Rounding the corner and turning the bend, I see a gigantic humongous pile of hay hiding in a corner of Discovery Hall. I soon learn that we are digging in this brown mass of grass. Of course the object we would search for was a prickly pointy needle. The seniors are cackling and chuckling to their hearts content. One wonders what joy they get out of this. Some people look gung ho others look really slow, some jump in and others yell. Our leaders did not yet tell us how to go about this in the most efficient productive way. Should we gently scrape off the straw or should we dig to the bottom and then search the ground. Oh! What a conundrum we were in.
We all get around the grass and attack it with our fleshbare hands. Sifting slowly, getting anxious, hoping not to get stabbed by a needle. All are getting weary. Are heart wonders if this mission is futile. Some people stand around with out even trying and others dive right in. A few of the upperclassmen pull out a luxurious used mattress and were lie on it snickering and taunting us. We have plans to get back at them. The desire arises in our hearts and we give the goats their grass, by this I mean we throw the hay in their faces.
Oh, glory be they seemed to take it well. They even throw grass back at us. Amidst the chaos and confusion, people sit down and close their eyes to keep from getting assaulted. Others scoop up large piles and chuck it in the air to fall on all. The seniors suddenly seem not so pleased. Huddling in a circle, they regroup. In the tiny private pow-wow, they plan cruel punishment for us. They then say, \"For every action their is an equal but opposite reaction.\" Who can argue with physics right next to the office area of Mr. Disch. Oh, don't you see? The hay blinds them to generosity. They plan revenge. Precisely in this instant, the man finds the needle and we all burst out in cheers full of exhilaration.
They then reveal their wicked device of making us crawl like a worm to the Pig. We all drag our feet to the sidewalk and march on down to Piggly. Pacing ourselves out took forever and ever and never and yet still some more time. The clock lost all meaning. TiCk. tOcK.TiCk. tOcK. The seniors scream and yell and pull out their hair trying to organize us unruly underclassmen. Oh, they must get out their whips and scourge us into line. Finally the marathon starts. The long worms wiggles its way back to campus.
The sun continues beating down on us. And the wind stirs. And the fires of our desire to win only burn brighter.
We all get around the grass and attack it with our fleshbare hands. Sifting slowly, getting anxious, hoping not to get stabbed by a needle. All are getting weary. Are heart wonders if this mission is futile. Some people stand around with out even trying and others dive right in. A few of the upperclassmen pull out a luxurious used mattress and were lie on it snickering and taunting us. We have plans to get back at them. The desire arises in our hearts and we give the goats their grass, by this I mean we throw the hay in their faces.
Oh, glory be they seemed to take it well. They even throw grass back at us. Amidst the chaos and confusion, people sit down and close their eyes to keep from getting assaulted. Others scoop up large piles and chuck it in the air to fall on all. The seniors suddenly seem not so pleased. Huddling in a circle, they regroup. In the tiny private pow-wow, they plan cruel punishment for us. They then say, \"For every action their is an equal but opposite reaction.\" Who can argue with physics right next to the office area of Mr. Disch. Oh, don't you see? The hay blinds them to generosity. They plan revenge. Precisely in this instant, the man finds the needle and we all burst out in cheers full of exhilaration.
They then reveal their wicked device of making us crawl like a worm to the Pig. We all drag our feet to the sidewalk and march on down to Piggly. Pacing ourselves out took forever and ever and never and yet still some more time. The clock lost all meaning. TiCk. tOcK.TiCk. tOcK. The seniors scream and yell and pull out their hair trying to organize us unruly underclassmen. Oh, they must get out their whips and scourge us into line. Finally the marathon starts. The long worms wiggles its way back to campus.
The sun continues beating down on us. And the wind stirs. And the fires of our desire to win only burn brighter.
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