.WAF L ( l E ` ;ܪ_K ̴QOa- ntry (D7h%\`ܪ_K ̴QOa- 9' turl 4https://webspace.utexas.edu/chaneybb/www/UTLAND.htm mime text/html hntt "3533903-3596000" hvrs data
Adventures in UTland
It happened again; my roommate had his girlfriend over and needed to use the room. It is always weird when he says that. I know it is natural for two people to want some time alone, but there has to be a more original way of asking me to clear out for their make-out sessions. I have a paper to write, and so I wander to the commons on the South Mall and find a spot on the grass near the George Washington statue from which I can watch the sunset while I wait for inspiration. The grass is damp, and my body seems to mold the ground under it to my bodys shape. The fading sunlight is warm. A light breeze springs up and carries an indistinguishable mix of distant voices and music. I try to focus on a snappy opening for my paper, pushing back thoughts of the overwhelming amount of work I have to catch up on in the next three weeks before school is out for the summer. I am vaguely aware that the few co-inhabitants of the mall are gathering up books and backpacks and drifting away. Finally, I am alone on the mall. My head drops slowly to my backpack as I look up at the peach-tinted clouds, certain that inspiration will at last assert itself past the broad shoulders of my end-of-school year anxieties.
Suddenly, a gigantic and foul-smelling mouth is licking my lips. Disgusted I sit up to find myself looking a gigantic Longhorn right in the nose. MUUUUH!!! the cow bawls at me. I feel my hair pushed away from my face by the impact of the sound. I quickly jump to my feet for fear of being trampled. The longhorn turns and runs toward Littlefield Fountain. Thats when I see my backpack tangled in the longhorns right rear hoof. I leap after the thousand pound creature. As it nears the edge of the fountain, I dive and catch hold of my backpack. The longhorn flings itself into the fountain with me clutching one of the straps of my backpack. As we hit the water, my side stings from the impact. It was as if all of my ex-girlfriends had slapped me at the same time, leaving me dizzy. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes tightly shut as we plunge down, down, down. It occurs to me that Littlefield Fountain is much deeper than I imagined.
My eyes fly open as I realize I am somehow out of the water and on dry land again, dripping slightly but still tightly clutching my backpack. I realize that I am peering into my mailbox at a package inscribed, To my Precious Pumpkin, Love, Mom. I cringe at the label and quickly tear off the wrapping to avoid giving one of my roommates any ideas for a new nickname. Inside the package is a cake. To my horror, I find written on the top of the cake, Happy Birthday Pumpkin! Be safe. Love, Mom. I have no choice. This cake has to be eaten and eaten immediately. If any of my roommates were to see this inscription, they would never let me hear the end of it. It would be like the time that they found my stamp collection and I woke up the next day with all of the stamps glued to my body. Not content with stamp adhesive, my roommates used superglue, and it was a very long time before I was free of some particularly colorful stamps from Nepal.
Thinking about the stamps, I quickly begin eating the cake. I quickly become aware that the more I eat, the bigger the cake gets. The cake grows to the size of the Governor Hogg statue on the South Mall and begins dancing. At that moment, there is a loud rap on the door. I open the door and a large, colorful parrot flaps by my legs and dives onto the cake squawking, Mr. Chaney! You cant eat this huge cake by yourself. Not the whole thing. WellI dont understand, I mumble through cake crumbs and with the little breath that was left in my body. Well you cant just eat the cake, you have to pace yourself. The Captain would not like you just eating away without any care. We are to be in Oxford for months you know. I am totally confused and talking to a parrot. Yet it feels normal. Flying up and perching on my shoulder, the parrot squawks, This cake will make you high! High on the Hogg! Oxford has an anti-drug policy you know. But I am not going to Oxford. I just want to get back home and write my paper.
Without another word, I push the excitable parrot off my shoulder, pick up the cake, and walk upstairs to my room. As I step off the top step, I find myself on the top of the UT Tower looking westward over Austin. The wind forces me to reach for the railing. As I clutch the railing, I hear a high, thin, but authoritative voice say, Hands off! I let go immediately. You know better than to touch that! That blatant violation will cost you $100. At that, a scraggly rat scrambles towards me. Disgusted, I turn to stride away but there are rats everywhere. Angry squeaking rat voices are blaring from every direction, You touched it! or Too far this time, Mr. Chaney! I run into the Tower with the rats scampering behind me, gaining by the second. Diving into the waiting elevator, I hit the Close Door button and try forcing the doors together faster. Two rats leap into the elevator an instant before the doors slam closed. I fall back against the back corner of the elevator as the rats advance toward me. As they stalk closer, they open their mouths revealing massive fangs as their heads grow many times the size of their bodies. I realize that two rats with Jaws sized teeth are approaching me as if I am a large piece of cheese. As they open their slobbering jaws for a last snap, the elevator door opens again to reveal one of those steely, muscular, computer-animated longhorns that I once heard a small child call Scary Bevo. The huge metallic creature slams his gigantic fist down like a hammer onto the skulls of the rats, smashing blood, bones, and body parts all over the elevator. There you go, it deeply intones with a smile. Sorry I was late. In shock, still dripping wet, and now covered with rat ooze, I realize that I have had had enough. I have been dragged into a fountain, mocked by a parrot, and almost eaten by crazy, morphing rats. What is going on? I yell at the gigantic, gleaming longhorn.
Just take it easy man. My name is Vince. Im here to help you out a bit. Those rats can really be messy. There is always something they are trying to take from you. No problem though. Youre with me now. Lets go to my place. He picks me up and slings me over his shoulder. He then races down the East Mall and to the stadium--only it isnt the stadium. Where the stadium should be there is now a massive castle. Striding through the archway, Vince says matter of factly, The King will be with you shortly.
The King will be with me? What had happened to the stadium? Cupping my hands over my face, I hear the door at the end of the hall open. Staying Alive blares out of the room beyond the door. I look through spread fingers to see a furry leg and sneakered foot stretch seductively around the door, the foot keeping time with the driving beat of the music. The door then slams dramatically open and out struts a creature that looks like Chester the Cheetah, the Cheetos mascot, wearing a small gold crown. Chester performs some amazing disco moves with a feline fluidity that makes John Travolta look like kitty litter. He smoothly bounces over to me and, like an over eager politician, extends his large paw to shake my hand. As I hesitantly take his paw, he winks and in an insincere, purring voice says, Chestas my name, rulings my game. You want to get through this alive, youve got to learn how to jive. I hold all of the money, so much that it aint even funny. Nowlets get chummy! With that, he springs onto his throne, leans back, crosses his legs, pushes his crown rakishly forward on his forehead, and scratches contentedly at what appears to be the carpet that upholsters the throne.
Sir, Ive lost my way. I really dont know where I am. I try to describe what has happened to me so far but before I get to the part about the cake though, there is a loud crash as an angry swarm of bees streams burst through a window. In an instant, Chesta drops through a trap door and disappears. As the bees swarm closer, I realize that some of them are the size of a small child. They are obviously very angry about something. One large bee flies forward and buzzes, Who are you? Meekly, I reply, My name is Brent and I am lost. Who are you? The bee takes a deep breath and sticks out his chest with pride. We are the worker bees. Cheating Chesta has held us as his slaves. We work and make the honey, but we get little in return. We have come to punish Chesta and take back the honey that is our own. At that, a low buzz of agreement fills the room. I wish I could help, but I am lost. I do not know this place. More buzzing followed. You can help, you can help! Multiple bees echoed. Take that torch and set this castle on fire. We cannot lift such a heavy thing.
As if in a trance, I do as they direct. As I light the first tapestry that looks vaguely like a gothic version of a Cheetos package, the entire room bursts into flames. I stagger back from the flames and turn to run to the door with the bees not far behind me. I grab the large door handle and turn it, but the door is locked. The fire is leaping across the room, blocking our escape to the window through which the bees entered. Covering my face and coughing with the suffocating smoke, I rip down a tapestry by the door and discover behind it another window. I throw a nearby chair through the window and feel the rush of hot air and smoke rush toward the open air. I jump onto the window ledge and look down 50 feet to the moat below. As frantic bees stream frantically past me, I leap outward, knowing that there is little chance of surviving this fall. I feel a rush of wind and see a blur of color.
Suddenly, all is quietexcept for a faint chirp of crickets. Crickets? I become aware of a cold dampness on my back. I open my eyes to find the dark figure of George Washington staring past me. I realize I am back on the commons lying with my head on my backpack on the dew-drenched grass. Night has fallen. I sit up suddenly to see if there are any wild longhorns nearby, but there none are to be found. Was it all just a dream?
I pick up my backpack and run home. As I reach the porch, I notice a package with the address label, To My Precious Pumpkin. With a smirk I pick up the package thinking some things will never change.
Word Count: 1712
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