Post by kirkg on Oct 21, 2011 17:50:26 GMT
“So, where shall we go this time,” asked the Time Traveler of his companion. “The Fall of Rome? The building of the pyramids? The last night of the Titanic?”
“Why so grandiose?” replied Sarah Jane. “I’d like to do something festive, like a party!”
“I know,” her learned senior mused with a thoughtful finger to the temple, “The Melee at Athens!”
“The what?” she asked.
“History tells us the greatest college party was always held around Halloween in the college town of Athens, Ohio,” he explained. “That is, right up to the end, the year before the world was to end in 2012...something terrible happened. Historians aren’t clear on just what caused the mass riot with all the chaos and injuries, but I’ve always wanted to pop back there and check it out…purely for historical research,” he assured her gravely, “…and to taste their beer. Wonderful beer,” he trailed off wistfully.
Maybe he could prevent it somehow, though meddling in historical events was strictly forbidden!
“But legend has it that you HAVE to come in costume,” he suddenly exclaimed, snapping back to the present.
“What kind of costume?” she asked, unsure about the notion.
“Oh, you know, a dress-up fantasy costume. You’ll find plenty down the hall on the left in the wardrobe room. I usually do.”
“What are you going as?” she asked. “I don’t want to clash.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said evasively. “Usually college costumes revolve around beer, blood, mass murderers and cute cuddly animals gone wrong. I’ll choose something suitably dramatic.”
Fifteen minutes later they were standing in the control room again, but she was objecting loudly.
“Oh no, you don’t! That’s disgusting! Whoever heard of a surgeon in greens wearing a bloody hockey mask?” she objected. “Go change at once. At least lose the hockey mask.”
“But that’s the whole point, “ he explained. “You want to be as outrageous as possible and yet, fit in. “
“Then I’m not dressed right? “ she queried, unsure of her selection.
“No, you’re just fine, but find something to throw over that robotic dog of yours. Something simple, like a towel or something. Or better yet, better carry him so that he doesn’t get lost in the crowd.”
“Will there be a lot of people?” she asked. “Oh, here’s a fuzzy wool seat cover I can put over him. Come ’ere, K-9,” she instructed.
Five minutes later, they were arriving back in October 2011. “I do hope we land in an out- of-the-way place. I’d hate to be too conspicuous,” he fretted for a moment. “Oh, well…”
With a grinding of gears and some dramatic smoke effects, the blue phone box began to fade in right in the middle of the main stage, just as the band was hitting its dramatic conclusion of the set. The drums beat out a slowing thump, thump, thump, just as the time traveler opened the door, and stepped out on stage to the cheers of thousands.
The lead singer turned, having seen the blue box materialize, and in a stunned voice, mumbled, “That’s not supposed to happen.” As the six foot man dressed in a black leather jacket clumsily covered by a bloody green surgery gown stepped up, the singer exclaimed, “Who the ‘ell are you supposed to be?”
As the time-traveler answered, the lead guitar hit a series of chords, drowning out part of his reply. “I’m the (WHANG) –octer,” explained the newcomer, looking around at the stunned crowd.
“Who?”
“Exactly!” he miss-communicated. “You have no idea how far I’ve traveled to get here.”
“What? Where did you come from,” demanded the singer, over the musical climax.
“I’m here to help,” explained the newcomer, just as a dual guitar chord obscured his words again. But all that could be heard was, “I’m here (WHANG) th- (WHANG) –elp”.
“You crossed the Alps?” asked the singer. “Who do you think you are, Hannibal?”
“I’m actually th-(WHANG-G) –octer” repeated the stranger, over the final chord.
“Ahhh, I get it,” said the singer as the music faded away. “Hey everybody, it’s Hannibal Lector,” he announced to the crowd, as the cheering swelled.
The Time Traveler raised his arms, thinking they were cheering him. The crowd suddenly fell silent with a gasp as the second figure emerged from the blue box. A woman shrieked from the front of the crowd, and the scream seemed to swell through the crowd. Fear was contageous and turned to panic.
Turning as one, the panicking crowd began to surge away from the stage, running for their lives up the narrow, congested street, stepping over each other, trampling those who were unfortunate enough to fall.
“No, wait,” called the time-traveler. “Don’t panic, I’m here to help,” he cried without effect, but it was too late. The mass rout was happening, despite his plans to try to stop it. He’d missed whatever the cause was.
Sadly he turned and ushered Sarah Jane back toward the blue phone box. “Never mind, time to go,” he instructed hastily.
“But we just got here,” objected his companion. “I want to party!”
“Too late,” he insisted, “We’ll just have to go find another party!”
He took the fairy-tale-dressed girl by the arm as she cradled her robotic sheep/dog in her arms and climbed back into the time-machine.
“There’ll always be next year, Bo Peep,” he lied.
THE LIVING END
Crashing the Athens Halloween Party
by Kirk G , age 55
Friday, October 14, 2011
“Why so grandiose?” replied Sarah Jane. “I’d like to do something festive, like a party!”
“I know,” her learned senior mused with a thoughtful finger to the temple, “The Melee at Athens!”
“The what?” she asked.
“History tells us the greatest college party was always held around Halloween in the college town of Athens, Ohio,” he explained. “That is, right up to the end, the year before the world was to end in 2012...something terrible happened. Historians aren’t clear on just what caused the mass riot with all the chaos and injuries, but I’ve always wanted to pop back there and check it out…purely for historical research,” he assured her gravely, “…and to taste their beer. Wonderful beer,” he trailed off wistfully.
Maybe he could prevent it somehow, though meddling in historical events was strictly forbidden!
“But legend has it that you HAVE to come in costume,” he suddenly exclaimed, snapping back to the present.
“What kind of costume?” she asked, unsure about the notion.
“Oh, you know, a dress-up fantasy costume. You’ll find plenty down the hall on the left in the wardrobe room. I usually do.”
“What are you going as?” she asked. “I don’t want to clash.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said evasively. “Usually college costumes revolve around beer, blood, mass murderers and cute cuddly animals gone wrong. I’ll choose something suitably dramatic.”
Fifteen minutes later they were standing in the control room again, but she was objecting loudly.
“Oh no, you don’t! That’s disgusting! Whoever heard of a surgeon in greens wearing a bloody hockey mask?” she objected. “Go change at once. At least lose the hockey mask.”
“But that’s the whole point, “ he explained. “You want to be as outrageous as possible and yet, fit in. “
“Then I’m not dressed right? “ she queried, unsure of her selection.
“No, you’re just fine, but find something to throw over that robotic dog of yours. Something simple, like a towel or something. Or better yet, better carry him so that he doesn’t get lost in the crowd.”
“Will there be a lot of people?” she asked. “Oh, here’s a fuzzy wool seat cover I can put over him. Come ’ere, K-9,” she instructed.
Five minutes later, they were arriving back in October 2011. “I do hope we land in an out- of-the-way place. I’d hate to be too conspicuous,” he fretted for a moment. “Oh, well…”
With a grinding of gears and some dramatic smoke effects, the blue phone box began to fade in right in the middle of the main stage, just as the band was hitting its dramatic conclusion of the set. The drums beat out a slowing thump, thump, thump, just as the time traveler opened the door, and stepped out on stage to the cheers of thousands.
The lead singer turned, having seen the blue box materialize, and in a stunned voice, mumbled, “That’s not supposed to happen.” As the six foot man dressed in a black leather jacket clumsily covered by a bloody green surgery gown stepped up, the singer exclaimed, “Who the ‘ell are you supposed to be?”
As the time-traveler answered, the lead guitar hit a series of chords, drowning out part of his reply. “I’m the (WHANG) –octer,” explained the newcomer, looking around at the stunned crowd.
“Who?”
“Exactly!” he miss-communicated. “You have no idea how far I’ve traveled to get here.”
“What? Where did you come from,” demanded the singer, over the musical climax.
“I’m here to help,” explained the newcomer, just as a dual guitar chord obscured his words again. But all that could be heard was, “I’m here (WHANG) th- (WHANG) –elp”.
“You crossed the Alps?” asked the singer. “Who do you think you are, Hannibal?”
“I’m actually th-(WHANG-G) –octer” repeated the stranger, over the final chord.
“Ahhh, I get it,” said the singer as the music faded away. “Hey everybody, it’s Hannibal Lector,” he announced to the crowd, as the cheering swelled.
The Time Traveler raised his arms, thinking they were cheering him. The crowd suddenly fell silent with a gasp as the second figure emerged from the blue box. A woman shrieked from the front of the crowd, and the scream seemed to swell through the crowd. Fear was contageous and turned to panic.
Turning as one, the panicking crowd began to surge away from the stage, running for their lives up the narrow, congested street, stepping over each other, trampling those who were unfortunate enough to fall.
“No, wait,” called the time-traveler. “Don’t panic, I’m here to help,” he cried without effect, but it was too late. The mass rout was happening, despite his plans to try to stop it. He’d missed whatever the cause was.
Sadly he turned and ushered Sarah Jane back toward the blue phone box. “Never mind, time to go,” he instructed hastily.
“But we just got here,” objected his companion. “I want to party!”
“Too late,” he insisted, “We’ll just have to go find another party!”
He took the fairy-tale-dressed girl by the arm as she cradled her robotic sheep/dog in her arms and climbed back into the time-machine.
“There’ll always be next year, Bo Peep,” he lied.
THE LIVING END
Crashing the Athens Halloween Party
by Kirk G , age 55
Friday, October 14, 2011
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