Illinois Seniors Show Initiative in Extra-Curricular Activities

ccompanied with shock and outrage expressed by nampy-pamby New Age P.C. thugs across the country, the world learned last week of a group of ambitious and driven Northbrook, Illinois high school girls who take a genuine interest in school spirit and extra-curricular activities.

The "powderpuff football" game held Sunday, May 4, took on a decidedly un-powderpuff nature when the senior girls corralled the juniors into a group and began to splatter them with mud and human feces as part of a friendly hazing tradition. How they knew it was human feces and who identified it was not available information and asking the question only brought angry scowls from Cook County officials.

All girls involved reportedly knew the game would involve a hazing of the future seniors, but crybaby juniors alleged they had no idea the level of cruelty would be so high. Apparently kids today only know about initiation what they see on family-friendly high school shows like Seventh Heaven or something. This reporter would suggest girls on their way to a future initiation view fine hazing films like Full Metal Jacket or A Few Good Men. All in all, a typical end-of-school ritual gets a few more bruises and broken bones than planned, but anyone worried about our teens being slackers who let the future of America dribble down their legs while they watch Seventh Heaven found the news of the harsh initiation quite refreshing.

But the reaction of the PTA-whipped local school board and county officials? Criminal charges have been promised for the outgoing seniors involved in the incident. One group, however, has not lost perspective on the incident: Former Glenbrook North High School alumni.

"Sure, everybody knew what happened the last week of school," said Mitzi Burbank, class of 1993 and president of the Glenbrook North High reunion committee. "But everyone looked forward to it, like a rite of passage. Well, the juniors didn't. But they looked forward to it when they were seniors, the year after. It was tradition, and it was just so incredibly important to the students. Well, the seniors."

Class of 1995 Glenbrook North graduate Cindy DeSousa agreed.

"Oh, yeah, it was hell getting through it. I don't think we had any feces involved when I went through 'the gauntlet'… l'see, eggs, whipped cream, silly string—no, I think they missed the feces. But it sounds like a real sharp idea. Those girls really wanted to stand out from past classes!"

Other graduates, while admiring the girls' severe hazing, aren't admiring the incident's severity. Like Sue Gorton, class of 1955.

"I suppose it was bad, by today's standards," said Gorton, "but we had real wars and bloodshed back then, too. Hell, I know three or four juniors who didn't make it to senior year after their initiation—two went missing and one had a severe head injury that kept her in a coma until Woodstock. And we didn't just limit it to incoming senior girls either. We would haze some of the black students as well. They didn't go to our school, but that didn't mean we couldn't haze them."

Current Glenbrook North student and Class Treasurer Taylor Wick expressed support for the hazing as well.

"It's important to the social order to keep the hazing alive. If we don't have traditions to mark the change from underclass to ruling class, then it all starts to fall apart. Pretty soon people wouldn't even care what part of town you live in or what kind of clothes you're wearing. You know what they call that? Anarchy."

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Thanks for offering to let me borrow anything from your CD collection, Joey, but I really have to decline. It's nothing personal, it's just that all your music sucks major wank.

I know most people get all offended when I say that, but c'mon: It's not like it's your fault you don't know good music from the sound of a rhino fart. You were just raised by a torturously dull family and surrounded all your life by automatons who eat what they're served without asking any questions. Some of us manage to break out of that mold and question the mundane garbage surrounding us, but if the most people don't, that's hardly something they're to blame for. But don't worry, because you happened to have hit on a music whiz, and I'm going to spot you while you flex your non-mainstream muscles.

We should start with the easy stuff, of course. Everybody's heard of Pirate's Cove, so let's just go back that far—please tell me you've heard of Pirate's Cove? I mean, I don't see how you could call yourself a fan of '90s grunge rock, as I know you do, and not know it all started with Pirate's Cove in 1985, and their top 100 hit "Chest Pains." Of course you do. I mean, if Cobain had never heard that—well, fuck, I don't need to tell you that Nevermind is a direct song-for-song answer to that third Pirates album. But maybe that's starting too simple. Not trying to insult you or anything.

You can't really fully understand what Pirate's Cove is all about until you know about Sheen and Glue Galaxy. But that goes without saying. A lot of people will tell you that Sheen sold out when they let Ivan Parkichov use that song in his movie Badgrarov, but in their defense, that movie was only supposed to play in the Soviet Union, so they kind of got tricked when it was released to Finland and Norway, too. Yeah, they're not as pure as a band like Bruntshot, but they're a guilty pleasure. Anyway, if it wasn't for their electric pop and the high tenor of lead singer Justin Vincent, Pirate's Cove would probably have sounded like a complete Glue Galaxy knockoff. Like the world needed that!

What's that other band you like? Green Day? Yeah, I suppose they're alright. I mean, alright if you've never heard Hot Chalk. Can you say Green Day completely stole every fucking thing from them? I mean, Chalk even has a song called "Church on Sunday," you telling me that's a coincidence? If that Green Day guy isn't totally copping Chalk lead singer Eddie Ward's singing style, I'll eat my entire 8-track collection. Oh, I suppose you listen to CDs? Vinyl? That's even worse. It's been proven that 8-tracks can carry up to 15% more ambient room sound in any recording. I can't even hear a fucking vinyl record anymore without wanting to jam my fingers right through my ear drums, it's fucking blasphemy when you can hear all that room sound missing. I guess my ears are just more sensitive than yours.

Oh, I remember now—you like the Strokes, right? I like the Strokes, too. Well, I should say I liked the Strokes. Back in 2000, before they sold out and released that album and shit. Don't get me wrong, I'm just saying they're the kind of band who sounds fucking awful when you commit them to a pressed recording. But I still like all those original bootleg live recordings I heard before anyone had heard of them. Now they're just a pale imitation of their former selves.

If you really like the Strokes, you've got to hear this new band I've been listening to—Carnal Rule. They're like the Strokes if they had never given up and just decided to play that shit they play now. Believe me, in six months, nobody but me will have heard of this band. That's the purest proof I need that a band is better than anything anyone else is listening to.

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No one wanted it to come to this. Sure, if you checked with Arvelyn, or my other ex-wife, several of my children, or anybody on the commune staff, a number of them may have wanted it to come to this. But no one I like wanted it to come to this: A duel to the death.

I have besmirched the name of Boguslaw Sadowski, and it's no small feat to besmirch his name, given he's a dirty red con-man, heartless thug, and general bad cookie. But the time for words has passed, at least until we resume the slander trial. I for one won't wait that long. The duel is ten days from now. One of us will be dead by the time that trial rolls around, making it a lot easier case for the other guy. Though the survivor will get stuck with court costs, that's no free lunch.

The besmirching in question began two days ago, when I came home to find Boguslaw Sadowski in my home, talking to my wife in that unintelligible Russian blather they both know. Mob boss and Sting-lookalike Yogi explained to me Boguslaw would be moving in for the next few forevers, or until he could find his own place. Well, something snapped in me, good people, probably a couple of lower vertebrae, and I lost another inch in height. That I'm used to, but being made a fool of in my own home, and being completely aware of it, that's something I'm not. As if to make things worse, I noticed Boguslaw, talking to Felchyana still, make the international hand symbol for asshole, which I won't share with you decent folk here.

That was it, I was incensed. I grabbed the nearest thing I could and threw it at the mad Russian, a bucket of confetti I keep on hand for emergency purposes. At first Boguslaw was delighted, then he realized the intended insult and was driven into a mad rage. He threatened to cut off the fingers of all my living children in response, which I laughed off—if he's got that sort of time, good luck to him, right? Then he decided it was more effective to pick me up by the ankles and hang me out my own window.

Well, I've been hung out windows by better than he and didn't bat an eye, but the insult of doing it to me in my own house, in front of my non-English-speaking wife, and revealing my unsightly ankles to the whole world. Boguslaw Sadowski made an enemy for life that day, good people, and the difference now is I told him to his face. I slapped him with a glove I keep for duel challenges, and it left quite a welt, being a rubber surgical glove. I then pulled it taut and snapped it in his face, and his eye has been bandaged ever since—hopefully that will effect his aim quite a bit. Since we are dueling in ten days, as I aforementioned.

You all know I am not afraid of death, when it is happening to someone else. In this case, though it comes for me, I will stand proud against it. Boguslaw Sadowski may fire an endless barrage of bullets in my direction, though technically that will be against all the rules of the duel, and I will not falter. If he tries to kill Felchyana and Camembert and Lee, I will not weaken. If he kills my ex-wife Arvelyn I may even send him a nice thank-you note and an FTD bouquet. But whatever happens, no matter how logic argues with me, I will not back down from this challenge.

For I have been insulted with an obscene hand gesture by a man who barely speaks the language, good people. And some things defy common sense. Rok Finger are one of those things.

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