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THI WIST OKMOIAN HWUMT > l*M
6
David Willingham
P
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MYSELF MAR. 4
There has been some rather shocking news in the paper these
liast lew weeks. According to articles in repent issues of "The West
Georgian,” one of the most beloved institutions on this campus is
rapidly going to seed I am talking, of course, about the imminent
downfall of the psychology department.
No concerned reader can possibly ignore the plight of those
apostles ol red clay humanism. Consigned to the far side of a hostile
campus, the psychology people stand like old west Jungs in cowboy
suits, surrounded by an ever-tightening circle of wild Indian
students and administrators.
Shocked out of my complacency, and needing a cause to crusade
lor. I pulled on my "Marlon Brando Me Diggum Firewater”
sweatshirt and set out for the psych building
A minor altercation was going on in front of the building when 1
arrived. About 30 students were shouting obscenities and hurling
bricks at the building. An equal number of what I took to be
[isychology students had joined arms and stood also mouthing
oaths and occasionally getting hit on the head by bricks.
Most ol the psych students had long hair and beards (especially
the males) and oddly enough, the bricks seemed to bounce off
them, particularly if they were struck on the skull At sporadic
intervals, one of the aggressors would stuff a blue phamplet into a
gin bottle filled with gasoline, light it, and fling it at the defenders
"What ’s going on here?” I asked one of the psych people. I had
managed to dash across no man’s land and joined up with the
rapidly weakening defenders.
"&& 's) ! people from the English department are attacking
"English department?! ’’
-Yeah Every time the department puts out its literary magazine
those 4--!s’.'&s raid us.”
"Oh. You mean ‘Searchings’?”
•Right. That ’s what those !$f &!s are using for fuses in them
niolotov cocktails. They claim our stuff is an insult to the English
language, but what the hell do they know about literature?”
1 ducked a maliciously thrown copy of ‘‘Roget’s Thesaurus
Hey.” 1 said, “who do l talk to so that I can help you guys?”
"Try Mudhead. He’s just inside.”
I started to thank rnv companion but he caught a 20 pound volume
of “Ulysses” in the stomach and crumpled. I scrambled into the
safety of the building
"Are you Mudhead?” I was facing a tall individual with
strikingly jaundiced yellow eyes. He sported faded blue jeans and a
tangled, ratty beard. He wore no shirt, but around his navel was
latooed the motto "Press Here.”
"That 's what I’m called.” he said. "What do you require?”
He motioned me into his office, a tiny room with no furniture,
only a soiled carpet. “Take a seat.” he smiled. ”1 really should get
some furniture in here. We once had a tew chairs but they ve all
disappeared. 1 guess someone needed them for student housing.’
“Cigarette?" Mudhead asked, taking out a plastic bag ol green
tobacco and a pack of OC3 papers.
"No thanks. Uh, isn’t that illegal?”
■ is it?" He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "1 wouldn’t
know; we don’t get much news from the outside world over here.
"Sure,” 1 coughed. "1 hear your department has a staffing
problem."
"You’re damn right," Mudhead rolled the cigarette meditatively
between his fingers. "We’ve got the best department at this school
and nobody appreciates us.”
"The best department at the school?”
Well, nobody else thinks so. but 1 do. What comes to mind when
you think about West Georgia College?”
"Drugs? Basketball? The middle ages?”
"No. stupid. You think about humanistic psychology. Why, we’ve
get people from as far away as Pakistan who want to get into our
program."
‘You mean that humanistic psychology is that big an at
traction?"
"No. people just want to get the hell out of Pakistan. Actually,
we re not the tail that wags the dog. we re more like the tail end of a
horse or something like that ” •
"What would you do if the administratiqn decided to give your
department more funds?” 1 asked.
"Why. expand, boy, expand We could add a whole mess of really
essential new programs."
Mudhead picked a fly off his arm and popped it into his mouth.
It ’s organic.” he said, smiling. “There are a lot of new programs
we need here For instance, with the right kind of professors we
could add courses on Yoga for Midgets. Getting Into \our Head
Basic Surgical Techniques, or maybe even Humanistic
Flagellation. That last one is great for really liberated couples.”
A group of students wearing leopard skin loin cloths and
arrying spears passed by the office door pushing a huge iron
cauldron.
"What's that?" 1 asked.
"Oh. that's our new Communication Through Cannibalism
course Care to join them?”
"No-n-no thanks.” 1 ran from the office and managed to stumble
out of the building I burst through the line of psych students and
giadiv joined the English department aggressors who were still
throwmg flaming gin bottles and bricks at the good old boys of the
humanistic jungle.
Horrible
Humanism
A Dog’s Life
Campus Canines Cavort
BY SUSAN BLAINE
He is seen on campus
everyday, milling through the
crowds of students and
socializing with others on the
circle of grass in front of the
student center. Some days he
may affectionately kiss those he
meets; other times he might
pick a fight over nothing. He is
Rover the dog. “man’s best
friend ”
Rover is only one among the
many campus hounds, a huge,
dignified, black Labrador
Retriever who lives on Maple
Street and spends much of his
time on campus, visiting
students and attending classes
on a non-credit basis.
Ambling through the halls
early in the day, Rover strolls
into what he seems to con
fidently feel is his class He is
enthusiastically greeted by his
classmates
“Get that mutt outta here.”
“Eek! I’m afraid of large
animals.”
“Yuk, he’s drooling on my
shoes.”
Rover saunters off to find
someone who better ap
preciates large friendly dogs.
He follows a fr endly student
into the elevator and discovers
too late, that some rooms do no
remain in a fixed position.
Rover makes a hasty exit on the
second floor knocking down
several students, two teachers,
and one slide projector. He then
runs down the hall and into an
empty classroom where he flops
down on the floor to have a bit of
peace, quiet and a room that
does not move up and down.
Later in the day, after his nap
is completed, the Labrador
wanders over in front of the
student center to sit in the grass
and listen to the discussions of
life, politics, religion, and
whether or not flea collars are
actually effective. The
discussion drones on and Rover
soon begins to look about for a
more interesting way to spend
his afternoon
He catches sight ot Fido, a
small brown dog of in
determinate breed, who is on
his way to the duckpond. Rover
barks a welcome as Fido waits,
tail wagging for his friend to
join him.
When the business of
checking up on each other's
latest escapades is completed
by final sniffs, the dogs continue
on their way to visit the ducks.
The ducks, apparently not
expecting such a visit, are
quietly napping in the warm
grass. Where, moments before,
there had been a snow white
field of sleeping ducks, there is
a sudden blizzard of feathers,
accompained by thunderous
barking The ducks escape with
ruffled feathers, quacking what
would seem to be a flood of
obsenities at the panting,
grinning dogs.
Students sitting around the
lake applaud the dog's antics
and offer to share their lunch
with the grinning, wiggling
canines, who trip all over each
other in their efforts to get the
most peanut butter sandwiches
even though they do stick to the
roof of one’s mouth When the
last tidbit has been devoured
and the dogs find that no
amount of begging will get
anymore to eat. they romp off to
give the squirrels exercises on
rapid tree climbing
Rover and his friend then try
to give the same exercise to a
large orange cat, but the cat
shows no intention of climbing
any trees. The dogs leave with a
new respect for large orange
cats and with several painful
scratches on their noses.
As they trot down the
sidewalk. Rover and Fido are
attracted to an alluring
telephone pole covered with
dog-style graffiti. The animals
investigate the most recent
graffiti, leave some of their own
and prepare to be on their w ay
Suddenly a sleek, muscular
hound stalks on the scene
Fang, as the dog is nicknamed
by slow mailmen and owners of
small dogs, raises his tail, then
exhibits every one of his
prominent teeth to Rover and
Fido
Fido, tail between his legs,
crouches lower and lower
behind the telephone pole, but
Rover with his hair bristling all
around his neck approaches
Fang Each seems to try to
intimidate the other as the>
circle each other, growling low
in their throats. Both animals
suddenly hurl themselves at
their opponent's throat. TTie
dogs merge into one snarling,
biting, tearing mass of hair and
saliva. The battle ends quickly
and Fang yelps off into the
sunset, while Rover, the vie
torious king dog on campus,
struts importantly home.
Rover returns home to find
his dinner ready for him As his
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master sets his dog’s food down
in front of him he says, “Well
Rover, how was your day?”
Between mouthfuls of Alpo.
Rover rolls an eye to look at his
master and replies, “Ruff!”
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