Smile Politely

A Sentimental Journey Through Champaign-Urbana Vol. 3

We now resume with the final installment of The Campus Wit’s tale of Parson Yorick and his travels through the UIUC campus town.

…. and his eloquence was unsurpassed. I will miss the venerable Parson and truly deplore his passing. However, I know that his piousness and faith will land him an all-expenses paid trip to heaven. I mean, come on. The man was a GODDAMN SAINT! He was s-s-s-s (queue breakdown into tears). Well, I am quite sorry to all gathered here. I let my emotions get the better …… WHAT!!! OH FIE!!!

Are you quite serious, Decent Reader? I could have sworn I was writing my eulogium for Parson Yorick and not the final volume of his journey. Damn, Damn, Damn, with sausage gravy of double damn poured on the top! Well, I’ve gone and ruined the ending, have I not? This really ruffles my rectum. I had the Parson’s whole death scene planned out. It had everything — danger, romance, violence, comedy, pathos, etc. And here I’ve gone and ruined everything with my carelessness. That’s it! I quit! I hereby retire from writing an….What’s that, Forgiving Reader? You forgive me and you would like to hear the story anyways? Oh Divine Reader! I am not fit to lick your codpiece. Your compassion is unmatched by even that most divine of all men Jesus Christowski, my banker. Your mercy has given me the vigor to go on with my tale.

So far in my tale, I had shown the Parson the quadrangle and Foellinger auditorium, and he had managed to lose two of his appendages. All of the hullabaloo (NO! Hullabaloo! Not Lillabullero! Just because I forgave you, Vexing Reader, does not give you dispensation to interrupt me willy-nilly. Now be quiet or I shall box your ears.) had quite worn out the Parson. Determined to replenish his strength, I took him to the nearest market in order to purchase some tasty comestibles. I believed that a nice bit of Shepherd’s Pie and a good strong bottle of sack would make the Parson right as rain. Unfortunately, my belief would turn out to be more incorrect than my uncle Susan’s conviction that man could and should eat large portions of candlestick holders.

We entered Schnuck’s and immediately both jammed our fingers in our ears. The entire store was in an uproar and the sound was deafening. “What in Lester P. Figwigit is going on!” the Parson screamed at me. At first I could give no reply, but slowly the cause of the noise dawned on me. Every ear in the store was brimming with a Bluetooth set, and the owners of the ears were screaming at distant douche bags through cellular communication. I explained the Bluetooth set to the perplexed Parson, and he immediately shit his pant. I did not see it coming and apparently neither did he because he jumped fourteen feet in the air with shock. Luckily, he landed softly and did not break his remaining leg. He merely asked me, “Are these picaroons totally oblivious to the extreme annoyance their conversing is creating or do they just not care?” I had no answer. It was like picking between a serving of vomit or a portion of mucus. What’s worse — Incognizance or Assholery? I was lost in thought over the nature of Bluetoothers when I turned to discover the Parson had disappeared. I wondered where he could have gone, and then I recalled that he had shit his pant. I reasoned that he had gone to find a bathroom. Ah bathrooms: home to the greatest single innovation of humanity. What’s this innovation, you ask? Listen up.

In my mind, the greatest single innovation in human history is the hook on the back of stall doors. Without these hooks, man would not be able to use the facilities of a public bathing room. Where would a man put his hat, coat and valise? Where would a women put her handbag? The ground? Surely not!! That would never do. Filth and foulness breed on the floors of WCs. The hook protects these items from the floor and allows people to evacuate with peace of mind. Without the hook, people would be continually exploding from build-ups of ordure, and such explosions would cause universal distress among the rest of the populace. A world without the stall hook is no world for me. Amen.

Hook or not however, I had to find the Parson Yorick. I checked the Schnuck’s bathroom (which incidentally is quite clean and smells of lavender), and the Parson was nowhere to be found. I started to panic and ran outside. I immediately saw the Parson in the parking lot on his knee praying to the Lord. I moved in closer and heard his cries. He said, “ Oh Lord, strike me down now. I cannot live any longer in this vile and loathsome world.” His prayer did not seem to work. He continued to live. Just then however, a man who was text messaging, talking on a Bluetooth and eating a burrito while driving hit the Parson. Unfortunately for the Parson, he was not killed. I rushed him to hospital (where coincidentally I once witnessed the signi… Bloomin’ Bollocks! I’m quite sorry. I forgot again), and the doctors managed to save his life although they had to amputate both his remaining leg and his remaining arm. The Parson was inconsolable. He had no appendages, and he found the modern world to be despicable in its deplorable disgustingness. Once again, he implored God to strike him down.

Strangely enough, he was immediately struck down by a bolt of heavenly lightening which promptly ended his life.

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