Thursday, May 7, 2009
Pope: I woke up Sunday morning with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was just the Burrito King I had the night before, but I knew that Ryan and I would endure something we’d never experienced before – a hard day’s work.
We had just finished creating our magnum opus. All that remained was to email it to our editor. But Sunflower Broadband was unable to pull its head from its collective ass, and a connection could not be made. We would have to deliver our work by hand.
The road to campus was long and arduous. Approaching Wescoe Beach, Ryan was startled as a bullet whizzed by his ear. This was no day at the beach; this was a full-on gunfight. On one end were the Students for Concealed Carry, their holsters still empty, but with hands packing some serious heat. Firing back were the Students for Life, who appeared to have a very loose definition of the word.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Putting guns on campus will only get more people shot. And shouldn’t women be allowed to make their own decisions?” The gunfire ceased.
“Kill the non-believers!” More ammo was headed our way.
Ryan: “Take cover!” Pope yelled as we dove behind the bronze Jayhawk. Huddling for safety, I spotted a woman nearby bleeding from her shoulder. She appeared to be fat, which was gross. When I turned to vomit, she yelled “I’m going into labor!” I deduced that she was pregnant.
“Cover me!” I called to Pope. He had no choice but to fight with the only thing that could defeat the radicals – rational thinking. He popped up, screaming “Violence never solved anything!” as he distracted the mob. I dove to the woman’s side, and could see now that she was quite beautiful. I carried her to safety and heroically delivered the baby. She kissed me passionately. “No one will ever believe this.”
“There’s a delivery truck. Let’s go!” Pope shouted. I took out a pen and autographed the baby. “Now they will.”
Pope: Pulling Ryan from that knocked-up floozy, I chased down the truck, threw the driver out and sped away from campus. The angry mob piled into the Pro-Life fetusmobile and gave chase. “What’s the name on this truck again?” I wondered aloud.
“Bears ‘R’ Us,” a voice rumbled from the back. I looked at Ryan, who pointed at a figure in the darkness. “You,” he whispered.
Ryan: I turned to Pope. “I got this.” I clambered out the window and onto the roof. Within moments, the top was torn savagely as the figure climbed to face me. “You killed my grandfather!” I cried.
The bear laughed, unsheathing his sword. “Now it’s your turn!” I dodged his blow as Pope tossed my blade through the sunroof. I grabbed it, spinning to block the bear’s attack. His power was great, and I was soon knocked down, my weapon falling from sight. The bear grinned. “Are you scared?”
“Bearly.” With a vicious kick to the stomach, he flew off the speeding truck and through the windshield of the trailing fetusmobile, solving all our problems.
Pope: Ryan climbed back in through the window. “We don’t have much time!” As we came flying down Jayhawk Boulevard towards Stauffer-Flint, I searched for a parking spot, but instead found Alex Nichols running out to greet us. “Goddamn crazy fans!” I screamed, jamming down the gas pedal as we plowed into the newsroom, Alex’s pale, fleshy body offering little resistance.
Our editor sat there speechless, covered in bloody entrails. I produced the manuscript from my breast pocket. “Don’t leave! Here’s—”. I stopped. The draft was studded with bullets. Our masterpiece had saved my life, but we were forced to print this inferior product instead.
As we left, two enormous, freckled hands reached out and cracked our skulls together. Through blurry vision, we could just make out Matthew Ryan Kleinmann standing over us. As the world faded to black, his final words rang in our ears.
“No, you're welcome.”
— Pope is a Kansas City senior in English. Snyder is a Leawood senior in English.
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