all races. But what really gets me going, is when people run their mouth and slander a group of people over something so small. This means war. Somebody over at the DM should hang for this."
Though the burning cross seemed sufficient enough at first, the members on the front lawn grew antsy.
"Luckily, most of us were in Boys Scouts in grade school, so immediately some of my brothers began tying nooses and hanging them in trees. Genius." Edwards added.
"By far, T-Unit, has had the best idea so far. He borrowed his dad's jet and flew to Illinois to dig up the grave of Emmitt Till the moment the news was released. I'm so glad that guy got a bid."
Thomas F. Waters, commonly referred to as, "T-Unit", flew a private jet to Alsip, Illinois, according to several DKE members. The small town holds the grave of Emmitt Till, a young African-American boy brutally slain by a small group of white men. Till's death was a key component of the American civil rights movement.
Several DKE members confirmed this report. The report was further cemented when a small decaying skeleton was placed on the DKE sidewalk while we were finishing this investigation.
"This really tops the cake," Edwards remarked. "I'm not even sure if the previous allegations were true. I really don't think any of us are all that racist, but you and I both know now, if you are going to call us bigots, make sure we earn the label."

RELATED STORY: 2,500+ Female Students Accuse DKE of "Different" Type of Assault