Page 2/ r fhe Battalion/Monday, October 26, 1987
Opinion
A Halloween warning: Beware the Stink
So, it’s almost
Halloween, the
time of the year
when candy corn
makes its dramatic
appearance. It’s
the season for
haunted houses
(you know, the old
peeled-grapes-for-
eyeballs bit), time
for multi-colored,
polyester, flame-
slamming into me full force in the chest.
I was thrown back 25 feet in the air. I
ran inside, barely conscious. I looked
outside through the windows but
couldn’t see anything; they were
covered with a thick, green moving
slime.
Mark
Nair
retardant wigs and wax bubble gum lips.
It’s a time for the entire family to cuddle
around and x-ray the Hershey bars.
And it’s a time for horror stories.
In the best interest and spirit of the
holiday, then, I present to you my
version of the classic Halloween ghost
story. The following is true. No names
have been changed to protect the
innocent.
I live near the Stink of College
Station. For those of you who do not
know what this is, feel lucky. But be
brave. I shall do my best to describe it.
The Stink resides behind the Hilton,
around the Spring Loop area. It usually
comes out of hiding at night, although
recently it has been more daring,
peeking out during the day. It is a slimy,
grotesque, ponderous fabric of sewage
smell, sweaty tennis shoes, sewage smell,
rotten eggs, and more sewage smell. It
oozes through the air, stripping paint
off cars and ripping concrete from
sidewalks.
Stephen King would be proud.
The other morning I took a casual
stroll out to our front yard to pick up
the newspaper. Two seconds later, it hit
me. The Stink rode up on the wind.
Like I said, Stephen King would be
proud.
The next day, I got an old Ozarka
water container and captured a sample
of the air. I subjected three roaches to it,
and they all died within five seconds.
Not even a nuclear holocaust can do
that. Wow.
I was too afraid to leave the house.
Enough was enough.
As a concerned citizen who actually
votes in city elections and has a faint
idea of who the mayor of College
Station is, I called City Hall. The
taxpayer versus City Hall, round one.
“City of College Station.”
“Hello, I’m calling about the Stink.”
“What?”
“I’m calling about the Stink. Down
here on Spring Loop. The Stink, you
know.”
“Oh, that Stink. That’s not our fault.
You must call the City of Bryan on that
one.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Great, even in pur beloved
metroplex, I can’t avoid the
bureaucratic finger- pointing. Oh, well.
I called City Hall in Bryan.
“City of Bryan.”
“Yes, I’m calling about the Stink.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
‘Fine.”
Commies infiltrate US-
through decadent music
Something is
wrong with
America.
Something is
wrong that must
be corrected soon
if we’re to keep
Richard
Williams
Guest Columnist
from sinking into the rotting pit of
commie influence.
Just look around. We have preachers
running huge companies, bimbos
running after preachers, Chrysler
buying Lamborghini and people
actually buying Chrysler’s cars.
What is causing the problem? After
considering possible solutions, I have
finally eliminated, among other things,
scab football, Oprah Winfrey, Gumby,
and Captain Kangaroo. I have come to
the conclusion that the music America
listens to is the problem.
Americans listen to several types of
commie music:
The “hippie communist drug type”
music (rock, soft rock, classic rock) is
part of the problem because it promotes
hippies, commies, drugs and murder.
Just listening to that music for 10
minutes is enough to make any real
American want to take drugs, move to
Moscow and beat up his mother with a
sledgehammer.
The “I want to do weird things to my
body with a chainsaw” music (punk, new
wave) is another form of commie
influence. This music has a message in it
that makes its listeners wear dog collars
and chase trucks. Just writing about it
gives me the urge to spell America
without a capital letter.
The “I love my wife, but I sleep with
flocks of sheep and drink kegs of beer
while she is out sluttin’ around with the
entire Navy” music (country and
western) is the cause of most divorces in
the good of U.S. of A. How can anyone
expect Junior to listen to this music
while young and not grow up to be a
wife-beating, drunk, slut-chasing, sleep-
with-sheep type of person?
The “do it to me baby cause the music
is so sexy” music (jazz) causes more pre
marital sex than condom ads on TV.
Rumor has it that Pat Robertson and
Gary Hart were listening to jazz before
they did the naughty things they did.
The “all the women want my body”
music (soul) is designed to boost the
male ego to the point that men no
longer care about the commies. This
music is a Soviet plot to turn our minds
to sex and away from killing commies.
The “Big broom of boom, doom and
gloom in my room” music (rap) gets all
of our kids trying to find these words to
rhyme. Then they don’t have time to
keep an eye on the commie threat.
All I can say about the “bore me into
the ground” music (Muzak) is that
voodoo people use this stuff to make
zombies. Listen to Muzak for about an
hour and you will see what I mean.
The “get a bunch of old commies
together and drink Geritol” music (big
band) really doesn’t need much of a
mention. The fact that big band music
has turned commie is the reason the
stock market took the big plunge.
The “I can’t understand the words”
music (opera) is the cause of most traffic
accidents in America. Jonathan
Wadsworth Andrew Lamar Clayton Hill
VII is driving down the road listening to
opera. Suddenly he gets this image in
his mind of the fat lady singing with the
viking hat on. While trying to clear this
terrible image from his head, he fails to
see the Mack semi pulling out in front of
him and . . . it’s too horrible for words.
The “I can write music, but I don’t
know how to write the words” music
(classical) is another reason for auto
accidents. Jonathan is driving down the
road again and listening to classical.
Because this music has no words he
starts making up his own. Everyone else
driving down the highway starts
watching this fool singing in his car, and
they fail to see that same truck. Another
commie-caused wreck occurs.
I haven’t mentioned religious music
for a simple reason: Religious music
seems like the kind of music God would
listen to. And if he listens to it and likes
it, I am sure not going to be the one to
tell him he is wrong. The last time
someone tried to tell him about the
music he got real mad, and to be frank,
I just haven’t got my flood insurance
paid up yet.
Richard Williams is a junior
agricultural journalism major and
makeup editor for The Battalion.
The Battalion
(USPS 045 360)
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
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Sondra Pickard, Editor
John Jarvis, Managing Editor
Sue Krenek, Opinion Page Editor
Rodney Rather, City Editor
Robbyn Lister, News Editor
Loyd Brumfield, Sports Editor
Tracy Staton, Photo Editor
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77843-4111.
“Hello? Hello? I’m calling about the
Stink. Hello?”
“City of Bryan.”
“I need information about the Stink
in the Spring Loop area. I want to lodge
a complaint.”
“Sorry, that’s in College Station, not
Bryan.”
“Aaaargh. But College Station City
Hall told me to call you.”
“About what?”
“The Stink. The Stink! THE
STINK!”
“Oh, that. They’re aware of the
problem and are working on it right
now.”
I hung up.
But the next few weeks went by, and
the Stink became worse. I suppose they
were aware of this too and no doubt
were working on it. Wink, wink, nudge,
nudge. Say no more.
On a particularly stinky day, I
reached the end of my patience. I was
set and determined to Find out what was
happening. I donned my radiation suit,
made sure to bring extra oxygen,
checked the magazine of my abnormally
expensive, shoots-up-to-30-feet, looks-
like-an-Uzi water gun, and started my
investigation.
It took me an hour to reach my
objective. I trudged through the dead
forest, whacking away at the purple
grass with my machete. After avoiding
several mutant frat guys, I saw it: a
generic white building surrounded by
an electrical fence. The green gas
puffed out of the 14 smokestacks on its
roof.
“Halt,” said a small, blue-green guard
dressed in fatigues. He had curly purple
hair and wielded a menacing cattleprod.
“Hey,” I said, “you’re an Oompa
Loompa.”
The little man frowned. “Halt. I’ve
got a riddle just for you.”
I looked around. All the workers at
this mysterious gas plant were Oompa
Loom pas.
“You’re an Oompa Loompa," I at I
again. “You’re all Oompa Loompa;
“Halt!” he said.
I ran.
And so we come to thecondusiotl
my little horror story. To tie it i
offer my analysis: The putrklg
actualiv an advanced formofasecwl
chemical weapon. Thosesubjectedsl
turn into little ()ompa Loompa's.IiJ
C )ompa 1 oompas are then sold toy
highest bidder in HollywoodforenU
the sequel to “Charlie and the Choi
Factory” or midget wrestling.
Either that, or the CityofBryaiiii
can’t fix its sewage problem.!
naaaaah. That’s not it.
fake this as a warning, then,alh(.|
who don’t know about the Stink.
And happy Halloween.
Boo.
Mark Nair is a senior politicalsciti
major and a columnist for The
Battalion.
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Mail Call
Difficulty not related to numbers
EDITOR:
My kingdom for a copier
This is in regard to Kevin Walters’ letter of Oct 23. I
become very impatient with people who think that in order
to be difficult, a major must involve manipulating
numbers. Even though I am stronger in my verbal skills, I
imagine that with a better grounding in math, I would do
all right as an engineer. My math score on the SAT was
almost equal to my verbal score.
As it happens, I have a stronger base in English and
history. Therefore, it makes sense for me to be in liberal
arts, but it isn’t easy. I have a 16-hour course load this
semester, for which I have 24 books to read and six papers
— about 50 pages of prose — to write. I’m not looking for
sympathy; I’m just asking that one not judge what one has
no real knowledge of. I wouldn’t trade my six papers for
all the circuit diagrams in the world — I hated them when
I took physics.
EDITOR:
I am writing to complain about the grossly insufficient
number of working photocopiers on campus. I frequentl'
have to use the copying machines, and I always run into
some kind of problem. In the library, where manyofthe
copiers are located, there are usually lines of fiveorsix
people at one copier because all the others are broken.
The situation is the same in Heldenfels and around
campus. I usually have to wait an hour to an houranda
half just to copy a few pages. For the sake of all students,! |
hope this situation changes in the near future.
Jerry Vara ’91
Nancy Turner ’88
Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The editorialskfj
reserves the right to edit letters for style and length, but will make every efforts
maintain the author’s intent. Each letter must be signed and must include thi
classification, address and telephone number of the writer.
llOftlM
Now O
BLOOM COUNTY
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by Berke BreatWl
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