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Editor-in-Chief:
Kenneth Brosky

Managing Editor:
Stephanie Nolasco

Associate Editor:
Janelle Kennedy

"Woah"

       Scott Taylor

         I was standing on this street corner, and this guy was breaking all the shop
 windows.  I tried to reason with him.  “Whoa, whoa!” I said. 

         He looked at me, and said, “Get with it, man,” as he picked up a
 nearby garbage can and hurled it through the nearest as-of-yet unbroken pane
 of glass.  So, observing he was not to be swayed from his present course of
 action, I tried to appease him. 

         “Nice night for a bit o’ carnage, eh?” I
 asked pleasantly. 

          “Yep,” he said, picking up a newspaper and flinging it
 into the sewer. 

          “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

         “Because things like you annoy me.  CRASH!  BAM!” he continued, vocally
 simulating his destructive ways.  Trying to be helpful, I shadowboxed,
 yelling, “POW!  KAZAAM!”  I figured I could be Robin.  For my efforts, I got
 a garbage can tossed my way. 

          “Shut up,” he said.

         “RIGHT!” I yelled with an English accent.  “Break another ‘un, eh?”, still
 punching the air.

         He grabbed a tire iron and smashed a Volvo in the windshield.  I erupted in
 sycophantic applause.  “ALRIIIGHT!”  Now he started chasing me around the
 car.  “I told you to shut up,” he insisted, following me in circles
 futilely.  “But I’m your bud,” I objected.  “I like destruction, just like
 you.”

         Finally, he got tired, and stopped following me.  “I’ll deal with you
 later.  Right now I have to deal with THIS-” and he picked up an old lady
 that was passing by and threw her into a nearby alley.  I did a monkey
 dance, picking my feet up high, and waving my arms around in celebration. 
 He ignored me (because he couldn’t catch me), and looked for something else
 to screw up.  He pulled out a red crayon, and started writing “DARN” in big
 letters all over the pavement.  Understated aggression.  “Can I have your
 autograph?” I asked.  He threw the crayon at me, and hit me in the eye.  It
 looked like my eye was bleeding, but in fact it was only colored in.  I
 picked up the ex-missile crayon and wrote on the asphalt in flowing cursive,
 “He Hit Me In The Eye”.  He picked up a Mac truck and flung it at me.  It
 barely missed me, and went rolling down the hill backwards.

         “Damn you, this is serious!” he screamed.  “This is a legitimate
 rebellion!”

         I pulled out some hair gel, spiked my hair and started singing, “Rebel
 Yell,” dancing around on one leg with my fist in the air.  He lunged at me,
 screaming in frustration.  I dodged nimbly to one side, watching him veer
 past me into a wall.  “Friendly Neighborhood Rebel, quarrel not,” I
 said.

         “I swear,” he said, getting back up, “if you make any more noise, I’m
 going to puncture your lungs.  I’ll frickasee your intestines.”

         “‘Campbell’s Entrails’," I said, keeping a careful eye on the would-be
 cannibal chef.  “Yummy.”

         I eyed him, eyeing him suspiciously with a distrustful eye, keeping a
 skeptical eye on him as he slunk around a corner, lurking quite
 surreptitiously.  Then, in exaggerated fashion, I tiptoed down the street
 after him, my hands up in the air like a swooping pelican.  Wow, was I a
 zany guy.

         When I turned the corner, I saw that he had joined up with an a capella
 group singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” around a flaming barrel on the
 opposite corner.  I began doing an interpretive dance in the shadows,
 crawling around and growling sympathetically.  They didn’t notice me.  This
 bothered me, considering I was putting all this effort into performing for
 them, and so I jumped up and yelled, “Hey!"

         “What?” they asked.

         “I’m doing an interpretive dance,” I said, gyrating around some more to
 demonstrate.

         “Who gives a shit?”

         “I do.”

         This inane dialog completed, they picked up with the song where they had
 left off.  I was still put out by their callous rejection of my creative
 energies, so I decided to scream along like Yoko, keening along, out of
 tune, in this grating high-pitched squeal.  They finally charged me.  I
 suppose this was the reaction I was looking for, but still, it caught me by
 surprise.  I sprinted up the street away from them.  They were all
 out-of-shape homeless guys who hadn’t been to Bally’s for over a year,
 though, and they had to give up after a while.

         Being bored, I decided to act like one.  I lay down in the street, rigid
 like the wooden plank I was.  But a Mercedes came screaming around the
 corner and ran me over, squishing my head like mush.  So I got up, and
 walked into a department store with my head all caved in.  The salesperson
 screamed.  I tried to scream back, but my mouth had become obstructed by a
 large chunk of head-plate, so it came out sounding all muffled.  The police
 showed up to arrest me for public indecency.  I apologized, and promised to
 clean up my act, and they let me off with a stern warning.  So I stood by
 the escalator, trying to balance my brains on my neck.  Little children were
 crying all around me, and mothers were falling down trying to escort their
 little ones out of the building avec plus alacrity.  I grabbed my brains and
 head pieces and threw them on the first step of the escalator in
 frustration.  The janitor followed them up to catch them before they got
 caught in the belt at the top.

         I walked the length of the mall, wondering what to do about my situation,
 ignoring the screams.  I came upon a costume store.  Perfect, thought I, the
 Headless Wonder.  I walks in, and says, “A helmet, please, my good fellow.” 
 The guy fainted and fell down.  So I wents to go acquire said headgear sans
 assistance.  The best I could find was a Stormtrooper mask.  I puts it on,
 and exits.  And who should I see standing outside the store but Darth Vader…
 “Hisssssssshhh- hawwwwwhh.  Find Luke,” he commanded in a deep monotone
 voice.  I could not disobey the command of my lord and master.  Off I went
 in search of young Skywalker.

         I found this blond youngster, and snuck up behind him.  Picking up a palm
 tree by the stem, I decapitated him from behind.  There were now two
 headless people in the mall, although people couldn’t tell that anymore,
 because I was wearing protection.  ‘Evil always triumphs,’ I thought to
 myself.

         Then I decided to end this ridiculous story.