It is still four minutes until class.Hale is seen taking his
sweet-little old time , whistling out a tune sounding vaguely reminiscent of
the Old spice theme song, Misses Looney’s jaundice cup o’ java cupped in paw
and a post coital smile splattered across the paunchy fabric of his face. Last
week it was heavily rumored among the juvenilia imaginative enclave that
clamber the yellow rungs of the monkey bars that Hale had porked Cabbages
McGranahan in both the Christ is the light of the World nautical Jerusalem
light house hole 17 (par three) as well as inside the Dutch windmill hole
sixteen, which Apparently Hale got stuck in trying to wedge his way out once
Cabbages tugged his shoulder, heavily insinuated that Lilian Wiltz was indeed
conducting her daily CHEROKEE RUNNERS senior citizen tours through the 50’s
gymnasium. Due to The Varsity Elite season convening earlier that night, the
Cherokee Runners tours were pushed ahead one hour. Hale, with his God almighty
free eternal hallway pass into the next world heralding Misses Looney’s coffee
cup covertly met Cabbages for what would be their ninth clandestine tryst of
the day, telling Cabbages McGranahan that he feels like such a World Traveler
laying his pipe throughout the neon green of a biblical par-abiding planet,
somehow managing to wedge his loveable yet somewhat ample torso through the
miniature stain glass tint leading into the interior of the mini-golf rendition
of the Dutch windmill. Knock out student-teacher Miss Lilian Wiltz, normally
traipses through the stain glass hallway in CLS in a sexy fashion so that her
heels resonate a sure-fire clatter minutes before she enters the classroom.
Hale and Cabbages going another round of his signature whooo-hooooing, asking
Cabbages if he can find the little man in the canoe or, more aptly, pluck the
pedals from the lips of the Dutch Tulip, if you know what I mean. As is
usually the case with their daily assignations, the actual time of coitus is
fast and hard, Hale quoting Raymond Carver’s advice to young writers of getting
in and getting out and not lingering, giving both members of the party just
enough time for Hale to get a smile on his face and for cabbages McGranahan to
get a little smack on her ass. This particular afternoon Hale was taken out
of Misses Brakenhardt’s History of
Hieldelberg seminar by Misses Looney and was able to sweep into the 50’s
gymnasium where Cabbages McGranahan, having expressed to Hale that her recent
fantasy of going mini-golfing with her beau in tow, with her groping the
elongated shaft of what Hale refers to as his Ironwood while he successfully
achieved a hole in one with every successive stroke of the club. By the time
Patty Brushman had accepted the standard fifty dollar admission, passing out
specialized goggles as to block the retina damaging gloss of the Trophy case,
and leading them down the southern plank of the cross, pointing out the various
severed caricatured heads of rival school mascots, before leading them into the
79’s gymnasium where Graham Sheldon gives a brief semi-nerdy introduction
regarding the dream, construction and reality of his mobile Universe before
flicking an old fire alarm in the gym watching as the lights simultaneously dim
and the planets emit s slight humming accompanied by an interstellar glow which
always produces a chorus of “owwwwws” and “ahhhhhhhs” from the cardboard lips
of the old. After a half-hour intergalactic encore brimming with bravura’s
accolades and even (as was Coach M’s idea) a
“tip comet” wearing an offering plate like a derby cap, a picture of a
retarded girl in a wheelchair gracing one side of the rock as it sweeps past
the chorus of senile and deep-pocketed, Lilian Wiltz clatters her heals and
ushers the carriage of old folks into the 50’s gymnasium where each is allowed
to play a free round of golf on the worlds premier, largest biblical-centered
mini-golf course.
It was millionaire windshield wiper designer Winfred O’Neil’s
wife Myrtle who first brought Lillian Wiltz’ attention to a wobbling windmill
on hole sixteen, suggesting that by the grunts and moans and incessant
whoooo-hooooos, maybe they should call for the good Rev. Morningwood to perform
and exorcise as she hoisted up a belly-putter and pro-driver above her face in
the fashion of a crucifix. Before the knock out student teacher could divert
their attention with by passing out the emergency biblical bingo flare cards
Myrtle's husband, sounding very much like he was talking about the ’79 green
Porsche he had been refurbishing in their garage out in the Knolls, publicly
announced it was nothing more than a technological glitch in this finely
crafted Dutch rendition nickelodeon to which he was certain, once the glitch
was all ironed out, would emit a pleasant and tear jerking rendition of
Edelweiss and without consulting Lilian Wiltz knowledge wedged his big custom
signatured Iron Cavity Back into the three-foot wide entrance of the Windmill
where a post-coital and semi-panicking pantless Hale was calming down Cabbages
McGranahan telling her not to worry, it would be alright, my dear friend, that
was one hell of a trick you just performed by the way you handled my own magic
wand when the next thing pantsless Hale realized was that he spotted the
devious overcast silhouette of Mr. O’Neils encroaching shadow and the next
thing he saw was that of the Clubhead of Mister O’Neils custom signature Iron
Cavity-Back thrusting through the three foot orifice commonly reserved for that
of the ball, letting out, what Patrick himself will tell you was one Hale of a
yelp, pun intended, Hale, reliving the story on the top yellow arch of the
Yellow-Monkey bars, on the summit of the geometrical configuration that has
served as the lads refuge and strength the last couple of years, Patrick,
giving Hale shit in the fashion in which Tiny Tim Flanagan seems to give all of
his friends shit, asking if Mr. O’neil achieved par on that hole before Von Behren
finds himself narrating a scene a la Air city where Juggernaut is brandishing
what looks like a telephone pole perilously close to the Wolvie’s mutant rear
end, saying that if he had a pair of ten sided dice to properly roll and a
fenced in sheet to calculate actions, Juggernaut would shove the rough
splintered edges of the 30 foot long telephone poll some place up Wolverine’s
hairy- as-fuck-ass where the sun does not shine. Patrick laughs to himself,
mentally reminiscing over Hale’s misadventure with the Iron Cavity Back (When
Buster found out about the Iron cavity back he appeared to call Hale child’s
play and inquired if he ever knew how a sousaphone could indelibly chap that
neck of the woods, which, when apparently Lynnford lifted his hand and claimed he
had some sort of idea big boy, Hale just rolled up the whites of his eyes into
his skull and said the words people and please).
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