Friday, February 16, 2007

Mutiny of the Burleson: Knavery, Chicanery, and Flimflam; Pat's Skills Bare No Fruit In Manila

[After Christmas Day, Governor Pat Neffistopholes set out on a Baylor recruiting trip aboard a sea vessel accompanied by Robert Sloan, Dave Bliss, and Kevin Steele. We lost contact with their ship after 3 Kings Day (1/6/2007) and haven't received any communication until January 10, 2007, A.D., when a seagull flew in the open window of our 13th floor offices in the ALICO building and had a parchment tied to its leg. Lo and behold, it was a message from Gov Pat! The bird appeared to have the markings of a sea gull from the Philippines. Since that day messages have continued to flow to us in the most unexpected ways. Just yesterday, I received a parchment delivered by dog sled despite the absence of snow for several hundred miles. Red and me will continue to update you on the actions of these modern day, Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The following, hastily-transcribed version of Pat's journal entry, horrifyingly detail Pat's first foray outside Waco city limits and highlight his ignorance of international law, human rights, tolerance or basic decency. This entry is from January 11th, 2007, A.D. - Eds.]

Although often mistaken for War, Pat is actually Pestilence.

Thursday 11th. Dear Sirs and Interns. The sea is smoking. Natives from the out-skirting villages of Manila have made their way to Her Regency's Bark the Burleson. Canoes full of a great many guard prospects for the Gentlemen Bears venture up to the hull and scurry aboard with rat-like techniques, thin mustaches, tiny clattering teeth and nimble limbs. Coach Dave Bliss, the Amourer, gazes in amazement as not one but three pieces of bread, two ceremonial linens and a large broad piece of iron are stolen from underneath our very own eyes. Gentleman Bliss, his eyes glistening, motions to me as two or three natives have an innate Alvin Robertson quality as they are prodigious experts at stealing. Servant La Puma, strong and alert this time, snatches these candidates and hurls them into steel cages. Sadly, a shooter we must find at another port.

Pat could only elicit half-hearted Sic 'ems from the locals.

Two Chiefs approach me through the crowd. I give each of them a green and gold hatchet, something they could possibly value. My gifts appear to have soothed the natives; as has the appearance of our ship's Naturalist, Kevin Steele. The rat-like creatures cease all picking of the pockets and gather around the smooth skinned Gentleman Steele; exploring his face, possibly even his mind. For they do not know his stare searches only for a savior, a prestidigitator, a benefactor, this millennium’s Walter Augustus Abercrombie. Sadly, he finds nothing but admiration.

Next year's larger than normal offensive line.

I chat with Boatswain Sloan, our master horseman, regarding the possibilities of finding someone as light on the Equus as he is. Little is known to most Baylor commoners as to his great love and skill upon said majestic creature. In fact, most are unaware that tuition increases during his presidency reflect directly upon that love. He knew the only way to increase the endowment and add a women's sporting program would rely on the birth of a Baylor equestrian program. Only he could bring the riches of Highland Park, Westlake and Sugar Land and their diamond encrusted dressage to the hallowed halls of Baylor. For that he earns a placard on the HR Bark the Burleson. Sadly, he informs me, horses are devoured in this territory; not dressed, displayed and driven as such.

Sloan utilized half of the athletic budget to erect neon crosses on abandoned lots throughout Bellmead.

Unfortunately, our search in Manila is fruitless. Onward, we must go. As La Puma prepares the sails for departure, I cannot help to think of the countless disappointments and failures we will face as Baylor recruiters. As a human I can only count on my peers and my own strength. As a Baylor Bear I can only count on my traditions and my Bible. As a BearMeat Editor I can only count on my high tolerance of Far East mysticism and opiates. I fear the wind from the Northwest. This sea still smokes. I would like to depart this harbor.

Sic ‘em Bears.

Pat Neffistopheles

Pat at his most dapper, sea-faring, and human rights abusing.



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