Course Overload #20: "The Name Game"

It began one day in Dr. Tomm’s Western Civ class last year – I remember it quite clearly, as if it happened just yesterday. Maybe it did; I’m not very good with time.

I walked into class, late as usual, and Dr. Tomm had already started the lecture. “The problem with Vietnam was that there weren’t enough robots,” explained Dr. Tomm. “If the United States had used robot dogs, or perhaps hired Voltron or the Transformers, history might be different.”

Pens scribbled wildly, including mine, to capture Dr. Tomm’s wisdom. But as I wondered whether to include “robots with red eyes” under the same heading as “robots with fangs” and “robots that spin,” I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning around quickly, I found myself face to face with the girl who sat behind me.

“I’ve read your articles in the school paper,” she said. I smiled, because my articles were finally doing what I wanted them to: getting me chicks. She continued, “Could you put me in your next article?”

Who was I to refuse a fan? Especially one who might later on have my babies or maybe even hold my hand. And so, she appeared in my next article.

Ever since then, my friends have asked me to include them in my articles, but I inevitably forget someone or simply can’t work them into the storyline. Because this is the 20th humor article that I’ve published in the paper, I’ve concocted a story that includes everyone who’s ever asked to appear in one of my articles. Hopefully, this will make everyone happy and I can finally spread true love and superior colon health through my writing, as God intended.

It was a cold day last week, somewhere between 20 degrees and North Pole on the thermometer. I was going to meet Dan and Kat for lunch. Walking next to me were my friends Dave and DJ, who were both very excited about eating.

“I should be doing homework right now,” said DJ, staring at his math book while he walked.

“I hate food!” interjected Dave merrily.

As I opened the door to the café, I waved at Trish, the cafeteria worker. The three of us sat down next to Dan and Kat, who were talking about The Apprentice, the show where Donald Trump tries to find his next employee by giving a bunch of people random silly business tasks.

“I don’t think Trump should have let Nick go,” said my friend Sarah, who was walking by and had overheard our conversation.

“You’re fired!” exclaimed Donald Trump, jumping out from his hiding place behind a garbage can and pointing at Sarah. Sarah ran away crying.

Just then, my cell phone rang. Excusing myself from the table, I walked outside, passing my friend Michelle. When I was sure I was clear of the horrible cell phone signal-blocking bubble that apparently surrounds the café, I answered. It was Kara.

“Hey Kara, are you coming to lunch today?”

“No,” she replied sadly. “Something very bad happened at the Campus Ministry.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked. My heart sank. I was fully expecting her to tell me that Fr. Kurt was really a sinister alien in disguise.

“Well, it’s not every day that I super glue my hands together,” she replied. “I sent Frankie and Bill to get nail polish remover, but by the time I get this mess straightened out, lunch will be over.”

“Kara, if you glued your hands together, how did you call me?” I asked, confused.

She stuttered for a moment. “I… used my tongue to dial!” she exclaimed. I could clearly hear circus music in the background. Then a voice that sounded just like Bill’s exclaimed “I love lions!” The line went dead.

Walking back in, I saw that Mary had bought me a grilled cheese sandwich. “That was very Mike Lopez of you, Mary,” I said happily. “Mmm! Tim Murphy,” I exclaimed, biting into my sandwich.

“My Dr. Cotter hurts,” complained Meg, who had walked in with Shannon only a few moments before.

“Maybe you should go down to Health Services and see if they can give you a Chandler,” replied JC and Brian.

Just then, horrific robot dogs with fangs and red eyes came spinning into the café. “Holy Joe Shurize!” exclaimed Alana, Ashley, Mandy and Heather simultaneously. Police sirens blared in the background, no doubt coming to contend with the robotic menace.

“Sirens are so romantic,” commented everyone in a 50 block radius.

Seeing the dogs, I didn’t know what to do. “Dr. Davidson!” I yelled in terror. “John, Anthony, Yvonne, Vicky, Adam, Mr. Brice, Alex, Christina, Denise, Professor Andiamo, Kristy, Kimmy, Sandy, Jess, Krystal, Nicole, J.J., Dr. Sauron, Mr. Keard, Massy, Val, Tony Hawk, Alex Trebeck!”

“How profound!” commented Meg, fighting off a gaggle of robot dogs with a chicken tender. “You finally put everyone who asked into one of your articles!”

It warmed my Johnny Depp to know that for once, every Tom, Dick, Harry, and Willy Wonka will be exploding with joy when they pick up a copy of this week’s paper. Spreading happiness makes me feel so… so… Gandhi.