Attack of the Killer Footnotes

...AND THEN, HE HUMILIATED THE ESTEEMED PROFESSORS BY ENGAGING THEM IN A SCINTILLATING SEVEN-LANGUAGE DEBATE, WHICH HE WON!

When demonstrating your academic accomplishment by conducting an argument in several different languages, what, precisely, is it that you're doing? Simply changing languages at random intervals seems more eccentric than erudite--that can't be it. Calling in foreign words which have highly particular meanings, and which don't exist in the primary language of debate is a possibility. However, it does not sufficiently demonstrate your knowledge of the alternate languages, in that you never get a chance to display your impeccable grammar, nor yet your elegant turn of phrase. Not only that, but it calls your resourcefulness into question--a great wordsmith can come up with several ways to say very nearly anything, without needing to grab from secondary vocabulary pools.

No--after a great deal(1) of thought, I've come to the conclusion that there's only one plausible way to do it. This, my friend, is how the famed seven-language debate is organized: you get one language to state your case in, and six for quotations from foreigners more learned and eloquent than yourself. Dio cane!(2)

THE GOOD OLD ALL-AMERICAN SCREW

Stephen King. Before his imagination abandoned him in a Firestarter-worthy act of self-immolation, leaving only ashes and stinky fart jokes in its wake, he often managed to--in his own words--Get Off a Good One. Unfortunately, for every Good One he socked home, there was a Bad One waiting on the bench(3). The Bad Ones, indeed, were often even better than the Good ones, as in the case of the Good Old All-American Screw.

It came from "The Stand", I believe--a bit of post-apocalyptic ugly-bumping, if I'm not vastly mistaken. It came from "The Stand", caught my filthy imagination, and, from there, similarly infected the mind of the neighbour boy. Driven by some malignant inspiration, he presented me, one Christmas morning, with a little grey screw on a string. A neatly-laminated note was wrapped around it: "Good Old All-American", it said.

And that is how, without being murdered by my father, the neighbour boy managed to slip me a good ol' all-American screw with my entire family watching. I, unflappable, forked him the bird behind a book--screw you!(4)

BOB THE MAGNIFICENT GUARDS HIS DINNER WITH THE FEROCITY OF A TIGER, ALTHOUGH HE IS REALLY ONLY HALF THE SIZE OF MY PINKY

During my first year of art school, I found myself playing host to the most objectionable of animals, a hairless rat called Mr. S. (That was what I called him, anyway. His full name was Mr. Earlong Scato Sharptooth Ebenezer Shitty, or MESSES). Mr. Shitty did everything abruptly, and entirely without warning. He didn't walk anywhere--on a good day, he ran, and on a bad one, he teleported. He could shoot out his head with lightning speed, stealing your dinner, your pen, or a small piece of your finger. He was the undisputed master of pouffy cling(5) architecture, the maestro of urinary mayhem, and the Grand High Purveyor of Poo. Nobody liked Mr. Shitty. Even I didn't like Mr. Shitty, and I like the worst rat in the world.

There was something very, very wrong with Mr. Shitty, at any rate--and one day, with the same abruptness as he'd lived, that rat kicked the bucket. He was replaced by a wiry little fellow by the name of Bob(6), who, one momentous evening, re-enacted Custer's Last Stand in a bowl of sunflower seeds. Any interloper, be it human or be it rat, got a good swat upside the earhole. The standoff lasted a good six hours, during which three full-grown rats went hungry (and, in an unrelated incident, I received a hundred-dollar fine for sticking my rubbish in someone else's skip.)

DIRECTIONS: SHOUT REPEATEDLY, AND AS LOUDLY AS POSSIBLE, TO DISPERSE CROWDS OF UP TO 60 PEOPLE. GOOD FOR AIRPORT QUEUES AND VISITS TO GOVERNMENT OFFICES OF ALL KINDS.

THE CARPETS HERE ARE FULL OF FLEAS
AND IN THE WALLS, THERE'S KILLER BEES!
THERE'S MICE AND LICE AND EARYWIGS AND RATS THE SIZE OF YOUR 'EAD;
AFTER A COUPLE MORE HOURS OF THIS, YOU'LL WISH THAT YOU WAS DEAD!

OHHHHHHHHHHH...THE CARPETS HERE ARE FULL OF FLEAS
AND IN THE WALLS, THERE'S KILLER BEES!
THERE'S MICE AND LICE AND EARYWIGS AND RATS THE SIZE OF YOUR 'EAD;
AFTER A COUPLE MORE HOURS OF THIS, YOU'LL WISH THAT YOU WAS DEAD!

GHOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH...THE CARPETS HERE ARE FULL OF FLEAS
AND IN THE WALLS, THERE'S KILLER BEES!
THERE'S MICE AND LICE AND EARYWIGS AND RATS THE SIZE OF YOUR 'EAD;
AFTER A COUPLE MORE HOURS OF THIS, YOU'LL WISH THAT YOU WAS DEAD!(8)

THE GREAT, WINDSWEPT WASTELAND OF GREY AND INEXORABLE DOOM (OTHERWISE KNOWN AS GAIL'S FRIDGE)

Let me tell you about the fridge of my friend Gail, which I have inventoried this afternoon. First of all, understand that this is a standard-sized fridge, not one of those wee apartment-sized jobbies. If I felt so inclined, I could get in that fridge, then Stella could get in, and then, just for good measure, several Alsatians could get in as well, and maybe even Meatloaf on a motorcycle.

That said, here's what is in Gail's fridge:

* A baby-dill jar, containing one of those tiny end-pickles you can't even spear up with a pickle fork, and half a litre of pickle juice
* A jar that once housed sundried tomatoes (now sporting either a very interesting mould growth or a nest of djinni)
* A mostly-eaten jar of coleslaw with a masking-tape nametag on(9)
* A floating island of condiments, including a green vinaigrette, several empty bottles, a splash of maple syrup, a schmear of Miracle Whip, and a scattering of withered capers
* One jar of sweet pickles (yuck!), untouched
* A horrifying pile of vegetables, in varying stages of decomposition(10)
* One orange, rotten
* A rack of eggs fit only for chucking at one's enemies
* Two cans of ginger ale
* Three cans of beer
* The biggest fuckin' jug of barbecue sauce I've ever seen in my whole damn life
* Milk I might've drunk as an infant
* A Brita water jug, full
* A handful of plastic vacuum-pacs filled with ketchup, vinegar, and plum sauce
* A venerable head of garlic

--and, in the freezer:

* One bag of breadcrusts
* One can of coffee
* Grandma's ice cream

Just try and eke out a meal from that lot!

DOGS FOLLOW YOU (OH, NO!)

Dungeons and Dragons game, circa 1989:

"Awright, pick a letter."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"Whyyyyy?"
"'Coz I've assigned a trait to each letter, and wotever one you pick, you get."
"D."
"D?"
"Friggin' D. What is it?"

(Fuck. I forgot D.)

"Eh...Dogs follow you."

(Long pause.)

"Dogs follow me?"
"Like a stringamoozzadell(11)."
"Dude. That's the lamest thing I've ever heard. Lemme pick again."
"Woof."
"Stop that!"
"WOOF, slobber, slobber!"
"GERROFF!"
"Ha, ha, ha!"

(1) Three minutes' worth (one ridiculous Revlon ad (I believe in love. I believe in love! Bellissimo, mon amour!)--this is what had me thinking of conversations in several languages, in the first place. Just who are they trying to sell lipstick to, again? Anyhow, one Revlon ad; one commercial for diapers, during which "laying" was used incorrectly, as a substitute for "lying"; one for feminine hygiene products, in which "comfortable" was pronounced twice as "comfterble"; one lively and rather entertaining ad for East Side Mario's (it's a wonderful thing--bada-boom, bada-bing); and one spot for next week's instalment of "The Apprentice").

(2) Learned and eloquent expletive (lit. "Dog god!")

(3) Look, Mr. King--a baseball metaphor! I love you! I do! (Although, I must confess, I hate baseball. Civilized people play cricket.)

(4) I had hoped to get the word "heliographing" into this paragraph (as a descriptor, perhaps, of the screw under the Christmas lights), but it just didn't fly. I don't believe I've ever seen anyone but Stephen King use "heliograph" as a transitive verb, although Merriam-Webster confirms that it is a legitimate usage.

(5) Pouffy cling (n): A structure of paper and old breadcrusts, used as a nest by filthy, filthy houserats.

(6) Short for "The Barber of Seville". Poor ol' Bob was a curly-haired (Rex) rat, and, in his youth, resembled nothing more than an Afro on legs. His name, of course, was a cruel joke. Signore Figaro would never have stood for such an unruly mane(7).

(7) As evidenced by appalling beard-related impatience: Or che s'aspetta? Questa barba benedetta, la facciamo, sì o no? (Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Rossini)

(8) For maximum effect, increase volume and shrillness with each iteration. It's important to emphasize words like "rats", "earywigs", and "dead", so folks will think you've gone right round the twist. If you feel particularly creative, you might even try setting it to a grating sort of tune, in the fashion of "The Song that Never Ends".

(9) It reads "Old Father Time--ask before thou consum'st"

(10) Varying, that is, from "Hum--I believe that might, at one time, have been an onion" to "Dear God, it's alive...and it's looking at me!"

(11) Stringamoozzadell (n): A string of mozzarella cheese. Known to attract dogs (well, according to me in 1989, anyhow).