Monday, May 22, 2006

The Fraternity of Torture

It was after G got tyro A to confess his girlfriend thought his pecker small. G led a cheer. “Tiny Pee Pee! Tiny Pee Pee!”

Then, “Let’s all pull it to make it longer!” They did and A shrieked.

“More ritual than pain,” counseled Overmaster.

“You got it backwards, Prick.”

“That’s enough,” Torture Master whispered, but G gave it one more brutal yank, and then turned his attention to the buttocks of shrieking A.

"Not red enough yet!" He had brought a whip, though all instruments must come from Torture Master's locker--as G was reminded by him.

G spit “You're so full of shit! When I was Torture Master--”

“But you're not.” Overmaster intervened. “You had to be removed and not reinstated here until you blubbered your way back in, literally crawling on your belly. And the national chapter paid plenty to that judge and wife whose kid you shoved that poker up his–”

“No shove! No shove! A few burns around the hairy entrance. The back porch hah hah! Anyways, just needed whatchacallit, that Zinc and Oxide stuff. Anyways, they were ghinnies. Don't have our names.”

A couldn't stop retching now, and “Shut the fuck up!” G screamed, glad to change the subject. “You won't be a member anyway. Scholarship boy from busdriver's spawn or something. It's is all so fuckin PC-disgusting! Pretending he can ever equal us with our families.
Pigs in the administration of this university to let these little creeps in!”

Overmaster pronounced the maximum fine of a thousand dollars on G for indicating how he’d vote on
the candidate.

“I spend that on a night of skanky whores. Here! I even got the cash!”

Someone helped A back to his room as Torture Master put the implements back in prescribed order into the
Sacred Locker. This took a half hour since each required a rhyme to go with its insertion.

Overmaster met an ashen member in front of the student bookstore. "G! He was coming over here to get a book even though the course is about over. And he just...shook and shook and fell, like, straight down in a heap. He's dead! He's fuckin dead! Ambulance just left. I just can’t get over it!”

“Stupided to death.” I've seen it once before. “Yeah, he definitely stupided to death."

“Can that be?”

“Oh it be. You won't see it in statistics, but happens everywhere. Many go on from this institution and it happens later in life. Often after political careers. Some great captains of finance, too, dumb as doorknobs.”

“It's a horrible death!”

“Oh I don't know. Inevitable, apt, appropriate. How could that be all wrong?”

“Hey! Better watch yourself! God himself--!"

“has a deck-full of jokers. Forget it.”

“God! Smell lingers, doesn’t it? Rotten eggs and body odor.”

“Stupidity has varied stinks. But this is state
of the art.”

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