The Bar Sinister
Media
Part of The Bar Sinister and Cartoon
- Title
- The Bar Sinister
- Description
- Two pages from a satirical "editor's note" from the December 1962 Scripts 'N Pranks
- Date
- 00-12-1962
- content
-
Hey Yalie!
want to dress
in style? then
emulate the
Davidson man.
Go IVY League
i&usq
IIUsou 1.Gti\.
xii)
as Issue
The Bar Sinister
"Now gods, Stand up for bastards."
- Shakespeare
We
were gazing wearily out the
third floor window of the Scripts 'n
Pranks
building into the light driz-
zle of the tenth afternoon since the
monsoons began.
In
the faint noises
of our spacious offices we could
still hear that poor sophomore dic-
tating a piece of drivel entitled
"Lamentation for Beowulf" to Miss
Beaverly. " ... out of the night,
rising from the dank, cold, foamy
brine near Cape Hatteras, slippery-
scaled and ferocious looking came
the horrible, man-eating ... "
"Scripts 'n Pranks,"
growled a
hoarse voice from somewhere be-
hind the third row of book-cases.
"Ches R. Cat!" we yelled almost
in unison, "Ches
R.,
we're so glad
you came!"
Slowly appearing in the dim
gloom of the stacks was a bright,
rather sharp, tobacco stained tooth.
Then, four teeth. Then, a whole
constellation of teeth. Nothing els(
for the moment, but we knew that
it was really Ches R., so we wait-
ed expectantly. The teeth parted
slowly:
"Well, what's the problem now,
idiots? Every damn time I settle
down for a nip or a nap you blun-
derers have to fill the rooms with
weeping and teeth-gnashing and
nail-biting. Can't you ever do any-
thing right around here?"
"Ches R.," said one from the
editorial side, "we need your help.
This issue isn't going nicely at all.
No one knows how to spell, the
art editor fell over his drawing
board and broke his model's shape-
ly leg, the student body is daily
cursing us, and ol' editor has been
hung in effigy from a sour apple
tree."
"Ches R," said one from the
business side, "oh woe! No one
wants to place any profitable
advertisments. The publication
board dropped three hundreds
from our budget. The liquor store
refuses to deliver up here until we
pay last week's bill. And Fats
Domino won't acknowledge our
Page 1
contract for the staff party. What'll
we, what'll we do?"
Cat was beginning to take de-
finite form now, and we could see
that his eyebrows were arched
downward in a Siamese frown quite
unlike his real nature.
"So the store refuses to deliver,
eh? Freshman! Yes, you with the
tatooed
I.Q.
number on your fore-
head. Run down there and bring
back a case of Xmas bourbon. Don't
take no for an answer. Tell them
we'll . . . w~ll, they better not
refuse.
"Now, the rest of you sniveling
Cratchitts, wipe the tears from you
cheeks and pay attention. The main
problem seems to be one of money,
and ... Alright you wiseacres, why
the raised eyebrows? You've heard
of money haven't you? You know,
moola? ... greenbacks? ... dough-
re-me ... lettuce ... continentals
. . :· yen ...
? Come on, come on.
You remember, don't you ...
?
"See there, you've been without
it so long you've forgotten what it
is. Money is like a cheque, or a
charge card, only the government
prints it in green and black. We
still use it as legal tender, don't we?
We did last year. Has the new
frontier abolished money too? Quo
usque, Kennedius?
Thou shalt not
crucify mankind on a plastic charge
rard!"
Ches R. stood before the fire in
a John C. Calhoun pose, his arm
extended toward the Confederate
llag that the staff had carried in
the Pennsylvania campaign. But
after a brief moment of silent re-
spect, one of the legal side spoke
up timidly, being rather exposed
Page 2
to the issue in his economics course:
"Ches R., Sir. Our professor told
us today that money is still legal,
even though it may have to be
called in to pay for the Cuban
Blocade."
"Blocadel" said Ches R. as he
turned toward us again. "That's
how we'll get even with the liquor
store. W'ell send the legal side
down there and impose a paper
blocade. Those are still legal,
aren't they?"
Legal staff: "There is no such
thing as legality on tl,ie high seas.
Nor is there any established in-
ternational law. But since this is
the good ol' United States, I am
certain we can work something
out."
"Well get to it then, fool." said
Ches R. "Now then, as I was saying,
we can pick up some old cop uni-
forms and hijack the relief cheques
on the Davidson mail truck. That
ought to net us some change. Then
we go out, see, and buy up all the
copies of the Texas Ranger, the
Yale Record, the Harvard Lamp-
oon,
the Florida Orange Peel and
Playboy
before the newsie has a
chance to sell them to anyone
around here. Then, working
by
candle light, with the shades pulled
down, we ... "
The tatooed freshman crashed
through the paneled doors stagger-
ing under a heavy wooden crate.
"Here it is, Sir," he gasped as he
half dropped it into one of the
leather chairs. "Is Early Times al-
right?"
Old Ches R. allowed his Siamese
frown to dissolve, and became fully
visible now, even down to the ra-
coon-like tail. We quickly poured
five fifths into the Scripts 'n Pranks
- DA VIDSONIAN Challenge Cup
(known affectionately as the Auld
Mug, this cup has been a continu-
ous trophy in our offices since the
croquet match was begun in 1915.)
Breaking spontaneously into the
dear old GAUDEAMUS IGITUR
fight song, we eagerly passed the
cup around the room. We all felt
better now, with Ches
R.
at the
helm again, and with Early Times
in
our systems. Old cat stretched
out in front of the Life of Johnson
set on our mantle piece. He yawned
masterfully, knitted his eyebrows
with the grace only old age gives
one, nodded wisely at the editorial
side, and fell asleep smiling.
A raven fluttered up against the
chamber window seeking refuge in
the foul night. But when he saw
our recumbent forms, still holding
the empty shot glasses, which re-
flected the embers in the fireplace,
he darted away, croaking in mourn·
ful, prophetic tones "Neveh mo',"
being Southern, and all.
Scripts 'n Pranks