The Feared Wag (1973)

Written, compiled and messed up by:
— Richard K. Carson
— Dale M. Hytholt Jr.
— Brad A. Morris
— Manny (Bill) Glisson
— Maurice (Mick) Anderson
— Garry A. Bryan

During the class of 1973 at Napa High School, the journalism teacher, Joe Hasting, wisely sensed that certain among us were not contributing much of substance to the school paper but were nonetheless motivated to write, and that it would be better for everybody if we were diverted to one corner of the classroom to create our own paper. The result was the Feared Wag, most of which was newly written but for which we also recycled a few items from previous classes.

At the time of the Wag, Dale, Mick, and I were seniors, and Brad, Manny (then known as Bill), and Garry were juniors. Dale, Brad, Mick, and I were collectively known as the "Bucking Four" until Manny joined the team. Mick then left briefly, but all five members returned for the final issue. Garry, a friend and supporter, managed to sneak in a couple of items but was not an official member as he was not enrolled in our class.

Despite its satirical nature, the Wag was an officially recognized class project, its members earning grades for their efforts. We were given almost complete freedom, though a couple of items were deleted because of sexual content. The first such incident resulted in Issue #5 being only three pages instead of the usual four. That precedent having been set, Issues #7 and #9 also were only three pages, but those times it was because of a shortage of material rather than a deletion.

The authors are listed above in order of total word count, though Brad was given top billing at the time in acknowledgment of his earlier print appearances. As a sophomore I had contributed to another campus paper called "Articles of Confederation." Dale and I were the only members who appeared in every issue of the Wag, each contributing about a third of the content (though each of us will insist that the other was the true star in order to avoid blame). If I seem to have contributed somewhat more, that is because (1) Dale, like the others, had a life and (2) I was the typist. In preparing the purple ditto sheets for printing, I sometimes threw in items at the last minute to fill space, and it shows.

During this and the previous school year, much campus construction was going on, including the establishment of a second high school (Vintage) and the laying of a cornerstone containing a time capsule that allegedly included the second issue of this paper (and presumably still does).

(L-R) Dale Hytholt, Mick Anderson, Brad Morris

(L-R) Brad Morris, Mick Anderson, Dale Hytholt, Richard Carson, Manny Glisson

Issue #1: Any Way You Look at It, It's Everything (February 9, 1973)

Issue #2: Report of the President's Commission on Pornography (February 20, 1973)

Issue #3: I Never Met a Stranger I Didn't Know (February 27, 1973)

Issue #4: I'd Agree with You, if You Were Right (March 6, 1973)

Issue 5: If So, Why Not? (March 15, 1973)

Issue #6: The Student Foist (March 29, 1973)

Issue #7: I'd Rather Write Than Bitch (April 13, 1973)

Issue #8: I Don't Feel Like Thinking Up an Alternate Title This Week (May 11, 1973)

Issue #9: If You Can't Join It, Beat It (Special Christmas Edition) (May 24, 1973)

Issue #10: The Weak Humorly (June 14, 1973)

Issue #1: Any Way You Look at It, It's Everything (February 9, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #1


While feasting your eyes upon this first issue of the "Feared Wag," you've been asking yourself, "Why is it so good?" — You haven't?

It will be the editorial policy of this publication that we should never influence the reading public with our own thoughts.

Newspapers have long given their editorial views in their carefully controlled editorial pages. We strongly believe that all editorial views be eliminated from the printed page. To back up our belief, we will start an editorial campaign in the near future to abolish editorials. All responsible citizens should urge publications to abolish editorials. Join with the Feared Wag, please, and let us stop journalists from giving their own personal, biased opinions.

Thank You,
The Editor

If you wish to comment on this editorial, or the state of the weather, address your rock to:

Santa Claus
Last House on the Left
North Pole

NEXT WEEK: "Meet the New Editor"

Read the next in this series


Some people think fads are a way of expressing oneís innermost motor nodules, but personally I am in favor of them. My friend Flatbrush feels the same way.

"They aid people in their spiritual development," he told me the other day as I stuck my microphone down his throat in another of my obnoxious interviews, which he is gradually getting used to.

"Have you any idea what your favorite fad of all time might be?" I asked inquisitively, also redundantly.

"Yes," he replied.

"I doubt that. But letís take the example of the charcoal gray T-shirt. Now it would appear that this new sensation is taking the country by storm, but in reality itís just a cover-up for a secret organization which is concentrating on the development of fruit fly urine into thatched roofs for aging Latvian weasel wompers, who live in the darkest wilds of Lightest Hoolihan province."

"I disagree," said Flatbrush.

"Of course you do, but I have to eat too, so I must press on with this."


"Because twenty million people look forward to seeing my interviews every week. What else is appropriate enough to use for a window washing rag?"

"With a little yellow food coloring in your water, you can really get your windows clean," he said.

"Oh, yeah? Do you think thatíll start a fad?"

"Only if people are obstinate enough to realize that realizing their obstinacy will only get them into obstinate relaization, and we havenít got time for that in this country."

"True," I replied.

Personal Inexperience #1


Here I am in the fun class of Driver Training! At first I thought it might be a real ordeal for the teachers; it's not easy to be calm when you're in danger of being killed by four different people in one hour.

On the contrary, it's been a trial for the student. I was nervous to begin with, but when I saw my nice and calm teacher, who could barely blink from taking too many tranquilizers, I became instantly terrorized!

I was the first in my car to drive, which made me more than a little shaky. When I started the car some strange noise startled me. My teacher, Mr. Flakes, explained that it was only the engine … something I hadn't counted on.

I drove around in circles in the school parking lot; unfortunately, the lot was square. Within minutes I had to face my first crisis, the first of many. I was instructed to stop the car.

This I did very slowly; I just let it coast to a stop. I was afraid I might "brake" it.

My teacher did not appreciate this brand of humor, nor did the three cars we drifted in front of. We returned to the classroom when our teacher regained his voice.

In the room we met a somewhat alert-looking gentleman who gave us a ten-minute lecture on what his name was. After that he endeared himself to us with his imitation of a blundering instructor; we later discovered it was no act.

He then commenced to explain which car would cross an intersection if two arrived there at the same moment. "If you and another car get there at the same time, the one who got there first gets to go. I mean, uh … well, you should know all that stuff."

He then proceeded with like explanations of the use of seat belts. Then he decided to set us at ease with the assurance that if we ever hit a curb, or demolish a car, or wipe out a city block, the teacher would be at fault, so just relax and enjoy ourselves.

So far our group has had 46% fewer accidents than the average suicide-prone trapeze artist!

EDITOR'S NOTE: Any connection between Dale Hytholt and real people is purely coincidental.

Read the next in this series

Jack Snartz #1: The Rolling Eye


[A campus version of Herb Caen's column, with a cheesy drawing of a skyline accompanying each installment.]

START HERE: Thatís a glittering exposé in our Govt book: "In one campaign the Republican Central Committee of Orange County sponsored the televising of a circus at which Republican candidates were introduced" … Are you ready for this yearís Filmfest? Whether itís ready for you is another matter. After such greats as "The Battle of Algiers," "Freaks," "The Seventh Seal," and "42nd Street," weíve got a tough act to follow. Plus we might run out of coal for the projector … Your best bet so far appears to be "Black Sabbath" (1964), with Boris Karloff. Listen to the music score, and if you start to hear passages from "Iron Man," better ease up on the popcorn.

FURTHER STUFF: If youíve moved into a new foreign language classroom, you may have noticed your class loosening up a bit. Thereís something about the new surroundings that makes people relax. Donít know what it is. Must be the altitude … If you read last weekís Injun-eer, you may have noticed that the first page was dated Jan. 19. Thereís an explanation for that, but I donít know what it is … You know youíre starved for something to do when you find yourself reading "To the Student" in your textbook … If you missed Groundhog Day, Iím happy to report there wasnít a shadow in sight. Know what a groundhog is? A big sausage.

THIRD PARAGRAPH: For a while there, it almost still said "Would You Walk 20 Miles for Some Grass?" on the south campus bulletin board — but not quite. Someone removed two letters from "Grass" … 64¢ Question: Are hurricanes ever named Gail? … Add colorful adjectives heard only in high school: "scungy" … Interesting road sign spray-painted across a barrier on the Driver Training route: "Drunks Please Hit This!" … 64¢ Question: Whatís 64¢ in yen?

EL ENDO: That was a good comeback Larry Krauser had for Mick Anderson in the jour. Class. When Mick remarked, "Iíd like to write a story using the word Ďfiasco,í" Larry suggested, "Write an autobiography!"

Read the next in this series


Following are some excerpts from the 1983 edition of the "Grimace Book of World Records":

LONGEST COMMERCIAL INTERRUPTION. On May 8, 1977, during a television broadcast commemorating Fulton J. Sheenís 82nd birthday, the song "Bring a Torch" was cut off 13 syllables prematurely in order to present a record 9-minute 36-second series of commercials, between 8:42 and 8:52 pm.

LARGEST TELEVISION AUDIENCE. In the United States, 226,000,000 during the 9-minute 36-second commercial break. "The best thing to hit TV since ĎThe Tammy Grimes Show,í" one viewer remarked.

HIGHEST MOUNTAIN. The highest mountain in the world is still Mt. Everest (Tibet-Nepal). Recent estimates indicate that radioactive nuclear fallout accumulating on top of the mountain would at present make it 32,984 feet in height.

OLDEST MAN. Harold H. Denning (born January 15, 1854), a resident of Los Angeles, died there on April 2, 1980, aged 126 years 66 days. Shortly before his death, he had attributed his longevity to "a steady diet of saccharin, cyclamate, reconstituted dry milk and monosodium glutamate. I donít see how anyone could eat anything else."

LONGEST ROCK CONCERT. 202 hours by Boston Mackerel, ending on June 18, 1976. The over-8-day concert was estimated to have reached about 125 decibels at its peak. Those 560,000 who attended called it one of the most beautiful experiences they had ever had.

HEARING AIDS. 560,000 sold on June 19, 1976.

LONGEST NOVEL. In 1975, Andy Warhol, aged 44, released the worldís longest novel, "Names." The book contained all the names listed in the New York, Los Angeles and Chicago telephone directories. The work was not renowned for its character development.

HEAVIEST CATCH. On September 2, 1979, Filbert H. Gladiolus, after a 4-hour fight, landed a whopping 2,400-pound bluefin tuna. The fish was found to contain 1,920 pounds of mercury.

LOWEST UNEMPLOYMENT RATE. Two cities in the United States — Uz, Kentucky and Waxahachie, Texas — have reported an unemployment rate of 0% in the most recent estimates. Both have been ghost towns since 1974.

CLOSEST APPROXIMATION OF "PI." To a terminating 6 decimal places by Joseph L. Slobnotnik, who figured "pi" to be 12.269851. Researchers are investigating this computation for possible error.

MOST POPULAR PERIODICAL. "Grimace Book of World Records," published annually. This book prints nearly all conceivable world records. The authors, Morris and Doss McFlirter, remark: "Itís amazing how many people are interested in such useless facts."



Yes! You, the reading public, have a chance to enter our contest!

If you have white teeth, body hair, at least one eye, calcium deposits in your bones, and have never heard of this contest, you are eligible to lose!

All you have to do is:

  1. take these 26 letters — A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z — and make as many words as you can. Remember, peeking in the dictionary is a no-no!
  2. postmark it in between Feb. 8.
  3. put your name on it!


  1. an old brown paper bag lunch;
  2. a 3-week subscription to "Fefferman's Tool & Die Quarterly"; or
  3. something of equal value of your choice.

Read the next in this series


It was just last year that my high school started broadcasting its weekly radio show, "Cursing." Evidently this concept was successful, for not only was the show carried over into this year, but it was accompanied by the rival high schoolís new show, "Orifice."

But it didnít stop there. Last month, when a third high school show, "House of Wackiness," began, I wondered if any end was in sight. The answer came to me last night when I tuned in to the local station and heard a youthful voice booming out at me.

"Hello out there, and welcome to ĎStuff,í Naphtha Elementary Schoolís very own radio show. Iím Johnnie Snorkelburger, and for the next hour Iíll be bringing you good sounds. Letís start the evening with the Sandpipers, and ĎMy Pony Macaroni.í

"Phone in those dedi — dedi — gee, thatís a big word! Well, phone in your stuff now to us at the station, and weíll read it — maybe even on the air.

"That was the Sandpipers doing ĎLollipop.í Now hereís some of the things you listeners have been phoning in … íYou stink!í ĎOh, yeah?í ĎDonít drink too much Pomack, ha ha!í ĎYouíre dumb!í ĎOh, yeah?í ĎThereís a place in France — Ď oops! Who phoned that one in?

"Youíre stuffing on KRSN in Naphtha … and that was ĎIím Popeye the Sailor Maní by the Sandpipers. We were supposed to play our sports feature now, but the tape didnít get brought down this afternoon as our sports man isnít allowed to cross the street by himself.

"Stay tuned for our special music feature for this week. Tonight weíre focusing on the Sandpipers. Youíll hear such hits as ĎThe Little White Duck,í ĎHappy Birthday to You,í and … "

I turned off the radio. After all, I have all those records anyway.


  about travelers
  on their roads:
Night closes in on the travelers
so they hurry on down the road
they've come a long way and
they've a long way to go
looking for a place to rest
'fore the darkness fully abounds
the travelers are weary and
need a place to lie
they're looking for a place to grow
before their bodies are old
the travelers are anxious and
wish to reach the sky
Night closes in on us all
and most of us let it
only a few dare to travel
and only a few dare to reach
a few dare to cry
a fewer yet dare to try
there are some travelers
a few that chose a road
a road that's rough
a road that's steep
a road that's hard a road
that plays for keeps
travelers have got a lot to learn
and they'll remember from mistakes
and finally reach and grasp
a blue spacious chunk of sky

i was talking to somebody the other day
didn't really find out his name
but we walked along anyway
crunching dead leaves underfoot
fighting the chilly wind
we came to a ruin
tumble-down house
looks to be
17 B.C.
said he
we talked some more
while he had a smoke
(not dope)
when he told me it wasn't any use
we all ought to be put in a soup
but i didn't understand why
so he told me about his girlfriend instead
it seems she got busted
by her parents in maine
for going around with people like him
and he commented, "lot of that going around nowadays"
i told him yes indeed
but if we stay here
we're sure to freeze
and i got an A in English last week
and he looked at me very strange

Issue #2: Report of the President's Commission on Pornography (February 20, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #2


In the course of the "Feared Wag"ís long history, we have seen many upstart publications come and go. Some of the more memorable of these failures are … uh …

However, one new paper to hit the stands seems to have large potential appeal. Given the unlikely title of the "Injun-eer," this newcomer gives a refreshing new look to the world of journalism.

The "Injun-eer" has only half as many pages as our paper, and is put out by a small clique who works in a secluded cubbyhole on north campus. Yet its readership has increased steadily since its first issue.

Having previously boasted such staff writers as Mick Anderson, Richard Carson, Dale Hytholt and Brad Morris, it is no wonder that the "Eer," with its in-depth reporting, has already made a name for itself on campus.

We of the "Feared Wag" salute you, the "Injun-eer," and hope that your periodical continues to be published alongside ours for many weeks to come. But remember one of the first rules of journalismÖdonít get overconfident!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Groundhog Day Again


Winter was halfway through on Feb. 5, and three days before was the day that determined what kind of weather weíre going to have these next six weeks. But at Groundhog International, they werenít particularly looking forward to the event.

It was hard to get a word out of the little creatures, as they were all busy scurrying about. But it was obvious that they were frantic with impatience as the day drew near.

Few people realize what preparation goes into Groundhog Day. First, each climatic region of the country must have one woodchuck assigned to it. Then itís a matter of transporting each animal to its designated region, not to mention arranging living quarters for same. And all for a five-second process as the groundhog comes out to check for his shadow. Hardly seems worth all the effort, but GroundhogInternat goes through with it every year.

So, if you feel that all penumbrophobes are a bunch of lazy lowlifes … remember the woodchuck.

?Question Man?


QUESTION: What do you think Richard Nixon does with cottage cheese and ketchup?

Personal Inexperience #2


I have recently been put into a position of unemployment. It's not that I lost my job; I never had one. It's just that I have tried to find a job and have come to the realization that there isn't a large market for people who have no experience, no coordination, and no ambition. Employers just don't seem to be open-minded anymore. What do they want? Perfection??

The other day I applied at a place of toil where the proprietor knew my family. Since then I have wondered if it's a coincidence that I didn't get the job.

It wasn't that the man was unfriendly; it was just the opposite. He was too friendly. I have always had a distrust of overly friendly people since a doctor with overly large needles offered me a lollipop and I turned out to be the sucker.

The hiring manager asked how my parents were, and I cheerfully said, "Employed." He said they didn't have any openings, that they were using college kids from some business program. I hear college people make great stock boys.

He didn't take down my phone number.

The next place I tried, the manager said they didn't have any openings, that he's had the same two fellows for two years and he didn't want to break up a set.

He never once looked at me. It seems that something extremely interesting was going on outside, like a ninety-eight-year-old sumo wrestler trying to cross the freeway by walking on the cars.

Next try I went to a large corporation, thinking that in such a well-run business there must be a place for me.

I applied at the personnel desk and was greeted by what looked to be the sweet lady who runs the neighborhood dungeon.

In a fit of logic, she said they didn't hire people under eighteen but I could go ahead and fill out an application if I wanted to.

I filled it out.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Want Ads


WANTED: Feared Wag editor desperately in need of space for want ad section. If any such space is found in the Wag, please drop a note to: 1600 Pennsylvania Av, Washington, DC. If you don't hear from us in 3 weeks, we will assume you are dead.

Jack Snartz #2: Je Parle English


SACRIFICIAL WRITES: If you listened to "Cruising" a while back, you heard announcer Dale Hytholt looking for his script. "Ah, here it is," piped the Golden Threat, followed by the sound of a crumpled-up paper being opened. "Dedications are coming up now, so the dedications people better be ready, Ďcause Iím turning on their mike." Click … They werenít ready.

ĎS WONDERFUL, ĎS C(H)OOL: Do you, too, wonder why theyíre called "report cards" when theyíre printed on paper thinner than this? … Add words we could do without: "really" … On second thought, maybe some people couldnít do without it … Confusing command in Spanish class: "Count from 1 to 20 backwards" … Iíd like to apologize for the misprint my cohorts let by in last weekís "Wag." A sentence in the editorial read, "Hy is it so good?" It should have read, "Hy is it so gd?" … Keep those postcards!

GWAN: Some drama students were rehearsing behind the auditorium curtain on the day there was to be a presentation for the elementary schoolers. Just as they were leaving the stage, the curtain rose to reveal a full audience of punks — er, youngsters. Iím wondering what they would have done if they hadnít gotten off stage in time. Maybe they could have told the joke about the captain of the slave galley ship who wanted to — nah, itís been done … All in favor of declaring the phrase "round ball" redundant, say "ovoviviparous" … A good way to keep your attention directed at the road is to have Dear Abbyís radio show on in the Driver Training car. Tomorrowís show will be about "a 24-year-old girl in love with a 28-year-old memory." Thatís a pretty long time for her to have a memory, what?

BETTER LOOK behind you, because we on the staff have ways of making people read the "Wag." Of course, this only applies if youíre not reading it right now … Jíai parlé!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Perils with Bric Bradford or The Great Hair Debate


I really enjoy my long hair. I love to feel the sensuous stuff down my neck, flowing over my shoulders. Sometimes, though, I could almost cut it because of the strange reactions I get from people I meet on the road. Don't understand, huh? Well, I'll try and explain it.

Picture this: me, a longhair, furry-faced, spaced freak stuck in Fresno with a very tired thumb. Now ordinarily you would suppose someone of the same type would pick me up. But Fresno is a weird town and you never know what might happen …

A small, old-model, four-door sedan pulls up, and lo and behold, there are four longhair types inside. Far out! I clamber in and — "Hey, man! Have you heard the word?"

"What did you say?"

"The word was in the beginning and the word is Jesus! Have you accepted the Lord?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of … "

"Far out! Will you share in bread and wine and pray and come and live in our temple?"

"Uh, excuse me, but I'm a Buddhist."

At this the car comes to a screeching halt and the four huddle in the corner, whispering prayers or something, then one of them turns around and tells me I'd better take my pack and my Hare Krishna's somewhere else, 'cause they can't be seen driving sinners around. Image, you know?

Sure, I say and I stumble out of the car.

The next car is a pickup truck with a strange-looking cowboy with KRAK on the radio, packing a six-shooter and a six-pack. I tell him my mommy told me never to take rides with strangers. He says something I can't repeat and tries to hit me with an empty beer can, and leaves.

"Damn! I may never get out of this town," I say to myself and sit down on the off-ramp and sob, though I'm not completely lost; there is an A&W nearby.

Then a Firebird pulls up with a kind fatherly-looking type inside. He looks like the type who is missing his son and wants to take you under his wing. Oh, well, I do need a ride.

"You know," he says, "I can understand your long hair. Back in my day it was short hair; like, we'd go out and get a butch just to be rebellious and nonconforming … "

"Oh yeah, long hair lecture #4, the understanding type," I think. "But of course, nonconformity is the conformity of the nonconformists so it doesn't really matter, right? My son has long hair; I haven't seen him in a year, but I can accept him. I've been there, if you know what I mean … "

"Excuse me, could you stop at this gas station?"

"Oh sure, son, hurry up now!" I duck around the corner and find the nearest on-ramp. I wonder if he's still sitting there waiting for me.

Three hours later a VW microbus pulls up with a longhair with uneven eyes and three fingers on his right hand.

"Where you going, comrade?"

"Uh, to Weed, California," I answer, picking my way through an illegal arsenal.

"Well, I'm only going as far as Sacramento. Hey, do me a favor and wire that bomb, will ya?"

"Excuse me, but I'm a pacifist."

"Well, we all have our hangups, comrade. Wanna drop some acid before you do that?"

"No, thanks, I was really just going."

By the time my next ride comes I'm pretty upset. I'm sulking along the side of the road at a turnoff and this old station wagon pulls up. It has two Ma & Pa Kettle types in the front seat and about 300 kids hanging out the windows with their big sheepdog.

"Why look, Pa! It's a hip-eye!"

"Son, that sure is what it is, and he looks pretty lost. Where are you going, boy?"

"Uh, to Weed, California."

"Why, that's just where we're going to visit Cousin Mabel. We're all the way out from the Appalachians. Come on, climb in the car."

"Pa, shouldn't we get a picture of him for Homer back home? He's the first hip-eye we've ever seen."

"Tarnation! You're right, Ma. Come on, kids!"

So the 300 kids and the family dog all clamber out and get in a group. "Pa, better put the hip-eye on the other side. We won't be able to tell him and the dog apart, har har!"

After the picture, we all clamber in the car amid smelly diapers and little kids, rotten licorice, bag lunches and John-boy playing the harmonica and Pa telling me how they "never ever see hip-eyes back home" and "Come back east and see us sometime."

We get into Weed about dark, and before I leave I am heaped with country pickin's and even get some of Grandpa's "recipe" ("Don't let the revenooers catch ya," says Pa). Nice people.

Maybe there's a moral somewhere in this story, but I don't care. I know now I'll never cut my hair; in fact; I'm going to grow it as long as I can and go back to visit Ma and Pa and charge a quarter for all their kinfolk to take a peek. And go back for some more of Grandpa's "recipe."

Read the next in this series


Q. What did the masochist say to the sadist?

A. "Beat me daddy, 8 to the bar."

Our Funny Campus


One of the major complaints about high school today is it is rapidly losing the humor element. Such is the opinion of Mr. X, a 77-year-old vaudevillian who would not identify himself any further. This man believes in a return to the "good old days" of jocularity and feels that the high school is the natural place to start instilling this attitude.

As we sat down in the activities office, I asked him what fault he saw in the current academic mores.

"The sense of funniness is completely gone," he complained. "You can go to any student function and there wonít be a single quip or quote worthy of attention."

"And what about the old times?" I asked defensively.

"In my day," he related, "you could hardly escape the goings-on. When Iíd go to a meeting, Iíd always leave Ďem laughing; our motto was, ĎIf no one is hurt by whichever you do, always do whatís fun.í One of my favorite gags was switching speeches on people, or pretending to be someone who didnít show up."

"Whatís so funny about that?"

"See? Youíve been out of it so long that the simplest gag is over your head. So far the only laughable thing Iíve seen happen around here was when an administrator told the joke about the captain of the slave-galley ship who wanted to go water skiing."

"I donít get it."

Mr. X was persistent. "This is ridiculous! You donít appreciate any form of humor!"

"Iím afraid youíre the one whoís out of it," I commented. "Face it, sir, you just donít understand high school today." With that the washed-up "humorist" left in a huff.

As he grabbed his tam-oí-shanter and cigar and walked out, I noticed a physical deformity that had affected his posture. I decided not to mention it.

Nixon Dies


On a recent weekday evening I came to the realization that I am a member of the youth market. The youth market is the American salesman's dream, and although it's been around for a while, it hadn't gained prominence until this generation matured into customers, for the simple reason that this is the first generation of youth to have money in quantity.

Not knowing how to be victimized by salespeople (I tend to walk away in the midst of their song of praise about their product) I approached the subject of buying a stereo. I reached the conclusion that our household needed a stereo after taking several newly bought records some only to have the virgin discs raped by a monstrosity that claims to be a progenitor of today's stereo.

In the first store I entered, I was accosted by an elderly man who should have been at home collecting his Social Security. He began to talk to me about his products, but couldn't recall any prices; he then started me on a tour of his merchandise, stopping at each and every stereo system to give me a lecture and demonstration. The tour included several articles I knew I would never purchase for monetary reasons, but having no knowledge of salesperson-customer etiquette, I stood mutely, occasionally nodding my head to affirm my consciousness, until we got to the systems that interested me, whereupon I began to inspect them, oblivious to the elderly man's constant flow of chatter. During the tour I was entertained by the old gentleman's demonstrations, which were very destructive to his merchandise. They consisted of ruining records and tone arms by operating record changers manually, snapping levers and twisting knobs off of amplifiers, and attempting to insert an 8-track tape into a cassette player. The highlight of this comedy of errors came about when he annihilated a $65 air suspension speaker by kicking it to the floor while attempting to move a cart bearing a stereo to a wall socket. During conversation I learned he was the owner of the store.

Bidding the unintentional clown good night, I left his establishment for my domicile. I felt as if I had seen the grand finale of a spiritual pyrotechnical display. I had left the store and was back in the security of reality as I headed home to regain my sanity, compose my nerves, and rest my body.


Study the three above figures carefully. Now then, which one is different from the other two? Time yourself. How long did it take you?

10 seconds — Moron
15 seconds — Imbecile
20 seconds — Idiot
3 weeks — Vegebrain

If you did it in less than 10 seconds, you are now entitled to go on to the next page.

Issue #3: I Never Met a Stranger I Didn't Know (February 27, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #3


[In response to the previous week's censoring of the word "masturbates," this editorial was similarly altered by a razor blade applied to the ditto sheet.]

Journalism has come a long way since the days of John Peter Zenger. Where before we could not print articles on certain topics, today we are free to discuss such things as [unreadable] and [unreadable].

But it is not enough to congratulate ourselves on these strides; we must continue to remove the [unreadable] of censorship from our press.

In last weekís "Feared Wag," a sentence was censored by the "Wag" advisor. We have made our attitude toward this action clear and have demanded that the altered sentence be clarified. It should have read: [unreadable]

It is hoped that the [unreadable] rampant on our campus will not be kept hidden from the students at large by the censorís scissors. The Constitution guarantees us freedom to [unreadable] and makes no justification of the [unreadable] employed by todayís censurers. Our staff will continue to do battle in its frank and open campaign against such [unreadable].

If you wish to comment on this editorial, write to: [unreadable]

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series



Recently the Naphtha High School cafeteria has been getting numerous complaints on the quantity and quality of the food served. The only answer to these grumblings of the stomach was to hire a public relations man.

Among the first things the PR man did was to set up an advertising campaign. In order to bring the menu to the masses he arranged for "Fats" Meety, a top-flight food critic from Petaluma who's known county-wide, to prepare a commentary for a brochure. Here is an excerpt from that epicurian monument:

"Definitely for the discriminating eater. Very busy, but people leave very quickly … which may or may not be due to the service.

"This place is the talk of the town. The milk shakes are so thick that it is said that many people choke on them. The french fries are as American as their apple pie. Any similarity in taste is purely coincidental.

"Naphtha has something for every body. For you thin bargain hunters, I recommend their hamburgers. Where else can you get so much bread for so low of amount? In fact, it almost amounts to nothing.

"For you fat bargain hunters I recommend nourishing catsup.

"And for those of you who aren't particular about what they give you, they have absolutely all you want of nothing; at a very reasonable price, I might add."

Mr. Meety's contributions to the brochure were beyond all expectations. Luckily, a campaign led by the head cook quickly raised a sufficient retirement fund for the public relations man.

Personal Inexperience #3


Two days ago I had a marvelous opportunity to make a fool out of a perfect ass: me.

As a result of the forces of gravity and propulsion I was forced to go through that fun ritual of buying myself some shoes.

I don't mind going downtown, only just staying there for a few days tends to wear my nerves a little thin.

I like to classify shoe salesmen into four groups:

  1. "The Slipper" is the young kid who is taking this job just for the season and isn't going to touch anybody's smelly feet for nothing … you have to pay him.
  2. "The Loafer" is the friendly guy who makes small talk as fast as a telegraph key being punched by an insomniac who hasn't slept for three days.
  3. "The High Heel" is the one with bad breath who has to keep pulling you aside to tell you, confidentially, what a crummy shoe you're buying.
  4. "The Clog" loves to have you try on lots of shoes … I think he's a little weird.

I met all four types of people and some others that you couldn't tell what they were! On top of all this, I had to bring my mother along. Next to kids, parents bother me the most. I hope that leaves somebody for me to like …

I heard all the usual cracks that people make when they see that I wear size 13B shoes.

"We supply oars with those shoes, ha ha!"

"That reminds me, I have to pick up some salami on the way home."

Finally, after a trip long enough to give my already too-large feet fallen arches, I had a choice of four styles that Abe Lincoln might have liked, or worn for that matter. I had to pick one of them because I was getting homesick.

Now I have a pair of shoes that the salesman said would be extremely popular: formal Roman sandals.

I should live so long …

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Jack Snartz #3: The Weekly Blat


PICTURE ME THIS: If you were absent (or inattentive) last Tuesday, you missed a grand and glorious spectacle — our own Tom Vreeland entering the General Assemblage in a snazzy brown suit. After the applause died down, a voice in the back chirped, "All opposed?" … Weird misprint in last weekís ish: "Maybe thereís a world somewhere in this story." Have we no morals? … Scene weíd like to see in a P.E. film, thanks to Bric Bradford: football player no. 66 saying to the viewer, "Iím number — (looks down at shirt) — 99."

SCRATCH UP ANOTHER Freudian slip heard around campus: The other day someone was talking to a friend about San Franciscoís "Phallus of Pine Arts" … Always good for a laugh: opening both doors to the English wing at once and walking into the dividing bar … When a noted Injun-eer columnist was asked to submit a quote for this column, he graciously contributed: "Go to hell!" … Gee, I wish Iíd said that! … As Mr. Rogers looked on during Wednesdayís Red Rover tournament at lunch, one of the participants in the dog-eat-dog game, Garry Bryan, shouted an explanation: "Donít worry, Mr. Rogers, thereís nothing sexual in it!"

FURTHER ADVENTURES: "Reruns already?" quipped an A-V student after the instant replay of a videotape … When you see Dave Welsh, donít say hi; do a Burt Lancaster impression. ĎCos if you donít, he will … Did you get a feeling it was Dana Mitchellís birthday last Thurs.? You did if you listened to "Cruising" and heard about half a dozen dedications to the fellow 17-year-old. On top of that, there was only one birthday wish to George Washington, and it went: "Youíre an ooold man! From Benny" … Suggested graffito: "Ignorance? I donít know the meaning of the word!"

AW GONE: No midweek is complete without its slice of trivia. Consider this: Sophia Loren, Brigitte Bardot, Barbara Bain and Barbara Eden were all born in September of 1934. Coincidence? Letís hope so.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

The Poet's Cornered


[This was simply a reproduction of the lyrics to my song "Can I Touch Your Guitar," written a year earlier.]

The Two-Ring Circus


This is the time of year when the jewelers really start pitching for school rings. Apparently these digital ornaments are regarded as a grand memento of oneís high school years, besides a status symbol. I had never been that interested in buying one, but my curiosity was piqued when I started seeing advertisements in the school paper with increasing regularity.

On my way to the jewelry store, I saw my classmate Henrietta, who had ordered hers early and was already flashing it around.

"Isnít it divoon?" she said. "I got it last week from A-1 Jewelers."

"Looks nice," I replied, the vision of what I was on my way to get giving me mounting enthusiasm. "How much did it cost?"

"Who knows? My boyfriend bought it for me."

I recalled seeing her boyfriend the day before scrounging for pennies outside the cafeteria.

As I entered A-1 Jewelers, I could almost smell the presence of school rings. A sign read, "Rings Engraved Cheap," but as it was written in crayon I decided not to take advantage of the offer. "Can I help you?" asked the clerk.

I puffed up proudly and proclaimed, "I would like to buy a Naphtha High School ring."

"Ah, very good. Thereís only a $10 deposit, and you can pay the other $30 upon delivery."

I deflated. "That much, huh?"

"A small price to pay for the memory it gives. Money isnít everything, you know."

"In this case, itís nothing," I finished the joke, muttering as I brought out a ten spot. "How soon will I get it?"

"Oh, itíll be here in about three months."

"Three months? Iíll be getting ready for college by then. Why should I wear it in college?"

"Well, youíll need another one to wear while you wait for your college ring."

I put my money in my pocket and said, "I think Iíll sleep on it before I decide whether to buy one." Then I went across the street to Z-26 Jewelers. To my delight, I found out there that it would only take a couple of weeks to get a ring, at a fraction of the other price.

Theirs are made out of beer can tops.

Pass the Tally, Please


Some people (mostly defeated candidates) have questioned the accuracy of tallying student election results. Well, those skeptics need question no more, for the photo printed in the senior "Injun-eer" showed the type of atmosphere that accompanies the performance of this duty. "Some unidentified students" were shown "helping with the election results." One is invited to imagine the conversation that went on at the time …

"Hey, what are you guys doing?"

"Counting up the election results. Come on in! Hey, Bruce, you wanna give her some balllots to start on?"

"Oh, boy. Move over."

"Hold it, thereís only room for me here. Why donít you go over and sit on the table with them?"

"Would you talk a little softer? Now Iíve lost count. Iíll just put down 25. I know it ended in a 5."

"Look, hereís a guy that wrote some suggestions on his ballot for reforming the student government."

"What? Oh, just get rid of that one. People like that donít count."

"At last! Hereís someone who put down Carson for supervisor."

"Well, I guess we know who filled that one out! Lemme see what other fruits he voted for."

"Here you go. Remind me to finish tallying it up later. Have these over here been done yet?"

"I donít know. Better go through them again, just to be sure."

"Now where did my tally sheet go?"

"Oh, I put it in the file. I thought you were through with it."

"Thatís good. I donít feel like doing any more; anyway; I have stuff to do at home. Iíll see you guys later."

"Donít let that draft in! Last time we got the ballots mixed up and had to figure out which had been done."

"Iím still figuring."

"Someone go get Mr. Feist and ask him who he voted for; I canít read this stupid ballot."

"Faculty members donít vote! Although that does look like his mark, Iíll admit."

"Well, go get him anyway. Heís got my lucky pen."


"Yeah, Iíll only use that one. Last time I counted the votes with it, I won the election."

"The ASB isnít superstitious."

"All I know is when I completed the Walk for Landscaping, I found that pen in my pocket."

"Darn! I lost count again. Aw, the heck with it. What number should I put down?"

"Put down 43. We havenít used that yet."

"Coming through! Got some fresh ballots we can fill out."

"But I already voted."

"So? Figure half the students didnít vote. Weíre just doing it for them! And since they represent student apathy, they wouldnít care who we put down on their ballots. Besides, this way we can assure our getting elected!"

"Sure! Why not? Everyone knows student government is a farce anyway."

Contest #2



All you have to do is identify the famous candy bar that contains these ingredients: sugar, roasted peanuts, corn syrup, hydrogenated vegetable oil, sweetened condensed skim milk, nonfat dry milk, cocoa, chocolate, salt, glycerin, sodium caseinate, di-potassium phosphate, vegetable lecithin, artificial flavor & color.

Submit your entry, along with an 8-by-12 glossy of an African fennec, before publication date of our next issue to the Business English room in north campus, or to 10 Downing Street, London, England.

SECOND PRIZE: 1 week in Napa.
THIRD PRIZE: 2 weeks in Napa.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Issue #4: I'd Agree with You, if You Were Right (March 6, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #4


A new threat to the well-being of the American way of life has spread itself with amazing speed and tenacity:

The Telephone Pole.

This wooden post has proved to be a constant menace to navigation. These tree corpses have been corrupting the drivers of our great nation. In fact, many spastic motorists go out of their way to say hello to them.

If this were their only fault, we could all lock ourselves in a breadbox and forget all about it, but one astonishing finding has shown up in a Feared Wag investigation. After thorough investigating, the Wag discovered that the telephone post is a prominent cause of alcoholism. One cannot even drive through downtown without seeing drunks attached to these poles. If the pattern is not disrupted, we will soon have a drunk on every corner.

We at the Feared Wag realize that it is not enough to present the problem, as we usually do. So for once we have a solution.

The obvious answer is to commit suicide. However, there would be huge political repercussions. We reported this problem to our sports editors, and he said something unprintable. So we solved the problem by pure logic and a deck of tarot cards we had lying around.

The Wag recommends that all telephone poles be buried underground, thus eliminating the navigational hazard, and fertilizing the dirt. The phone lines should then be supported by government employees with their arms in the air. Thus solving the unemployment problem.

Now all we have to worry about is a decent deodorant.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Fan Mail from Some Flounder?


Dear Editor:

How often have you and your readers seen the cadavers of lovable toads who have been horribly cut down on our nation's routes of traffic? How often have you witnessed the bloody fruits of the genocidal campaign, carried out by the sadistic cretins of America's roadways against these innocent creatures of the fen and glade, who venture out onto the asphalt plain only to experience the bloody fervor of violent death? I make a basic appeal to your humanity: Please, when you next see one of these lovely creatures of good being murdered, intervene.

Ivan Ofalich

(We greatly appreciate your letter, but we never print such matter, and we shall continue never to print any such letters. — Ed.)

Dear Editor:

As a fan of the "Wag," I write you to tell you how much I enjoy your publication. In the evenings, I often read the more humorous articles to my hamster and doorknob collection. I often spend my Sunday afternoons in the bathtub with my back issues of the "Wag" and my horsewhip. I like the "Wag" mainly because since I've started reading it, I am never at a loss for witty quotes while in the company of my acquaintances. My friends read the "Wag" when they come over to my home, and they enjoy it greatly. My friends have made many queeries (sic) about meeting you; keep up the good work.

Phineas U. Frumpwinkle

(Many other readers wrote in to say the same, but you put it best. Thanks for writing. — Ed.)

Read the next in this series

Personal Inexperience #4


Things have gone downhill in Driver Training since I last talked to you. They had to; that's the only way to start the cars.

Those burned-out hulks they have the temerity to call "automobiles" have the smooth ride of a razor blade across a battlefield of acne.

Mr. Flakes explained the use of the instruments found in what the students affectionately call the "cockpit." In a myriad of lights and little bleepers (you can take that any way you like), a person can feel like a mole in the spotlight. He explained the use (or nonuse) of the radio, the clock that never seems to work, and how to open the glove compartment. All the other unnecessary gadgets he left for us to figure out.

The one promising sign was that he didn't show us how to operate the hazard lights. Instead, we were shown what looked like a furry foot with a necklace. It turned out to be a rabbit's foot with a rosary wrapped around it.

Found on the teacher's side of the car is a brake pedal, which he proudly proclaims he's only had to use twice before. The other times he was as frozen as a year-old TV dinner.

All of this vitally interesting information took an hour to digest, and then we had to get another treatment from Mr. DeBree.

As we climbed into our "simulators," he was busy reminding us to buckle our seat belts so we wouldn't fall out of our seats. He explained that it was just to develop a good habit and to be on the safe side. I agreed with him; you never can tell when you're going to get an uncoordinated avalanche of a koala bear for a student!

These imitation cars weren't in the best of shape. One girl shifted the gears and the knob flew across the room at a terrific rate. This is the fastest thing that's happened in class so far.

They tell me there are still hundreds of lemmings wanting to take this course of "patience." (It creates both kinds!)


Ethel: That's not worth repeating.

Methyl: You can say that again!

Jack Snartz #4: The "Cute" Column


"YOU SHOULD BURN those," remarked Larry in reference to a stack of "Cruising" handbills. "No, donít burn them! Theyíre just the right size!" shouted Mick, grabbing one of the papers and applying it in the gross fashion … Add sightem seen on the freak lawn at lunch: someone using his umbrella for a walking cane, only to stop and discover it stuck in the ground five steps behind him … There are two kind of umbrellae on campus: black and other. If you own a black one, join the club. If yours is a bubble type, form your own. And if itís yellow-and-magenta-polka-dot superimposed on plaid: Congratulations! Youíre a thespian … If you own no umbrella, use this copy of the "Wag." Itís dispensable.

FORD HARCH: Perhaps the last graffito to be found in the old south campus restroom will be, "Fighting for peace is like ----ing for virginity." Last chance, graffitists! … All right, who was the wise guy that removed "ENT" from "STUDENT" on the Student Services façade? An astute observer finally took down the remaining letters … During a staff discussion the other day on the "incestuous" implications of "My Mother, the Car," Mick came up with the appropriate term: "auto-eroticism."

64¢ QUESTIONS: Where does everyone go during a rainy lunch hour? Is there a secret hangout or do they turn into loups-garous? … When will the school clocks be reconciled (theyíre 2½ minutes fast)? … Whatís the circumference of Jupiter? … There have been posters up for a couple of weeks that say "Buy Your Yearbook Today." Do they mean today, the day youíre reading it, or today, the day it was posted? (I would have bought mine with a punch, but I didnít want to break my glasses.)

THINGS TO MAKE AND DO: Buy your "Fiddler on the Roof" ticket for a seat two away from your friend, and see who sits between you … Re-enact an assassination for your govt. project … Submit your geometry homework to "In the Garden" … Buy your lunch. Get in the hot plate line, and when youíre well into the crowd, shout, "Hey, what happened to my pet snake?"

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

"Les Misérables" Exposed! (Part 1)


In recent years evidence has been found to the effect that Victor Hugo's book "Les Misérables" is, indeed, a nonfictional work.

The following is that evidence, thus revealing the real story behind the story.


Taken from Cosette's personal journal:

Dear Diary:

The last few years have really been freaky.

First, Ma left me with these people named Thénardier. Is that a name? They turned out to be real schnooks and took Ma for all she had! Which is okay by me, no skin off my teeth! Then they started to beat me, which was a bummer until I sorta got to like it. 'Course, the food was lousy and pay nonexistent, but they gave me wooden shoes … boy, I sure dig them things!

Then this big fat guy comes to the inn and tries to buy me like I was a slave or somethin', breakin' up our sado-maso relationship.

There sure was somethin' wrong with that dude. He just kept starin' at me. You bet I sure stayed away from him!

I knew from the start he was no good when he stole my bucket o' water. He must'a been hard put for a bath or somethin'. I never been that hard put yet!

Then while I was sleepin' he sneaks in an' puts a rock in my shoe. Wood shoes are bad enough, but a rock in 'em is just too much!

After he took me, we walked. And walked … and walked some more. I was beginning to think this louse was a murderer or somethin', 'cause he always had three wigs in his coat just in case he needed 'em. Either that or he just wanted a fur-lined coat.

Then he started to give money to beggars when he himself looked like one and I lived like one.

Then we were walkin' down the street in Paris when he saw this guy. I guess he recognized him, for he yelled out "Pervert!"* Then we ducked down some alley and he climbs up the wall leavin' me behind. That really blew my mind!

Right when I decided I should have stayed in bed that morning (if he would have shelled out a few cents to get me one), he threw this rope around me. I thought he was really goin' ta hang me, but he pulled me up the wall instead.

*Change in pronunciation of the name Javert to allow continuity in the story. — Ed.

This was all to be found of Cosette's recollections.

The next piece is a fragment of Thénardier's log.

Many years ago, I broke the law of the analyst. I became involved with the problems of two of my clients.

Cosette was one I observed for many years in my own home. She was constantly begging us to mistreat her, and, after a while, we did. She obviously had an inferiority-guilt complex. She must have felt some deep guilt and wanted to punish herself.

Then came this psycho … excuse me, I mean emotionally disturbed man, Jean Valjean. He wanted to take Cosette with him. Perhaps he needed a female figure in his life, thus revealing a strong dependence on his mother during childhood. Of course, he too could have had a guilt complex, since to live with Cosette is a type of punishment!

After they left, none of my other patients interested me …

So I set forth to observe them.

First, I disguised myself as a low-class individual named Jondrette. After getting him to visit my place of abode, I intended to perform some mental tests on him.

I had many people in the room, and although there were plenty of chances for conversation, he never said a word, indicating a phobia of large crowds.

After seeing he was shy, I attempted to bring him out of his shell with the use of a hot iron, thinking it would give him something to talk about.

But this nut … excuse me, I mean misunderstood person, took the iron and burned himself instead of letting me do it.

From this I can conclude that any one of the following three may be true:

(i) He's a masochist.
(ii) He's a sadist.
(iii) He likes to go out of his way to help people do things.

As with the fragment of Cosette's memoirs, this is all that has survived of Thénardier's notes.

NEXT WEEK: The personal papers of Monseigneur Bienvenu … Valjean's first encounter with the Thénardiers … and a letter from Marius to a close friend!!

Read the next in this series

A Hole in the Clouds


(A very "short" theoretical story about getting high, reaching the sky, a story that never ends …)



"Look! Look at the clouds!"

"Yeah, so what? Just clouds."

Yeah, but look at the hole; you can see the blue thru it."


That's the sky!"

"I know that …"

"So, we've been trying to get that high for days, trying to reach the sky, but those damn clouds have been in our way. Now there's a hole in the clouds, a way to get to the sky, through that hole."

"It'll never work. Let's wait for a sunny day."

"Sure it will."

"All right then, what if we miss and hit those clouds and get soaked to the bones? We'd probably get struck by lightning, besides."

"Oh, come on now!"

"No! It's a stupid idea!"

"So what? What have we got to lose?"

"We might get struck by lightning …"

"Lightning! Bull! Those aren't even lightning clouds. Besides, getting struck by lightning can't be any worse than things down here."


Later on:


"Well, what?"

"Are we going to try it?"

"All right! Just to please you. Besides, getting stoned down here leaves one very little to work with."

"Now you're seeing things my way …"

"Let's go then."

"You ready?"


"We're off!"

Good-bye, earth."


"We made it!"

"I thought we would."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to listen to you more often."

"Yep — you know, things are pretty groovy up here."

"Yeah, quite far-out."

"Right on! Wow! Look at the moons and the planets, and passing through the Van Allen belt was a gas! And look at all the stars going by!"

"Yep, it's @%!?*!! all right!"

Later on (again):



"Look! Look at the sky!"

"Yeah, I have been for days. I think."

"Sure, but isn't that a hole?"


"Over to the left of that small star below that strange-looking asteroid."

"Who cares?"

"Hey! It is a hole!"


"So? Let's go!"

"&$!! Ain't you ever satisfied?" (etc.)



The newly perpetrated Feared Wag sound effects album can soon be obtained at the shoe box nearest the Wag offices in Tierra del Fuego!

You will experience such great sounds as:

Side One

  10. GOLDFISH — LIVE 1:32
  11. GOLDFISH — DEAD 2:00
  12. MUTE SWAN 1:03

Side Two

  3. CLOUDS 3:00
  6. HAT RACK 1:18

Issue 5: If So, Why Not? (March 15, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #5


As journalists, we on the staff realize the importance of a tool vital to all writers which many other people are apt to overlook … punctuation. Anyone can see that a sentence generously supplied with punctuation is easier and more interesting to read and punctuation helps group ideas and prevent endless run-on sentences and it is clear to us that we must exercise correct usage of signs and symbols to clarify our thoughts so our readers will be able to grasp our meaning and go along with what we have to say, donít you agree.

The non-alphabetical characters come in handy when one wishes to add spice to an otherwise tame story. Instead of thinking up euphemisms like "darn" and "golly," itís much easier to just print @+!?!! Or *&%!$!, leaving the interpretation up to the readerís imagination. Itís also useful when you forget how to spell the word you wanted to use.

The punctuation system in English printing first came about in 1650 when the British publisher Isaac Punctu stated, "Mark my words!" and his coworkers took him literally. The symbols have by now found their way into many commonly used phrases, such as "comma ci, comma ça," "dash it all," and "I missed my period."

Therefore in closing, the Wag wishes to give thanks to some of the participants who make our language a possibility: "#$%_&í()*-+=:;g@¢,.?/

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Postal Flotsam


Dear Feerd Wag

I like yor nuspaper verry mutch. I like to reed it. I am happy that you only put the writeing on one side of the paper because I like to draw pictures on the empty side. We have a green and blue and yellow bird and he is a good bird and he can talk just like daddy talks when he plays cards. Mommy duz not like the bird when he talks like that. The birds name is Oscar an he likes to read the Feerd Wag. My Mommy puts the Feerd Wag on the bottom of Oscars cage so he can read it. One time I used Oscars and Daddys words because they were neat words and my teacher made me stand in the corner. We have a dog named Flipper. He is a big shagy dog and I am teaching him how to read. Flipper is a smart dog. He knows how to play football. Whenever someone falls down in football Flipper jumps on them and dances. Flipper practices football at home to stay in shape. Flipper practices by jumping on the legs of tables and chares and the legs of peeple and doing his dance. Goodbye

Your Freind
Ferdy Snorkelburger

(You're just the kind of reader we look for. Thanks for telling it like it is. — Ed.)

Editor, the Feared Wag:

Here's my problem. My cousin Jake has befriended Ethel, who's the daughter of Mark's brother-in-law, a coal miner from Latvia who is in love with Miriam, daughter of Alex, the antagonist of Carter B., but at the same time in love with the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, all of which are not really guilty of perjury as Mortimer believes, who's the son of Marvin the apple corer, but nevertheless a staunch advocate of the policies of George and Richard, who are trying their best to help Fred and Grace and all the others who live in the house that Jack built. What shall I do?


(King's bishop to queen's knight's pawn to mate — and hurry! — Ed.)

NOTE TO READERS: If any of you would like to air your opinions in the Wag, just give your letter to one of our staff members and see what happens. We would like to have the views of sane people represented, even if you are in the minority.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

How Do You Know It's Not a Violin?


Before we commence to condemn "Fiddler on the Roof," let us say that we enjoyed it immensely and thought it to be an unqualified success.

On the one hand, it had a few minor flaws. On the other hand, it could have been worse. On the other hand, it could have been better. On the other hand, it wasn't.

But so much for specifics. Let us talk about the truly outstanding cast. The performance of the actors was extremely adept, and we personally believe that we shall never forget the names of Bruce Wakefield and Paula Heid, and their interpretations of Golde and Tevye, respectively.

On the other hand, many supporting actors gave equally memorable performances. We would tell you about them, but when we threw away our program, our notes were in it.

We must admit that we had evil forbodings when we took our seats and noticed that they had caged in the pit orchestra — with the track hurdles. However, our unfounded fears were later to be proved right.

On the other hand, "Fiddler" received 184 laughs that night. My co-reviewer should know as he counted them all, having nothing else to hold his interest.

One of the provocative moments in the production came in the tavern when the butcher Lazar Wolf (portrayed by an actor) discovered that he was not going to buy Tevye's cow. One drunk got so excited he hit another on the head with a bottle. The man left it there and started to dance, balancing it on his head. Three other souses were so touched by this scene that they hit themselves with their bottles and joined in. Lazar, seeing that they were getting rowdy, cautioned that they might get thrown in prison, and Tevye proclaimed, "For Life!!"

We're happy to report that Bruce Wakewolf didn't receive any nasty telegrams like, "Your show is slipping," "I'm watching from the back of the theater. Wish you were here," or "The play was performed under adverse conditions. The curtain was up."

Lastly, there were some who thought that conductor Crane's hand shows on the wall were distracting. On the one hand, there was a camel. On the other hand, there was a goose. On the other hand …

There was no other hand.

NEXT PRODUCTION: "The Crucible," starring Dale Hytholt and Brad Morris. Dale and Brad are hard-working actors and will be writing our review. In fact, they've already written it!

Jack Snartz #5: A Funny Thing Happened …


SNARTZ AND STRIPES: How many of us have at some time or another caught ourselves standiní around turning all the locker dials to 0? … Very good question posed to me at lunch: Which is the front end of the cafeteria? … Inside flash! Our library correspondent informs us that a prominent faculty member has checked out "Todayís Student" and "The Administrator," not to mention "The Home Book of Quotes." Just goes to show you that our library has something for every body! … Those of you whoíve been approaching us demanding 64¢ for the answer to a 64¢ question, look again. The questions are worth 64¢. The answers arenít worth nothiní.

MOVING RIGHT ALONG: Donít you love it when reports are assigned with a required number of pages rather than words? Why, you can get as few as 35 words on a page if you write big enough … As for you students in Am. Govt. classes — were you, too, disappointed to find out that a "government contract" is not something you take out on your teacher? … Wish Iíd Thought of It: The word "Monsieur" on the sign over Mr. Bís door has been altered to read "Monster." (And now that the "Stud Services" building just says "Services," arenít you just waiting for someone to change it to "Vices"?)

SPEAKING OF FRENCH, if you didnít know better, wouldnít you think "Trop Tard!" meant "Drop Dead!"? … Current joke in P.E.: "Heard about the new program to beautify California? Cal Aesthetics" … The great Dale Hytholt-Molly Anderson mustard giveaway is on! It started one day passing each other in the hall when Molly handed Dale a package of mustard from the cafeteria. The next day, Dale repaid it in duplicate. Now Molly has presented Dale with a gift — an 8-ounce jar of Frenchís mustard. Watch this space for further developments!

LOVE THAT graffito in the make-up room: "Take it easy, but take it!" … Suggested name for a hairy rock group: "The Hirsute of Happiness" … And what better way to leave you than with the words of our Government teacher, who said "Tomorrow weíll have a guest in here speaking on alcoholism, which is his job" … Did I blow it, Denise?

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

"Les Misérables" Exposed! (Part 2)


CONCLUSION: Last issue we presented some newly found evidence proving that Victor Hugo's "Les Misérables" is actually a nonfictional account. We now conclude the report of our findings. — Editor

Next, the personal papers of Monseigneur Bienvenu.

Da udder night some mug comes to my house, oh man, it must'a been da great guy above who sent dis dude!

He wanted to stay overnight, and me, bein' a nice 'nuff feller, let 'im.

So this stupe takes it on da lam wit' some hot silverware I was gonna get rid o' anyway. But he forgot some candle holders and I wuz plenty worried!

Then da next day da fuzz knocks at my door and I wuz even more worried!

Only it was da dude wit' dem. Dey t'ought he stole dat stuff from me, but, playin' da ol' innocent priest bit, I said I gave him da stuff and said he forgot da candle holders.

This was all the information the church would give us, for some unsaid reason.

Now, a copy of the arrival of Jean Valjean at Thénardier's inn, chronicled by a traveler at the inn.

THÉNARDIESS. What'd you like, stranger?

VALJEAN. How about a cup of coffee?

THÉNARDIER. I wouldn't if I were you!

THÉNARDIESS. This is a better cup of coffee; sparkling crystals.

VALJEAN (taking coffee). Words, words, words!

THÉNARDIESS. It's better than these instant coffees or freeze-dried. It's newer than freeze-dried!

VALJEAN. Newer than freeze-dried?

THÉNARDIER. Aw, come on, fella. Say something!

VALJEAN. Tastes so hate to put it down!

THÉNARDIESS. That's because it's sparkling crystals, newer than freeze-dried!

Here's a letter written by Marius to a close friend.

Dear Sam,

I know how you dig wild stuff, so I'm writing about something you wouldn't believe!

Last night I was trying to get some reading done, but these people next door were givin' a far-out party.

When I went over to the wall to pound on it and tell them to keep it down, I looked through some hole in the wall. Those landlords won't fix nothin' up!

I saw they was havin' an orgy or sumpin'. It must have started out as a costume party, since most of 'em were dressed up like bums and thieves. Is that original?

Then they really got goin'. They tied this guy to a chair and started to play some weird party game. Then as it started gettin' good the cops came and broke it up.

It must have really shook up the guy in the chair. He got so excited he fell out the window. Must have been cheap booze.

Well, that's about all I have to say, so got to go now.

Say hello to the folks for me.

Your pal,

From these documents you may draw your own conclusions. If you find that you think Hugo is a liar, twister of facts, and unimaginative...remember, you said it, we didn't!

Read the first in this series


The Film Fest this year sold like hockies;
Folks came from as far as the Rockies;
The films there to see
Were as new as could be …
If only they'd gotten some "talkies."

When sex ed gets into the classes,
Only he who sees normally passes.
If the book's hard for some,
It's not 'cause they are dumb,
But because they have steam on their glasses.

When school is let out in the summer,
I find it to be quite a bummer.
While I'm getting sunburned
I forget all I've learned,
So by autumn I'm 20 times dumber.

The Feared Wag is something for writing,
Composing things caustic and biting;
To read what we write
Will entertain quite —
If you think being bored is exciting.

Read the next in this series

Issue #6: The Student Foist (March 29, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #6


Pressure from the administration is mounting! They're saying that every senior must wear a cap and gown to the graduation ceremony. Some irate seniors are saying, "Why should I waste $5 on some stupid dress?"

The Feared Wag shall endeavor to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt!, why you should waste five bucks.

Let us go back to the origin of the "cap and gown." The wearing of such garb was started in Center Sandwich, N.H., by a certain Balthazar J. Feathersnooze, in 1847. Feathersnooze was in favor of co-ed shoers in P.E.; the faculty thought this was an extravangance. It wasn't that there weren't any showers in town, just no pipes … or water … or people, for that matter! So Feathersnooze decided to protest. Thinking on his best form of dissent, he decided to wear his yellow bathrobe, slippers, and a Johnny Mathis LP attached to his Beany-Copter by the chain from a nearby commode.

This outlandish dress was quickly embraced by liberal students, and has been modified into our present-day gown and mortarboard with tassel.

So strike a blow for co-ed showers and join the all-wet administration in their protest. We must unite for our cause!!

Now do you understand why you should shell out five smackers for that stuff?

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

What's a Student to Do?


Because of the problem some people have finding something to do on campus at lunchtime, the Whaddayawant Office has recently been opened. This branch of Student Services concerns itself with helping one in his quest for noontime entertainment. Being a Feared Wag reporter, I rarely have anything to do, so I decided to be one of the officeís first customers.

"So youíre looking for a way to bide your time, are you? Well, itís good that you want to keep your mind active."

"Glumph mgl dawk," I replied, gnawing on a piece of orange rind.

"Well, letís look in the activities book and find out what you can do. — At 12:40 there will be a meeting of the Differential Calculus Club. Today theyíre studying variable constants, so this meeting is recommended for newcomers who just want to relax."

"Uh, I donít think thatís for me. Iím looking for a more physical type of activity."

"Ah, then you should check out the Pyramid Builders convention. They can always use a few new stone carriers since their cart broke."

"Some other day, maybe. I just got out of my P.E. class."

"The Anti-Committee Committee is holding an anti-meeting this hour."

"Whereís that?"

"No place. Their purpose is to abolish committee meetings."

"What other clubs are there around?"

"You could try Gloryhounds Anonymous, Future Freeloaders of America, Achievers of Failure, the Bludgeon Club, or the new Associated Meat Packers, Bínai Brith and Snipe Hunting Coalition."

"How come Iíve never heard of all these clubs before?"

"Most of them are situated downtown, but just came onto the campus in the hope of getting the young people involved in worthwhile things."

"Iím sorry, but none of those particularly interest me. Drat! Now how am I going to use up my lunch hour?"

"You just did. Thereís the bell to go to fifth period. Thank you, and come back tomorrow."

Postal Jetsam


Dear Sirs:

What is a cornerstone? I do not know what a cornerstone is, please tell me what a cornerstone is?

R. Reagan
Sacramento, Calif.

(I don't know either. — Ed.)

Dear Fered Wag:

Hello it is me agian. Your friend Ferdy. Things have bin inturisting here sins I last write a letter to you. Sumthing bad happened yesterday. My techer came to see us. Oscar (our talking bird) said some of Daddy's neat words when my techur takked to him. My techer was saprised. My mommy was surpriseder, my mommy duz not like Oscar. Something sad has happened, this morning when we waked up Oscar was dead. My Mommy said Oscar died because he was old and it was time for him to die. But I don't think so. I think Oscar fell down, because his neck was broken. My Mommy is going to have a baby and everbody is surprised. My daddy is surprised, my neighbors is surprised. But most surprised of all is the TV Repairman who comes every afternoon and fixes the TV in mommy and daddy's room, my mommy helps him fix the TV, one time I went to help fix the TV but the door was locked.

Ferdy Snorkelburger

(Your point is well taken. But what of the camel with three humps? — Ed.)

Hi. I hate steel-belted radials, I think that they are really crummy, I even think they are dangerous to use an I think they are crummy.


(You intellectuals are all alike. Knock off the rhetoric and speak in plain English like everybody else! — Ed.)

Editor, the Feared Wag:

I really love your paper. I think it is great and I've enjoyed every issue. I am a huge fan of the Wag and I want to tell all the world about your fantastic publication!

(Name and Address Withheld by Request)

READERS! If you have an opinion, feel free to submit it to the Wag staff. Most of us are itching for an argument.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Jack Snartz #6: It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Crazy)


HO(W)KUM: How do you explain those signs around campus—"Illiterate? Write now for free help"ÖDonít Look at Me, I Didnít Second It: After the problem of our mislocated garbage cans was brought up at the G.A. meeting, Dale made and passed a motion to form a committee "to look into the garbage"ÖThe matter was referred to the homerooms and weíre all dying to hear Daleís committee report next TuesdayÖIf you want stares, make a mistake typing one of these dittos and go ask the librarians for a razor blade. Donít explain to them what itís for and they may never de-hypnotize.

FILM FEST FUNSIES: I hear a pamphlet that deciphers the soundtrack to "The 39 Steps" will soon be on sale at Student ServicesÖNeal and Janet seemed to enjoy themselves Friday night but donít they know any other dance steps?ÖIím sure everyone has his own film that heíd like to see shown at next yearís festival. I humbly suggest "The Picture of Dorian Gray." I mean, how many opportunities will you get to see what Hurd Hatfield looked like in 1945?ÖIf anyone knows the name of that idiot who showed up Sat. night as Harpo Marx, tell me. Iíll show him a good doing on his arse one of these days.

AS I WASNíT SAYING: Last week there was a notice read in the bulletin for "students without a first period" and howineck are they gonna hear the notice if theyíre not in first period?ÖThere were plenty of ooís and ahís during shot put in our P.E. class. "Winner and new cripple!" Dale announced one of the would-be men. "He gets that power from drinking gas," explained the teacher, to which the student added, "Yeah, I pump Ethel" (stet)ÖDaleís horoscope last Friday read, "Prepare to entertain tonight." As Dale was to star in "The Crucible" that night, I hope the advice was well taken.

RIGHT ARM: Be sure to read next weekís Injun-eer for an inside look on the Wag staff. Most of us managed to show up for the interview. And you thought we were disorganized!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Further Adventures of Bric Bradford


Clouds. Just lying back in the grass looking at the clouds. Ah! clouds, clouds, clouds! All the clouds in the blue sky. Clouds making murals in the sky. Fields of clouds, so high on the clouds. Jesus! I could lie back gazing at the clouds for years — such a nice day …

"Hey, Bric!"


"You busy?"

"No, not really, just looking at the far-out clouds; I could look at these clouds for years …"

"Uh, well, we got a problem."

Another one? Damn! Can't anyone be alone around here?"

"Well, it's kind of important."

"What is it this week? Last week it was the cows getting in the water and messing it up. It can't be much worse than that."

"It's worse. Leroy flipped out again and he took the acid stash and blocked himself up in his cave and he's threatening to burn up the dope fields with his cigarette lighter; only he's out of lighter fluid."

"Oh, my God!"

I jump up and scramble down the hill, down past the domes and tipis and naked kids and bloated cows … "I hope you hid the rest of the lighter fluid, Ted!" Leroy's cave is actually a little dirt cliff in the side of a small hole. He usually keeps his goats up there, but he chased them out and blocked the door up with all kinds of various things.

"Hey, Leroy! Can you hear me?"

"What do you want?"

"I wanna talk to you."

"Leave me alone."

"Well, what's the matter?"

"God is mad."

"What? That's crazy, Leroy."

"You may say it's crazy, but I know."


"He told me."

"Leroy, come out of there."

"No. God is mad."

"So you hide in a cave?"



I stumble back down the hill to the rest of the group. "He isn't going to come out."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, June."

"Well, at least get back the acid."

"I'll try." (Back up the hill again)

"Leroy! Give us the acid."


"Give us the LSD!"


"Why not?"

"God told me not to give you crazies the acid. You're all crazies."

"Well, &$!! so are you, you @!?!head!"

(Back down the hill)

"He won't give it to me."

"Damn! What are we going to do? We're lost without the acid."

"Well, I guess we'll starve him out."

Three days later Leroy's still in there.

"Leroy! What are you going to do? You have no food."

"Ha, ha, the joke's on you, you freak."

"Leroy, you're a bummer!"

"Like I said, the joke's on you."

"Prove it."

"It's gonna rain."


The next day, it rained. And the next, and the next. In fact for 2 weeks.

And Leroy is still in the damn cave giggling away.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series


[A big patch of white space suggests that the first limerick, whatever it was, got censored. It probably was not original anyway, seeing as how the last one is stolen from "The Tonight Show."]

If your hatred for rhyming things grows,
And you don't like to read things in rows,
Remember, dear Holmes:
Prose doesn't write poems,
But poetry's written by pros.

There is a young lady of Zed,
Who always dresses in red;
She has a cold seater
But don't need a heater;
She has a meter at the head of her bed.

There once was a man with a hernia,
Who said to the doctor, "Gol' durn ya,
When improving my middle,
Make sure you don't fiddle
With matters that do not concern ya!"


"Don't think of it as insulting your intelligence; think of it as complimenting your stupidity." — Cadwalader I. Birdwhistle

Feared Wag Exclusive: Garry A. Bryan Expounds!


NHS student Garry Bryan, besides being a General Assembly representative and an admitted thespian, is also a raconteur. We decided to conduct an interview with him one day when during a conversation he quipped: "Why don't you interview me for the Wag?"

So here are some exchanges taken from a tape we made eariler this week.

WAG: What do you believe?

GARRY: I used to, but I don't any more.

WAG: I understand you're a personal friend of Bric Bradord.

GARRY: That &*"/@%#!? Sure, I know him. He's got a long beard and funny glasses …

WAG: Would you expound on the General Assembly?

GARRY: What!? I did that in New Mexico once and got arrested. I expound in the bathtub once in a while, but not too often.

WAG: Do you play poker?

GARRY: Only if she stands still long enough.

WAG: Who's your faborite food?

GARRY: It used to be Ronald Reagan, but when he started eating jelly beans, he got too sweet so I gave him up. Last night I ate someone who disagreed with me and had an upset stomach all night!

WAG: How do you spell "America"?

GARRY: I usually spell it with a K. You know: K-A-M-E-R-I-C-A.

WAG: Are you ever caught by surprise?

GARRY: Usually when I'm expounding!

WAG: How many times have you been caught expounding?

GARRY: Only once, that was in New Mexico.

WAG: In the bathroom?

GARRY: No, in New Mexico.

WAG: Are you an admitted thespian?

GARRY: I think my sex life does not have much to do with this, but on Sundays I usually go to church and expound on the altar.

WAG: Do you go to thespian bars and all that?

GARRY: No, well, I have this lamb, but that's another story.

WAG: Do you believe in God?

GARRY: Well, sure, why not? I mean, He's the Great White Hope. I discovered God one day in the middle of a light bulb. He didn't talk too much, though.

WAG: Do you ever read the Feared Wag?


WAG: The Feared Wag.

GARRY: Well — er — yeah, I think.

WAG: Do you like balls?

GARRY: Yes, footballs, baseballs, freak balls …

WAG: What do you do with your feet on Saturday?

GARRY: I refuse to answer that on the grounds it may tend to self-discriminate me!

WAG: You were in "The Crucible," right?

GARRY: Unfortunately, yes.

WAG: How did you enjoy the cast party?

GARRY: Uh, I think I did. Bernie, did I enjoy the cast party? — Yeah, I enjoyed it.

WAG: Do you have a pet wombat?

GARRY: No, but I got a platypi. Yeah, I used to have a platypus, but he died, so I had to do something with him; I made him into a platypie. Care to come over for dinner tonight?

WAG: Do you think God is male or female?

GARRY: I don't know, but She's black. — Well, I don't know, I didn't ask Him when I found Him in the light bulb.

WAG: Do you like clouds?

GARRY: I have never met a cloud I have not liked! I can say that honestly.

WAG: Do you get rained on often?

GARRY: It always rains on the unloved.

WAG: Are you schizoid?

GARRY: No, we're not, and my friends aren't either.

WAG: Why are you opposed to the issue, and if so, why not?

GARRY: Well, I tried to once, but my mother wouldn't let me, so I was told to stay home on Saturdays. Sometimes she thinks I'm doing it on purpose!

WAG: Are you?

GARRY: No! Well, I have a phonographic magazine and things don't always come out the right way.

WAG: Would you believe it if I told you?

GARRY: I don't know. Try me.

At this climactic point, a woman came up, muttered something about a thespian meeting, and took Garry away, apparently to break his leg or something.

Issue #7: I'd Rather Write Than Bitch (April 13, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #7


Every year since 1969, the U.S. (and the Feared Wag staff) has observed a now — ahem — truly American tradition. Like all American traditions, it has become another tradition for self-made capitalists from Hawaii to Maine to make a fast buck, not to mention a fat one. This now American tradition is Earth Week.

Of course, we've all heard it said, and read whenever Earth Week rolls around: "Let's make Earth Week every week!", which is a grand idea. And, indeed, many enterprising souls throughout the land have taken the maxim to heart. Now, not only on Earth Week but every week, the American public is assaulted by good-natured money-grubbing companies cashing in on the ecology rage. There are ecology stickers and iron-on patches in dry cereal boxes, "natural/organic" cereals, ecology billboards, ecology T-shirts, low-phosphate sudsies, "smokeless" jets, "glassphalt" highways, TV commercials which say "Get back to nature in a Ford," and to add insult to injury, Madison Ave. has duped the average stupid citizen into sticking "Ecology — I care" bumper stickers on the rear fender of his super U.S. polluter.

Allow us, the members of the Feared Wag staff, to dupe John Q. Public, to take part in an equally atrocious, but more practical idea. Instead of Earth Week, let us declare International Earth Month. For a month, no person would be allowed to drive his car, use electricity, build buildings, or do any erroneous un-ecological activities. From this we could jump to Earth Years, Earth Decades, and Earth Centuries.

What's left of governments would encourage people to tear apart skyscrapers, bulldozers, hospitals, war machines, highways, et cetera. Population problems would be solved, because there would be no medical care or mass agriculture, and disease and starvation would soon reduce our present population to a measly few.

After Earth Century, Earth Eons and Earth Eternities would determine the future of human endeavors. Peace and a balanced ecosystem would be the theme of life thereafter.

EDITOR'S NOTE: The preceding were statements of editorial opinion and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editor.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series


Now that weíve just gotten over the attacks of influenza and measles, yet another plague has come up which promises to stifle a majority of human activities. Weíre talking, of course, about the spring fever epidemic.

This seasonal malady is brought on by a slowing down of the metabolic processes during winter which drags on after the vernal equinox. There are several ways to detect infestation, but there is always one basic symptom:

You get lazy!!

The origin of spring fever, or the Easter Tide, is obscure. It is thought to have been brought over in the 17th century when the Italian explorer Giuseppe Grici came looking for a good night club. In fact, he might have taken the disease right back with him if he hadnít been too lazy to go back.

Treatment for spring fever consists of frequent immersions in swimming pools, sun baths under spreading elms, and regular emotional release (a boy/girlfriend is recommended). If you suspect that you have it, you may as well come to school anyway, since your locker is a convenient place to store your brain.

Most important of allÖdonít worry about it! Itís fun!!!

Who Wrote This??


Alumni parades don't happen every day (thankgawd!), and when good old new Napa High had one April 1 (known to some as Government Day), the Wag was there.

Cars representing each year from 1897 to 1975, added with the Band, constituted the bulk of the parade.

After observing this rather different form of entertainment pass us at a snail's pace, the Wag was content to go to the dedication ceremonies and put our brains back in the locker. However, a sudden noise captured our attention. (That and a hand on our shoulders.)

We turned, and there we saw one last participant in the parade. It was the car of the class of 1984. Cruising down Jefferson Street, with the ease of a submarine climbing a tree, was an old Studebaker containing four students. (We could tell they were students because they kept yelling, "We're students! We're students!")

One of them shouted out, "Are you one of them Feared Wags?" (We think that's what he said.)

We decided that, rather than go to the reception and eat stale cake, we'd waste our time with these clowns. They introduced themselves as Schizo, Wacko, Psycho and Bob Fxtzkrtzky.

We asked them why they were in that useless parade.

"Because we're here to tell you about the future!"

Taking the bait, we inquired, "So what about the future?"

"The future? The future is coming, man!" expectorated Wacko.

Psycho, catching his logic, admonished, "Gee, Wacko, that's redundant!"

"And it means the same thing too," added Bob.

"Oh, just ignore Bob; he's so silly. By the way, do you happen to have any matta babies on you?"

"What's a matta baby?"

"Nothing, what's the matter with you? Har, har!! Gets 'em every time!!"

"That's a real boffola," commented Schizo.

It was at this time we realized that nothing was being accomplished by this drivel, so we tried to figure out the least obvious way to exit: "Gee fellas, I got this dentist appointment and I don't want to miss it!"

"Oh, H-E-double-toothpicks! Aren't you gonna write about us? That's doubleplusungood." (Bet you didn't think we were going to get back to 1984, did you?)

Our thoughts as we pedaled away dodging the rocks were that altogether the parade was pretty useless, but we got a story out of it.

"I love a charade …"

Jack Snartz #7: Return of the Na(t)ive


IDIOTS DESPITE: How come "ravel" and "unravel" mean the same thing? … The date stamp in the office is fixed now, but last week a friend got an absence check dated the 33rd of March … I hear it through the gripevine that a certain principal at a certain high school on campus disapproves of the play selected for the drama deptís next production. Jack Snartz Production Prediction: "House of Blue Leaves" will not be put on! … 64¢ Question: Why?

DEDIKATIONEN: It seems like almost everybody was on hand for the dedication festivities on (appropriately enough) All Foolís Day — but where was Tom (The Man) Vreeland?? … Well, we did it! In 2023 or thereabouts, when the now-new cornerstone is opened, therein will they find (among other trivia) a copy of our second issue. If none of us is around then, the curse will be transferred to our living descendants … Poor Richard always misses out on the fun. Sagt er: "While I was standing around in the cafeteria nibbling on cake, everyone else was around the corner getting stoned!"

DUM: Hey, did you see the Injun-eer feature on us last week? Huh? Huh? And did you see Yours Truly in the photograph? Thatís me, standing between Dale and Brad. They didnít put my name in the caption because, says Sandi, I wasnít noticeable in the negative (Iím hurt) … It wasnít as great as the 1971 assassination, but there was a high point in this yearís model UN when the Cuban delegation lit firecrackers outside and ran in declaring "American snipers" were after them! Tom V. saw to it that they got past the door not … I was kinda hoping the Grand Fenwick delegation would declare war on the U.S., but I guess once is enough.

MY SEDIMENTS EXACTLY: Regarding this campus graffito: "As I slide down the banister of life, I will always remember Napa High as a pain in the (fill in)" … Who remembers Bruce Heidís interpretation of the bartender in last yearís Junior Show, in which he delivered the compelling "Suicide drink recipe" speech? And he claimed no acting experience!! … Donít forget April is VD Month, not to be confused with V Day, or D Day, for that matter. Celebrate, celibates!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

The Further Adventures of Bric Bradford


Climb up and up hills after hills and the sky is tumbly, roly-poly; starry-eyed companion — illegal smile — and we're having a great time. Oh, crazy Leroy, we don't need what you have — we don't need yours — crazy crazy crazy crazies crazy crunchy cornflake crazies, can't crunch cow-corn. Oh wow oh wow — water (wowie zowie!) Sparkle-garkle! Waterfall sparkle, window pane garkle and we're having a fated time — what?

"Clearlight — what say I did?"

"Mmff garwd omgal zfft!"


Crazie baby! Don't paint the sky grey, oh, colour your heaven like love your brother and I'm in an ocean of life and death and fear and pain in a waterfall of splaashhh splash! Ga ga gasp for air — dare over there arragh I'm freaky peaky painting the sky … Where is the world in a whirlwind of winding woman? Windows — wanting to see out the window to see the sky but there's people looking in at me and they have goggle eyes and gurgle brains and sharp fangs and please leave I can't see, where is the door — Moor & mountain — and there's somebody looking in and oh he's igly ugly help I'm freakey outey! I'm falling down? a chasm of wide flowers. "What going there on?" I fall up and land with a thud in the land of kites and it's alright everything is so light …

"B-b-b-b-br ----- ic-c-c-c!!!!"


How's life, B-b-b-bri-cccc?"

"Jus' fine, I think."

Hey — Bric Bradfffford-d-d-d? Guess what, I just found out, the reevooluution has come to Amerikkka!"

"Oh, fir-out?!!"

"Right on, and it's time to rise up in arms!"

"Oh yeah — raise up your arms."

"Time for change in Amerika."

"Uh, right on — spare change for Amerika."

"Power to the people."

"People for the power."

"Right on."


"Up the IRA."

"Yeah! High on LSD!"

"Stop the pig and serve the people."

"Umm stog the pip and serve the people on a silver selective service platter with an apple in their mouths of the revengeful Kent State University and give up death for Kent Day and live life for the loving and oggy-doggy or oinky-poo oh wowie zowie don't it turn you over the barrel rolled out and freaked in …"



"Who are you talking to?"

"I thought I was talking to you …"

"But I haven't been here for the past two hours."


Wow, you wouldn't believe what's been happening to me, it's just incredible, the patterns and clouds, it's just one giant light show, hey you wanna joke a smoint?"

"Huh!? Oh, yeah."

After the smoint, we sit and watch the sun go down. "Well, I guess it's time to go home!!" Down, down, down the hills and it's so mellow.

"Mellow yellow, bellow out of your snoot what you're talking about, and I can't see the bumblebee, and neither can we try to say goodbye to the sky but it's a lie, the sky will never say goodbye …"

"Yeah, there's a pie in my eye!"

"And stars in my beard."

"And you love what you've heard."

"Loving life is so high."

"You could almost cry."

"Just to say goodbye"

"to the sky!"

Far-out. And by the time we get back it's dinner — heaping plates of smiling rice and crawling bean sprouts — microbiotic survival for the high guy. "And organic too! We grow them all right here inside. In the fall we hope to have all kinds of great things to eat!" and goat's milk.

"That's great, June!" and Clearlight goes on to say that June really has great eyes, so green like the sea and she has great ocean-wavey brown hair, flowing and growing and it's great.

After dinner the stars feed us, nourishing our minds. Oh, the sky! It's so peaceful out here and the little children are playing in the "star-light, star-bright, first star I see tonight." And Ted's playing guitar and the music floats up into the stars and makes galaxies and universes and comets of clouds of music singing, "You can never say goodbye to the sky …"


I ain't no part of they what ain't got hardly no nothin'." — William F. Buckley Jr.

Issue #8: I Don't Feel Like Thinking Up an Alternate Title This Week (May 11, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #8


What with these changing times, the Feared Wag thinks we should introduce some revolutionary new pastimes to the American way of life. We're all getting pretty tired of seeing the same old things happening in the news about hatred, caste systems, religions, etc.

What we need is something new in the area of hatred, castes and religion! We have ways of discriminating against people according to age, race, ethnic background, sign of the zodiac, clothes, height and sex. But in these 30,000 years, we've grown tired of these topics. Yet the Wag sees a whole new world of prejudices that has been completely ignored, and it's all based on a very familiar thing.

That thing is: the middle initial.

Why, there are all sorts of prejudices and stereotypes we could base on middle initials. Middle initiology would be a much more entertaining and certainly more speculative area than the trite old isms we have now. Like any vice, it would have its problems; for one thing, some people (like our beloved Swifty) don't even have middle initials. But it could offer a sneakier, subtler method of bigotry for experts, since, unlike race or sex, you can't tell a person's initial by looking at him. Various ruses must be employed to acquire this information, after which one can take the appropriate positive or negative action. This game can be lost of fun with new dates.

Fans of the occult could make a real system out of this ideology. You know, A means you're such-and-such, B implies this-or-that; only with 26 letters, one would have much more variety than with 12 zodiac signs. Suppose people with the middle initials D and T are compatible. Why, you and your friend could be on the start of something big! But suppose they're conflicting. You could be headed for serious disappointment! And all because you didn't study your initiology!

Just like with any other form of bigotry, one can twist his logic to extremes. Let's consider all those people with initial D. Now consider the success of John D. Rockefeller. With these two factors, you can feed your ego either way; if a guy you know becomes a financial wizard, you can boast, "I knew he'd come out on top the second I found out his middle initial was D!" On the other hand, if the schmuck tries and fails, you can look down your nose and scoff, "Just because Rockefeller was a D, he thinks all his people can make it!" … In the first case, you're complimenting him on his inborn talent, while in the second you're scorning him for making a stereotype of "his" group. In both cases, of course, you're the one doing the stereotyping.

It shouldn't be difficult to bring this business out into the open. The world already seems to glorify middle initials. A letter in between makes a name sound much more distinguished. Doesn't Joe K. Blow sound a lot more refined than Joe Blow?

If you think this concept will never catch on because people would never be illogical enough to adopt such a prejudice … think about it.

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Postal Shrapnel


Dea Fear Wa:

I a a fathfu reade o you pape. I thin i i th bes pape aroun. I wan t as you a favo. Coul yo as you reader t pleas giv m mone fo m proble? M docto say I a hopelessl short-sighte, bu a operatio coul hel. Than yo fo you tim.

Loui Ferdwinkl

(There's hope! You aren't completely short-sighted; in sentence 4 of your letter you correctly spelled "reader." — Ed.)





Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series



Shorts de Sports

The other day, D. Rufus Fallingdown, NSH's very own squash coach, stopped by for the following interview.

INYER-EER: Is it true you have a very large vocabulary, Mr. Fallingdown?
MR. F: Oh, sure. I use big words all the time!

Pieces 'n' Bits

The new literary magazine is out, and it's "In the Garbage." The magazine can only be described as. Many students have worked hard at the bus stops and during milk break to bring out the literary flair of NSH. The Inyer-Eer highly recommends it for our readers.
* * *
By the time this issue gets to you, the Turnabout Dance will already be over, so we aren't going to remind you about it.
* * *
Don't you think it's about time "Pieces 'n' Bits" stopped plugging "Cursing," every Tuesday and Thursday night from 7-9pm? If so, tune in and forget your troubles to the Top 17 hits in Guatemala!
* * *
If you have any P&B items you would like to submit to the Inyer-Eer...well, you know where you can stick them!

???Questionable Man???

Q: What time is it?

Otis S. Maddening (12) — It's 11:20.
Helen Highwater (11) — It's 11:21.
Howard U. Dewing (11) — It's 11:22.
Mabel Sirrep (10) — It's twenty-seven minutes to nine.

* * * * *



Fred Goober's
Jewelers & Garage

The name for @*!!?!! you know and trust


Jack Snartz #8: Last Call for Urban Scrawl


YECCH!: If you were one of those ignorant few that didn't know May 1 was Beltane, you missed a great celebration. Those that did know didn't miss it at all … Bulletin item that may provide its own clue: "Will the students who took the book 'Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am?' from the cafeteria please return it to the activities office." Mebbe they're afraid to, eh wot? … Don't you wish you, too, were a General Assembly representative? Then you could've hung out on the main lawn during one of our recent meetings. Having it outside alerted this officer to one of the most pressing problems on campus; i.e., there's no shade on the main lawn! … One of the highlights came when Mick perched atop a piece of paper, declaring, "I'm on the agenda."

WORDS TO LIVE AND LET BY: Give minus one point to Bill Foster, substituting for Dale Hytholt on "Cruising" last week: "Dale was going to go to the Turnabout Dance tomorrow night, but he chicken-poxed out" (yucchhh) … Leave it to us journalists to make an interesting day for the visiting ninth graders! As they passed by the Injun-eer classroom, they were greeted by Mick, lying in the doorway gagging with a knife stuck in his stomach (thanks to a piece of wood concealed under his shirt). "That's what you get for being tardy!" Larry explained to the engrossed junior highists … How many of them do you suppose are now planning to sign up for journalism next year?

WAGS TO WITCHES: Anybody have an explanation for all the mysterious dust that appeared in the auditorium on Monday? Some guesses were a dust bomb, an electric fan, a dry fire extinguisher, or maybe even a shifting of the building that caused the ceiling to crumble. What happened to little green men? … 64¢ Question: What depresses Seanne Paussa? … I wish I had a funny anecdote to tell you about badminton in P.E., but there isn't much I can say. You'll just have to play it and see for yourself what all the laughter's about.

DON'T GO AWAY MAD: Everybody! Sophomores! Juniors! Seniors! Watch "Monkey Business" tonight at 1:20am on channel 5! A perfect way to take 77 minutes (plus commercials) out of your future!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Matter over Mind


I was a big man on campus in sixth least I thought I was.

There was big peer-group pressure to be in this one gang of "men." I was one of least, they let me walk around with them.

At the first recess of the day, everything seemed to be all right. We went through our rituals of harassing fifth graders, kicking the door of the restroom open, and constantly combing our hair.

After we went back to class, rumors started that I liked a girl who "belonged" to a friend of mine. It seems I'd done something to lay bare my emotional state. I probably said something controversial, like "Hello."

By lunchtime I was getting worried. Kids I didn't even know began to ask me where the fight was going to be. I told them there wasn't going to be any fight, and they'd say, strange, everybody else knew about it, and why don't I let them in on the secret place, they wouldn't fink.

I knew this needed immediate attention, so I sat down and ate lunch.

However, I ate lunch with the guy I was supposed to fight that afternoon. I thought it would be taken as a sign of friendship, like the summit meeting at Yalta.

After lunch, I was more at ease. My enemy and I had decided to put on a show. For the rest of the day we shoved each other around; only jokingly of course.

The others didn't catch the joke, because at the final recess people began to say, "You can beat him easy," or "Just keep your head down and you'll have a chance."

Again I stated that it was all just a put-on and there would be no fight; they then said, "Maybe if you say you're sorry you won't have to fight," or, "Chickened out, eh?" My friends had a lot of faith in me.

Now it became a matter of honor. I would have to fight, for in the sixth grade it was the worst possible thing to be a "chicken."

Things had gone too far to back out now. I'd been "called out." We decided to fight in a big field across the street from the school.

When I arrived at the battleground, I was thinking that even World War II didn't have as much advance publicity.

I think there were more people there than showed up at school that day.

This huge mass of people was divided into two groups: my enemy and his friends on one side, and me and my bicycle on the other.

Then we were circling each other, around and around and around...then the "In" girls started to call for blood. "What are you waiting for, tax reform?"

At this injurious barb, both my nervous companion and I decided that we should do something; also, I started wondering what I ever saw in those girls.

Then we were rolling in the dust...people started to yell...they gathered in close around us...we combatants grunted with all our might...somebody stepped on my finger...

All of a sudden, someone yelled that they saw a police car. Richard Nixon couldn't have cleared the place faster. As soon as my fellow veteran and I got up, all we could see was the backs of running people. I think I even saw a black car about two blocks away.

My friend and I shook hands and said we'd see each other tomorrow.

We each knew who would have won.

Two Days After the Day Before Yesterday #1


NARRATOR: And now it's time for "Two Days After the Day Before Yesterday." (organ music) The citizens of Rait Mortaliti High School have been very busy. As you remember from yesterday, Joan had just gotten a crush on the school janitor, Harvey hurt himself playing chess, Millicent mistook the gas pedal for the brake in Driver Training, and Mr. Gluck, the driver training teacher, went on a vacation in a local hospital.

We now join Bill and Joan discussing her affection.

BILL: Joan, something's been bothering you lately. Do you want to talk about it?

JOAN: I don't want to talk about it!

BILL: Okay.

JOAN: Look, Bill, just don't ask me!

BILL: Okay.

JOAN: I can tell you just won't be satisfied until I tell you everything!

BILL: You don't have to.

JOAN: All right, you've forced me. Bill, I'm in love with the janitor!

BILL: That's great!

JOAN: Now don't get mad!

BILL: I'm not, I'm happy for you.

JOAN: I know it's not a nice thing … I'm just infatuated with him.

BILL: You can't get him out of your mind?

JOAN: Yeah, every time I go to the bathroom I think about him.


(Organ music)

NARRATOR: Will Joan find happiness? Will Millicent put her foot down? And in the chess game, will Harvey be able to move? Tune in tomorrow for … "TWO DAYS AFTER THE DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY!"

Read the next in this series


Once upon a time there was a gentle freak named Charley Harold. Charley's greatest joys in life were dropping sesame seeds soaked in psilocybin, dinnertime, saying hello to strangers, and taking care of his pet alpaca, whom he loved very much. Charley lived alone in New York's north lower west east side.

One smoggy morning Charley left his tenement to go buy some sesame seeds. He was calmly walking along saying hello to people he didn't know (which was just about everyone) when someone said hello back to him.

Dumbfounded by this, Charley ran home and told Ferdinand (his pet alpaca) about what happened.

The alpaca said, "Did you know him?"

"No, I don't think so," replied Charley.

"Well," said Ferdinand, "go find this person and bring him here, be his friend, share those funny seeds and find out how two such strange people could end up in the same city."

Charley looked for three weeks without Luck (Luck was out of town) and was about to give up Hope (Hope had gotten tired and was complaining) when someone said hello to him.

Charley whirled around fast, thinking he was either being mugged or busted.

But Charley was surprised, for before him stood a lovely girl named Jane Ellen, who was holding a vial of psilocybin and a bag of sesame seeds, and riding atop an alpaca. Charley just stared at this sight because he couldn't believe it was true.

Jane finally said, "Do you know a hotel that takes alpacas?"

Charley, having regained himself, thought for a minute and said, "No, I can't think of any but you can stay at my place."

Jane was reluctant at first, but, having been riding the streets of New York for many weeks, decided to go.

When Ferdinand saw Jane's alpaca (who was named Zelda), he fell in love, just as Charley had with Jane.

Charley and Jane lived together for a few days and fell even deeper in love, and Ferdinand married them, and Charley married Ferdinand and Zelda.

Another one day, out of curiosity, Charley asked Jane why she had come to New York.

Jane told him that she had lived high in the mountains around Tierra del Fuego. "I got tired of tortillas and the price of sesame was outrageous, so I climbed aboard Zelda and said, 'Zelda, start walking where our hearts and noses shall lead us.' The foul smell of New York and the low price of sesame seeds led us here where we met you."


Read the next in this series



As I strolled down the alleyway in the crisp night air, I began to sense that something was not right. The outside world seemed unchanged: The gentle but icy wind pushing against my jacket was the same; the bits of glass and torn cardboard boxes in the alley retained the desolate atmosphere they had exhibited a few minutes before. No, this was something that was taking place within myself; I knew that I, and only I, was experiencing this feeling.

I began to get a sensation of restlessness within me; suddenly I was unable to relax and enjoy my stroll. There was mounting pressure I could not ignore; deep down in my gut was a feeling that was overwhelming. I began to walk more slowly. I stopped. This yearning within was too much for me. I had only one thought on my mind, and I could not continue my walk until I resolved this determination.

Then, with an air of authority not there previously, I thundered down the alleyway, turned onto the sidewalk, and continued running, running, with this insane drive I had to calm myself, to get this over with. Suddenly I reached it, the little station on the far corner of the barren street. Running to the door, I barged in with a vengeance. Nothing could stop me now!

Two minutes later, the door opened again, and I emerged my old self, once more calm and relaxed, ready to resume my walk with an empty bladder once more.


Once upon a time there was this man and he taught school, well one day he was absent and the kids were worried because they were dumb idiots and wanted to learn and they couldn't because there was no one to teach them. And they lived happily ever after …




Issue #9: If You Can't Join It, Beat It (Special Christmas Edition) (May 24, 1973)

Noise from the Editor #9


It's amazing what God can do nowadays! Take for instance: Monday last week there was a "rock concert" in the lecture hall, sponsored by Teen Challenge. That's not so amazing in itself, but how many of you took a close look at the group bass player, huh? You didn't? Figures!

Anyhow, if you had even merely glimpsed at the bass player (and if you know Bric), you would have been astounded by his amazing resemblance to Bric Bradford, or Bric Bradford's amazing resemblance to him. And many people were astounded, including Bric. The bass player was, too.

We can suppose that somehow, somewhere, someone got his/her wires crossed. But why? Why would anybody want to resemble Bric Bradford, or why would Bric Bradford want to resemble anybody, for that matter?

It's incidents like this that continue to astound everyone everywhere. Makes life interesting, too.

We can ponder upon the many ironies and paradoxes which the Big Man in the Sky makes for days and even years and still not understand. And does He? Does He?

Nonetheless, no one can even be sure if the bass player is real. More likely, though, Bric Bradford, to begin with, from the beginning, anyway, was and isn't real. From this we can conclude that (1) the bass player was talking to himself and (2) everyone was experiencing massive group audio-visual hallucinations. Just like Moses!

Any moment, you could have expected the sky to open, and the Big Man Himself to come down to Earth in a flaming chariot. Which would be far out.

Alas, though and however, there is no Big Man in the Sky. Which is not to say there isn't any God. If we realized that we are gods, we would have kicked out the Big Man too. And what hellfire and brimstone that would raise!

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Don't Read This!


"The couple that's in it for love should have as many opportunities as the one in it for money."

So says Prof. Marcus Registradas, who is currently on campus presenting his suggestions for a low-priced high school prom.

"Professor," asked the Feared Wag, "it's true that many boys cannot afford $50 or even more to take a date to the prom, but the price is hardly more than one can expect considering the elements involved. Can a couple really find substantial entertainment for only $2.49?"

"They can if they follow the Registradas money-saving method," said he. "The first thing to do is eliminate the car and its fuel costs. For a nominal fee, the students can borrow one of these specially-designed power skateboards, which run on solar energy."

"But won't they want to go at night?"

"I anticipated that question," quipped the alert professor. "With the skateboard comes this portable sun lamp, which is powered by batteries stolen from little brother's flashlight."

"So far so good," we said.

Next comes the problem of clothing. "For $1, the boys can buy one of these W.C. Fields Halloween costumes. All they have to do is leave the hat at home and they have their required dress. For the girls, Sleeping Beauty."

"I used to have one of those," commented one of our staff.

"Finally, why pay for a live band to provide the dancing music? They can tape butcher paper to the wall and have everyone join in to a Fred Astaire movie just as easily."

"This is all very economical, Prof. Registradas, but exactly where can the prom take place under these inexpensive conditions?"

"What's the difference?" he drooled. "The prom advertises from 8pm-1am, but after ten minutes everyone leaves to go to some secluded corner in the park and make out. The parents will never know!"

We're considering the suggestion.

Two Days After the Day Before Yesterday #2


BRAD: How've you been lately, John?

JOHN: Oh, can't complain. How's things with you?

BRAD: The kids need braces, the car needs new tires and everything's fine.

JOHN: That's nice.

BRAD: Great weather we're having, huh?

JOHN: Oh, yeah. Can't complain. Nice 'n' warm.

BRAD: Could use a little rain though.

JOHN: Yeah, the farmers need rain for their crops.

BRAD: You know, you haven't changed a bit!

JOHN: You still look the same too; of course, a little bit of a beer belly.

BRAD: Yeah, that's from drinking beer.

JOHN: Oh, you drink beer?

BRAD: Yeah.

JOHN: I don't touch the stuff myself.


JOHN: Just drink it!

BRAD: Hah.

JOHN: Yeah, sure is nice weather.

BRAD: Well, I have to be running.

JOHN: We'll have to get together for lunch sometime.

BRAD: Yeah.

JOHN: So long.

BRAD: You're boring.

JOHN: Can't complain.

Read the first in this series



Dedd R. O'Lyve

(Photos taken May 25, 1973)

Gargles with nails, shaves with steel wool and wears a meat coat. Known to be armed (two). Reads the Feared Wag (ecch). Last seen in the vicinity of a Waring blender. If found, you can keep him!

Laff Riot


Q: Come on, be serious!

AA: Are you kidding??

Jack Snartz #9: The Intellect Jewel


OPEN QUESTION to all those who were involved with "Socratic Questioning" in their govt classes: Don't you think that speaker sounds exactly like Marty Feldman?? … Towards More Grotesque Speech: Contrary to popular belief, "clerical" does not mean "of or pertaining to Valerie" … Those of you who became converts upon seeing "Monkey Business" will want to try to catch "A Night in Casablanca" tonight at 11:30 on CBS. This one won't be worth losing sleep for unless you're a true Marx Brothers fanatic. As for me, you can expect to see me stumbling around at school tomorrow, groggy-eyed but happy.

PAR FOR THE COARSE: I've heard of ASB officers pulling a few strings, but who would have expected Tom to be the one to yank down the twine that had been hanging from the southwest corner of the lecture hall ever since school started? Smooth move, Vreeland! … Hey, don't you think it would be a great idea to have a Teacher-Student Dance? Then you could ask your favorite English teacher out for — yeah, you're right, forget I ever mentioned it … Cute phrase uttered by Garry B. standing outside the auditorium, when someone inside knocked on the door: "Come out?" … 64¢ Question: What is the 64¢ Question for this week?

TAKE IT AWAY: During a discussion on the School Board at a GA meeting, someone suggested alternating "sitting on the board and on the audience" … Dispelled Rumors Dept.: Seanne P. does not — repeat, does not — play the euphonium! … (She couldn't figure out the rules) … Bill & Coup: Is there anyone among you vegetables that doesn't know about the incident between our Bill and a famous snitch on campus? Perhaps you didn't appreciate the dedication on last week's "Cruising" of an old Strawberry Alarm Clock song to said J.C.: "Can't you see / I'm a sadist? / Evil things / Make me laugh so. / I'm hummin' happy."

BYE-BYE: Mick's astute description of govt class: "It's like burning a cloud" … Suggested graffito: "Our forefathers never thought about the past! Why should we?" … And as for Harold Herskowitz, well, what can I say?

Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Further Adventures of Jane & Charley and Zelda & Ferdinand


Charley & Jane were going about their usual Monday morning business on this usual Thursday afternoon.

Their Monday business consisted of buying some alpaca food for Ferdinand & Zelda, buying some sesame seeds, and doing their laundry.

At laundry time, both of them gathered up all their dirty clothes, which required them to strip since they didn't own any other clothes (their clothes were 2 pairs of Levi's, 2 white T-shirts, 2 pairs sweat socks, 2 pairs tie-dyed tennis shoes made by Jane's aunt in Terre Haute, Indiana, 2 head bands and 2 jock straps). They piled all the stuff in the bathtub and washed it, then put it back on and stood by the radiator till they dried.

Charley had finished shopping and was on his way home to help Jane with the laundry. Ferdinand & Zelda had gone with Charley and now they were getting a ticket for not being curbed. When Charley arrived home, Jane was standing naked before him yelling about this green hand that came out of the tub and took all of their clothes. This surprised Charley some, but what surprised Charley the most was that Jane was standing in the middle of Madison Avenue.

Finally Jane, Charley, Ferdinand & Zelda arrived at home. Charley, who was only wearing a topcoat when he went shopping, told the story to Ferdinand.

The all-wise alpaca replied, "Go to the Salvation Army, where you got your last wardrobe, and buy a new one and wash it as before so we can capture the Green Hand."

"But," said Charley, "I don't have any money."

"Well, what talents do you have?" questioned the learned alpaca.

Charley needed some time to think. Three weeks later, he proudly announced that he could play the finger cymbals and sharpen a pencil with a knife.

"Fine," said Ferdinand. "Go stand on the corner of 42nd and Broadway today at 4:31 and play your cymbals and offer to sharpen people's pencils, and soon you will have all the money you need to buy a new wardrobe."

Charley was off in a flash (see what those seeds do?). He ran down to the corner and caught the "D" bus. Unfortunately, this bus went to Philadelphia, where he caught the Express to San Antonio. From there he flew to Norfolk, then to O'Haire Airport, and finally got a taxi there to take him to 42nd and Broadway.

7 months later, Charley returned home. Everyone was surprised to see Charley because they hadn't expected to see him so soon.

They placed the clothes in the bathtub and started to wash them when the Green Hand came out of the drain. Ferdinand & Zelda slipped a noose over it and started to pull. Soon a blubbery black mass popped out of the drain and ploppled on the floor.

At first Charley did not recognize him, but Ferdinand shouted: "It's Spiro Agnew!"

"It is," agreed Charley.

"It is," agreed Jane.

"It is," agreed Zelda.

"It is," agreed Spiro.

Charley asked very rapidly, "Why did you steal our clothes?"

"Well, we thought you were part of an underground ring called — um — let me look it up again … ah, here it is: 'Hippies'."

"Sure, I'm part of them, but we haven't done anything wrong."

"Yes, that's true, but we have word that you are corrupting the people of New York."

Zelda asked, "How?"

"By walking along saying hello to everyone. Soon people will trust one another and our law-and-order speeches and warnings will all be shot to hell," replied Spiro.

Jane & Charley said they were sorry, but didn't think they were corrupting anyone.

"Well," Spiro said, "As long as no one says hello back it's all right. Here are your clothes."

"What about all the trouble you caused us? We'll report you to the President!" yelled Ferdinand.

Spiro coolly said as he stepped back down the drain, "He'll claim the responsibility but deny any knowledge. Tough luck, freak!"


Read the next in this series
Read the first in this series

Issue #10: The Weak Humorly (June 14, 1973)

The First Last Noise from the Editor


Since awards assemblies lack pizazz, we have a suggestion for pepping them up.

We do not believe it is the format per se that needs revamping; rather the categories of awards given. Who wants to hear about who the Bank of America likes? Any schlump with a 3.99 grade average and a super intellect can win a scholastic award! Wouldn't you really rather hear about something more exciting, like...

Cutting the Most Without Getting Caught, Cutting the Most and Getting Caught, Most Perfect Attendance (but with the Wag's luck, he wouldn't show up to receive it), Guy Who Makes Out the Most, Girl Who Makes Out the Most, Couple Who Makes Out the Most, Couple Who Makes Out in the Most Daring Places, Couple Who Just Barely Makes Out...and such achievements as Consistent Irregularity, Gregarious Hermitage, Straightforward Loquaciousness, and Outstanding Mediocrity!

If judgings were made on this basis, mandatory assemblies would become unnecessary, since evryone would be dying to attend. Competition would be fervently stepped up, and extroverts rather than introverts would constitute the bulk of the winners.

What kind of a job they'll be able to get with an award like this, however, will be the true test!

The First Last Postal Mail


Hello Fird Wag

Hi, I am yor old frend Ferdy riting a letter to you. Hour TV stil brakes a lot, every day durring the weke the TV repairman comes to our house during the afternoon, and mommy loks me outside so I can't disturb them while they fix the TV. I am mad becus our TV breaks so much so I will tell daddy about it and he will by a nu TV. Guess what, I had a birthday 2 days ago and now I am 34 years old, but something even beter has hapned to me, one time I saw soljers on TV, and then I saw some in a parade. I wanted to be a soljer very much because I think it wood be fun, well my drim will come tru, I have been aksepted in the soljer college in NuwYork cald West Point and they are goeng to tich me to be a gude soljer.

Ferdy Snorkelburger

(Good luck in your chosen career, Ferdy. The people of America can sleep without worry, knowing that men like you serve our flag. — Ed.)

To Feared Wag Staff:

I would like to express my very extreme gratitude for printing my latest adventure (see Issue #10). The FEARED WAG is an amazing creative outlet for young conspiring writers.

How you freaks ever found out about this adventure, the world may never know. Doubtless they don't want to, besides; nonetheless, I will inform of my upcoming "trip" to parts weird and strange, battling for the mushroom fungus on the planet that sounds like "Texaco"(?) (it's a different place indeed!), protecting the mushroom fungus and Lady J. from the strange man called fredal (?). Of course, Clearlight will accompany me, clinging precariously to his three initials, maybe bring Burnt-Knee along. Well, I must go, the strawberry sweeties are becoming unpreserved, and the Venetian jams are all uptight, banging at the hatch. Have a good summer, happy trails.

Bric Bradford

(Sounds like a good one. We'll try to look forward to it. — Ed.)

The First Last Jack Snartz: All Wrapped Up


EVEN WITHOUT the ignormous contribution made by the Feared Wag, many odd things went on this school year. Our class has made many breakthroughs in the English language, such as "right arm," "farm out," "out-of-state" and "dig in," not to mention gems like "garbageous," "Fxtzkrtzky," "phusque," and of course, the term for love of one's car: "auto-eroticism." Yet we still found room for the venerable old standbys like ----, ------ and ----. And the word "okay" reached an all-time high, with Swifty uttering it 122 times at a single General Assemblage! That and Tom Vreeland's classic "So anyway" still ring in the ears of my fellow GA reps, and earplugs won't help (though transactional analysis might).

AS ALWAYS, the dumbest statements made were unintentional. The daily bulletin did a good job with, "Ceramics class is open 7 to 9am every Thursday night." You can still see those signs around that say "Illiterate? Write for free help" (when Dale accused some people of being illiterate, their response was, "What's that mean?"). Another goodie was asked during a Spanish test: "Is the answer a question?" Our drama teacher hit the nil on the head with an outline of the week's assignments: "Today we'll work on the future; tomorrow we'll work on the past." But the winner has to be the reaction of a classmate to Bill Foster's suggestion of suicide: "Kill myself? That's the last thing I'd do!"

THERE WERE numerous fun activities, like the cornerstone (we're in it! we're in it!) and "I'd Rather Be You," a play which enjoyed better success than the never-to-be-seen "House of Blue Leaves" (as for "A Debt Could Cost You," no comment). Among the sights the Wag staff couldn't look forward to seeing were the egomaniac club's yearbook picture and the alumni parade float for the class of 1984. But we got to see "Duck Soup" at the Film Festival!!

DURING A MEMORABLE General Assemblage, Jim L. was elected Sgt.-at-Arms and then was called out of order three times during the meeting. It was paradoxical when our lucky No. 7 issue came out on Friday 13, but we still fared better than the Student Voice; someone chose to place a stack of them inside one of the stalls in the boys' room. Sentence Interpolation Award went to whoever took the sign reading "Would You Walk 20 Miles for Some Grass?" and removed a couple of key letters from the last word. Somewhat less witty but more sensational was the famous alteration of "Student Services" to "Stud Services"; no one ever took our suggestion to further change it to "Stud Vices." ("Student Dining" never became "Stud Din," either, and I never did find out which end of the cafeteria is the front.)

FRONT RUNNER in the Wish-I'd-Done-It Dept.: Mick returned his federal card to the office without the father's side filled out. Upon being asked, "Don't you have a father?" he casually explained, "Oh, no. I'm illegitimate," and strolled out.

SOPHOMORES AND JUNIORS — and seniors, for that matter — don't worry; the good old days are yet to come!

The First Last Contest!



All you have to do is present a copy of all ten issues to date (which you have faithfully saved up over the past four months), or write the words "FEARED WAG" in plain block letters on a 2″×9″ sheet of uranium ore and leave it in a hollow stump at the corner of Big Ranch Road and Salvador Avenue.

If you follow these simple steps you can win, at no cost to anyone, ISSUE #11! This special underground edition cannot be obtained anywhere else for less than seventeen cents! You'll witness such ever-before-seen articles as letters to the editor, fillers, and MUCH MORE!

1. Obey the second rule.
2. Forget the third rule.

Join with the Feared Wag in echoing the cry being heard all around campus …

"ELEVEN WAGS? Good God!!"



It's very seldom that a reader gets to know the author, and the perpetrators of the Wag are grateful for that. (The consumer should also be very happy!)

In response to a numerous request, and since this "ish" (slang for a certain type of orange tick found only in the rain forests of the Amazon) marks the last gasp of the Wag, we, the sole survivors of the disaster, feel safe to open the wrong end of the package and show you how insignificant we are. Read at our own risk!


A rather frumpy-looking senior, known only for his obscurity, he has done nothing to dispel this image by writing(?) for the Wag(?)

Among his jobs on the Wag, which are too few to mention, is that he has typed up every one of our ten issues and has done a gennerly grest job.

He plans to leave Napa and attend Sacramento State University next fall, thus raising the intelligence level of both locales.

An energetic snail, he lists peeling bananas as one of his favorite sports. A Scorpio, he is quick to point out, has numerous creative abilities and is a very sensitive person. The only possible excuse for Carson being one, therefore, is that he was born on a cusp.

Among his less shameful accomplishments:

  1. Personal friend of Filbert H. Gladiolus
  2. Toilet training (they roll over now)
  3. Authored a thesis on weight reduction titled: "Poverty"
  4. Denied everything in this profile.


This promising (he'll do anything to get what he wants!) junior, despite his writing for the Wag, has recently been elected the Associated Student Body Director of Public Relations. This schizo is going to be in charge of the Student Voice next year!

Morris is such a loser that when he comes home his dog brings him a suitcase instead of his slippers. He's also a Thespian — how bad can you get?? His last performance was in "The Crucible," when he played a fine supporting role to Dale Hytholt.

Morris is a Virgo, and as we all know, Virgos show a definite lack of needs and are always wanting more desires.

His "Thangyou!" has taken its place among the immor(t)al sayings, like "Gezornenplatz" and "Hey, that's a great one!"

The Wag staff can sum up Morris's life in one word: "no."

(The Barbarian)

Anderson is the person(?) who coined the word "vegebrain." We say this in his profile because whenever anyone talks about Anderson, the term naturally comes up.

The main writing chore for Anderson has been doing the letters to the editor column. This is a job second in importance to being a light bulb in a refrigerator.

Anderson carries a Swiss army knife at all times. He says, "It's a great conversation piece. Whenever I pull it on someone, they start talking!"

Anderson's profile has all just been insult to injury.


Hytholt is one of Napa's fine upstanding youth. He has participated in many worthwhile projects. When asked about the Wag: "Well, you gotta strike out sometime."

To those of you who have never seen Hytholt on stage, he is one fine actor! To those of you who have seen him on stage, keep your mouths shut! Let 'em think he's good!

Hytholt claims that some people actually listened to him when he was on "Cruising" (a radio show?) this year. If you've heard those beautifully nasal tones, perhaps you'd agree his alias should be "Strep Throat."

Dale might best be remembered for his quote, "Oh, it's a burden being great!"

The Wag concurs: Dale is a burden when he's trying to be great.

BILL MANNY GLISSON (Bill Manny Glisson)

The last and least addition (or subtraction) to the Wag staff. He joined the staff when our journalism teacher realized that Glisson wasn't doing anything in class and decided that he might as well not do it with us.

Glisson is to be blamed for the adventures of Jane, Charley, Zelda & Ferdinand.

Some people are of the opinion that Glisson bears a resemblance to either Bob Dylan or an alpaca. Perhaps this is due to his once eating a type of breakfast cereal that Zimmerman used to eat and that he has the conversational prowess of a dirty animal.

The extent of his acid tongue can be illustrated by his marvelous comeback in answer to a prominent jock. When he was severely wounded, he snapped back with an inspired twinkle in his eye: "Huh?"

Glisson is a cancer. His astrological sign is unknown.

* * *

Well, there you've had it. Five of Napa High's most lovable mental spastics. Now for the real judgment … would you let your little brother marry one??

The First Last Adventures of Charley & Ferdinand & Jane & Zelda


Charley & Jane had run out of psilocybin and were walking to Mexico when it happened.

Ferdinand & Zelda were at home alone doing whatever alpacas do when they are home alone when it happened.

What happened?

Well, Ferdinand & Zelda were sitting around when the doorbell rang (this was surprising because the doorbell was broken). Ferdinand went over to answer it, but before he reached the door, it opened and out stepped (ta-da!) him.

He wore a yellow-and-purple-checked shirt, green and red flowered pants, a tennis shoe, a sandal, a white silk scarf, a Hawaiian grass hat, leather gloves, a scar on his cheek, an eyepatch, no teeth, blond hair and yellowish skin. This sight surprised Ferdinand so much he had a flashback.

When he came down, the apartment was empty and Zelda was tied up. He untied Zelda and sat down to think about what had happened.

2 months later, Charley & Jane arrived with the mushrooms. When Charley arrived, he thought they had been foreclosed on, but Ferdinand yelled, "We've been robbed!"

"What?" queried Charley.

"We've been robbed, man!" Ferdinand replied.

"By who?" queried Charley again.

Ferdinand replied again and described the intruder.

"Man, what happened, you been into the sesame seeds again? How could you let this happen, you dumb alpaca?" screamed Charley.

"Now, take it easy; no sense crying over spilled beer. It's all water under the bridge," said Jane in a soothing voice.

Charley couldn't understand why they were robbed. (Their possessions were one sleeping bag for Ferdinand & Zelda and a bale of hay for Charley & Jane, a frying pan, a rug, 2 candles, and a W.C. Fields poster.)

Charley sat down to think, and finding this impossible, he called the police.

3 days later the police arrived.

1st Policeman: Sorry we're early, but the traffic was light.

2nd Policeman: Okay, what was taken?

Charley: Everything. We were cleaned out.

2nd Policeman: Exactly what?

Charley described the items.

1st Policeman: Did you see anyone?

Charley: Not me, but Ferdinand did.

2nd Policeman: Who's Ferdinand?

Charley: The great learned alpaca.

Both Policemen: What?!!

Charley: Wait here, I'll show you.

Charley left and came back with Ferdinand.

1st Policeman: Okay, what did he look like?

Ferdinand described the man and now Charley was sure he had been in the seeds.

2nd Policeman: Well, that's not much to go on, but we'll try.

Both: Thank you. Goodbye.

6 months later, the police called to say they had recovered their stuff and captured the man.

Two things surprised Charley, Jane, Zelda & Ferdinand. First, the burglar had already brought their stuff back; and second, they didn't have a phone and didn't know how the police could have called.


Ode to the Feared Wag


by Henry Wadsworth Fxtzkrtzky

You came about in a time of stress,
Without a hope or prayer;
And after what you have done for the mess,
The hope still isn't there.

You gave us Jack Snartz and the Story Page,
And Bric B. Bradford, too;
And as for Ferdy's coming of age,
Well, I guess we can't blame you.

You improv'd the speaking of everyone,
You thoroughly literate cats;
And so, in praise of what you've done,
We say, "Gezornenplatz!"

Your puns are the best ones anywhere,
Or so your writers say;
But though we'd make a peachy pear,
We canteloupe today.

In thirty-seven pages, we
Had over seven smiles;
Five writers in your menagerie,
And zero writing styles.

Blessing on thee, Fearèd Wag!
We'll think of you now and then,
When the Student Voice gets to be a drag …


Carson Restoration Archive Project
HomeSite map
Spoken word: Digital Readout TrilogyRadio spots
Music: Bulbous!Other songsInstrumentals
Text: WritingsPuzzles