Anyone else in the Mission area getting tired of living right next to the gorram Stampede? Anyway.
Gather 'round, children, and I shall tell you a tale... the tale of the greatest trick the Vicious Math AP Gang Ever Pulled.
You see, back in high school I ran with a pack of math geeks. We did Calculus in grade 11, arriving early or staying late or even doing it on our lunch hour. That devoted to math were we. Well, math... and mayhem. For not only did the Vicious Math AP Gang contain the school's top minds, but also the most demented senses of humour. Some teachers were nearly driven to early retirement.
One fellow student above all was the subject of our brand of torment, a perpetual member of the student council. Cheerful, enthusiastic, brimming over with energy... may as well have worn a bullseye. So over the years she got hit with a variety of pranks, and if grade 9 had taught her anything it was that Mike was almost certainly responsible.
Grade 12 arrives. This will be the last time we'll be able to pull anything on her birthday, so pull something we must. Back in this time, a year you may have read about in school called "1993," the Where's Waldo craze had just passed its apex, and as such a piece of Waldo merchandise had hit the streets called the Waldo Tube. This was a clear plastic tube filled with thick liquid, sparkly things, and one little picture of Waldo. Shake it up, find Waldo. But my brother, see, my brother had found one with two Waldos in it, implying that somewhere out there was a tube without Waldo, and some poor customer would drive himself mad trying to find him.
This image appealed to me. But I'm not that patient.
My proposal to the Gang was this: finding said Waldo-less tube would be impossible. Thus, we would have to create it.
On our spare, my best friend (the Vicious Math AP Gang's mascot at this point, for while not inclined in math he was bound to be involved in whatever shenanagins I was) headed down the road and purchased one standard-issue Waldo Tube. We returned, fetched two of the others, and headed for the drama room. My best friend and I were the go-to guys of the drama department and thus had full access to the tool cabinet. We pried open the tube, drilled in, and removed Waldo, wrapping him the packing tape so as not to lose the little guy. Just in case. We then poured everything else back in, sealed it up, and the only evidence of tampering was that it was now half an inch shorter than a standard Waldo Tube.
That afternoon, the gift was given. Big smiles, and challenges of "how fast can you find him?" By the end of the day, the entire student council was peering into this little plastic tube, desperately searching for Waldo. Our work was done.
Six months pass.
Graduation looms. Our target is moving to Salt Lake City for college, as all good mormons do. My best friend and I ponder. We should do something to her for grad. One final hurrah before parting ways forever.
I should explain, at this point, that is was Vicious Math AP Gang tradition to, when travelling during the school year, buy all the other members tacky souveniers. My best friend had recently received a San Francisco snow-dome-in-a-bottle.
And we still had Waldo.
The idea hit us both simulaneously, our heads spinning to see our coup-de-grace already shining in each other's eyes. "Waldo!" is all we said, and we were off for the tools. We popped the bottle open, trimmed the tape from our little plastic friend, and in he went. The seal was less elegant this time around, but it hardly mattered.
At the grad banquet, when the appointed hour had come, the Vicious Math AP Gang rose as one and marched to her table. We presented the gift. "San Francisco in a bottle! And Waldo's in there!"
"Yeah, right, like he was in that tube," replies her mother, meaning her entire family had also been staring fruitlessly into the tube. But she gives it a shake, watches the snow... and sure enough, Waldo drifts into view. She whips around and starts punching Mike, over and over and over, crying "I can't believe you did this!" I, the architect of the entire Waldo Offensive, lean back with satisfaction and ponder aloud what might have given her the idea that this was outside our capabilities.
The moral of this story: Evil is fun, but it's good to have a scapegoat.
'Till next time, I remain...
-Danny G
Your souls so dark it smudges mine.
-Goat
Gather 'round, children, and I shall tell you a tale... the tale of the greatest trick the Vicious Math AP Gang Ever Pulled.
You see, back in high school I ran with a pack of math geeks. We did Calculus in grade 11, arriving early or staying late or even doing it on our lunch hour. That devoted to math were we. Well, math... and mayhem. For not only did the Vicious Math AP Gang contain the school's top minds, but also the most demented senses of humour. Some teachers were nearly driven to early retirement.
One fellow student above all was the subject of our brand of torment, a perpetual member of the student council. Cheerful, enthusiastic, brimming over with energy... may as well have worn a bullseye. So over the years she got hit with a variety of pranks, and if grade 9 had taught her anything it was that Mike was almost certainly responsible.
Grade 12 arrives. This will be the last time we'll be able to pull anything on her birthday, so pull something we must. Back in this time, a year you may have read about in school called "1993," the Where's Waldo craze had just passed its apex, and as such a piece of Waldo merchandise had hit the streets called the Waldo Tube. This was a clear plastic tube filled with thick liquid, sparkly things, and one little picture of Waldo. Shake it up, find Waldo. But my brother, see, my brother had found one with two Waldos in it, implying that somewhere out there was a tube without Waldo, and some poor customer would drive himself mad trying to find him.
This image appealed to me. But I'm not that patient.
My proposal to the Gang was this: finding said Waldo-less tube would be impossible. Thus, we would have to create it.
On our spare, my best friend (the Vicious Math AP Gang's mascot at this point, for while not inclined in math he was bound to be involved in whatever shenanagins I was) headed down the road and purchased one standard-issue Waldo Tube. We returned, fetched two of the others, and headed for the drama room. My best friend and I were the go-to guys of the drama department and thus had full access to the tool cabinet. We pried open the tube, drilled in, and removed Waldo, wrapping him the packing tape so as not to lose the little guy. Just in case. We then poured everything else back in, sealed it up, and the only evidence of tampering was that it was now half an inch shorter than a standard Waldo Tube.
That afternoon, the gift was given. Big smiles, and challenges of "how fast can you find him?" By the end of the day, the entire student council was peering into this little plastic tube, desperately searching for Waldo. Our work was done.
Six months pass.
Graduation looms. Our target is moving to Salt Lake City for college, as all good mormons do. My best friend and I ponder. We should do something to her for grad. One final hurrah before parting ways forever.
I should explain, at this point, that is was Vicious Math AP Gang tradition to, when travelling during the school year, buy all the other members tacky souveniers. My best friend had recently received a San Francisco snow-dome-in-a-bottle.
And we still had Waldo.
The idea hit us both simulaneously, our heads spinning to see our coup-de-grace already shining in each other's eyes. "Waldo!" is all we said, and we were off for the tools. We popped the bottle open, trimmed the tape from our little plastic friend, and in he went. The seal was less elegant this time around, but it hardly mattered.
At the grad banquet, when the appointed hour had come, the Vicious Math AP Gang rose as one and marched to her table. We presented the gift. "San Francisco in a bottle! And Waldo's in there!"
"Yeah, right, like he was in that tube," replies her mother, meaning her entire family had also been staring fruitlessly into the tube. But she gives it a shake, watches the snow... and sure enough, Waldo drifts into view. She whips around and starts punching Mike, over and over and over, crying "I can't believe you did this!" I, the architect of the entire Waldo Offensive, lean back with satisfaction and ponder aloud what might have given her the idea that this was outside our capabilities.
The moral of this story: Evil is fun, but it's good to have a scapegoat.
'Till next time, I remain...
-Danny G
Your souls so dark it smudges mine.
-Goat
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
rin:
yeah, i know a guy who as he consoles the ladies, tries to hit on them. 
rin:
haha. deal.