TOMMY SEABASS watches a great deal of cable news, and he is therefore very familiar with the pending case of Debra LaFave, the 24-year-old Tampa, Fla., junior high teacher and model who has admitted to sleeping with a 14-year-old student.
Knowing that his Veterinary School applications could use some more activities, TOMMY SEABASS decided to start a new club: The Duke Society for the Appreciation of the Fourteen-Year Old who Nailed his Smokin’ Hot Married Teacher (TDSFTAOTFYOWNHSHMT).
TOMMY SEABASS decided to first take his idea to Dean Sue, a rather fitting choice seeing that she too is an educator who has been the subject of many student fantasies. A bit nervous, TOMMY SEABASS walked into Dean Sue’s dimly lit office, only to be greeted with unpleasant news:
“I’m sorry, but Dean Sue isn’t available at the moment. I’m sure you could catch her later today at the gym. You could stop by Wilson at 3:00, 5:45, 7:10 or 9:05.”
Sure enough, TOMMY SEABASS caught up with Dean Sue at the gym later that day. “Make it quick,” she said. “I had two rice cakes for lunch, so I’m making this workout a double.” She apologized for having been unavailable earlier, saying she had been driving President Brodhead to a dentist appointment. Having had several face-to-face interactions with Duke’s new President, TOMMY SEABASS was highly suspicious of this alibi and accused Dean Sue of having something to hide. At this, Dean Sue became indignant, turned the Stairmaster up two levels and refused to speak to TOMMY SEABASS any further.
Still upbeat, he decided to arrange a meeting with the Duke President himself, both to corroborate Dean Sue’s alibi and make the case for TDSFTAOTFYOWNHSHMT.
TOMMY SEABASS called ahead and thought he was making progress, but he realized after several minutes that the seemingly familiar voice on the other end was not President Brodhead’s, but instead that of the famed Hanna-Barbara cartoon character Snagglepuss.
TOMMY SEABASS was able to find Brodhead later in the day, but only by interrupting a meeting between the president and a group of Duke students convinced they could end Sudanese genocide without ever leaving campus. Brodhead complimented the students for their efforts, but then chastised them for impinging on the academic freedom of the Sudanese. He then delivered a one-liner about how many Sudanese it takes to screw in a light bulb and headed off to his $1.7 million home.
Frustrated with his inability to get through to the Duke administration, TOMMY SEABASS decided to take his case directly to the people. Having no experience with issue advocacy, TOMMY SEABASS decided to seek someone more experienced at making passionate pleas for frivolous causes. He knew exactly where to look.
After parking his moped at Papa John’s, TOMMY SEABASS walked towards his destination, digging for $5 and polishing his fake ID. “Howdy,” said a stout, watered-down Natural Lite-reeking 42-year-old with a cowboy hat. “Welcome to Shooters.”
TOMMY SEABASS walked into the saloon and headed straight towards the dance floor, resisting a strong temptation to retake the high score of Buckhunter from Robert Keohane, who last spring had bested him by two shots before bolting to California.
Just as he was about to step onto the vomit encrusted dance floor, TOMMY SEABASS gazed over the crowd and instantly identified the one he sought: a scantily-clad young woman gyrating on top of a table to the latest Lil’ Jon joint-strobe lights gleaming off her hair. TOMMY SEABASS found himself mesmerized as her epileptic dancing style sent waves rippling down her slightly protruding gut.
“Excuse me ma’am, I was wondering if…” started TOMMY SEABASS, immediately wishing he had stopped for some “liquid courage” on the way over.
“Hey baby!” the advocate squealed, climbing down from the table, grabbing TOMMY SEABASS by the hand, and leading him toward a cab outside.
TOMMY SEABASS attempted to explain his troubles with starting TDSFTAOTFYOWNHSHMT, but the activist seemed oblivious to his words, instead explaining to him why slutty sorority girls epitomize female subjugation while slutty independents such as herself epitomize female liberation. TOMMY SEABASS’s head hurt.
Upon arriving at her off-campus love shack, TOMMY SEABASS realized that the advocate was far more interested in “expressing her liberation” with him than she was in promoting the goals of TDSFTAOTFYOWNHSHMT via a campus paper. TOMMY SEABASS decided that the cause could indeed wait.
TOMMY SEABASS hopes that Chronicle columnist Eric Whats-His-Name finds this column satisfactory. If not, that no-talent a* clown can go %$! himself.
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