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How the Prof Stole Vacation!
Every Student in Gentville liked vacation a lot But the Prof who lived just north of Gentville did NOT! The Prof hated Vacation! The whole Thanksgiving Break season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his students weren’t learning just right. It could be, perhaps, that his necktie was too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his stomach was two sizes too small. But, Whatever the reason, His stomach or his tie, He stood there on Thanksgiving, hating their pie, Staring down from his office with sour, Profy scorn At the warm lighted windows below in their dorms. (Oops, Residence Halls.) For he knew every Student down in Gentville below Was gorging him or herself on green bean casserole. “And they’re basting their turkey!” he snarled with a sneer. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving! It’s practically here!” Then he growled, with his Prof fingers nervously drumming, “I MUST find some way to stop Thanksgiving from coming!” For, Tomorrow, he knew... ...All the Gent girls and boys Would sleep in late. They’d certainly slack! And then! Oh, the lack of work! Lack ! Lack! Lack! Lack! That’s one thing he hated! The LACK! LACK! LACK! LACK! Then the Gents, young and old, would sit down to a feast. And they’d feast! And they’d feast! And they’d FEAST! They would feast on Gent-pudding, and the rare Gent-roast-beast (Which was something the bookstore would provide - price increased.) But as ALWAYS They’d do something He liked least of all! Every Student down in Gentville, the tall and the small, Would sit on their couches, with their TV remotes clacking, They’d kick up their feet. And the Students would start snacking! They’d snack! And they’d snack! AND they'd SNACK! SNACK! SNACK! SNACK! And the more that he thought, the incredible quack “Why for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now! I MUST stop Thanksgiving from coming! ...But HOW?” Then he got an idea! An awful idea! THE PROF GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! “I know just what to do!” The Prof laughed to himself. And he pulled an armload of books off the shelf. And he chuckled, and clucked, “What a great Profy caper! I’ll give them ten books to read and two 12-page papers!” “But Mister Prof, don’t you think...” The Prof looked around. But, the source of the voice was no where to be found. “Who are you?” yelled the Prof - Interested only in facts. “I’m your conscience and I think that you need to relax. You overwork these kids and yourself in the process. Take some time off, eat some turkey smothered in sauces.” “BAH HUMBUG.” Harrumphed the mad Prof. “You know when I eat all That rich, heavy food I “Get sick. You’ve got gall.” “Well whether or not you Will eat and calm down. Tonight You’ll be visited by Three ghosts with some might.” “Uh, excuse me,” someone said to the narrator. “I think that’s for Scrooge not some poor Student-hater.” “Oops, I’m sorry.” The satirist realized in time And returned to relating this rhymed story of crime. So the conspiring Prof sans ghostly visitor this occasion Plotted to ruin Thanksgiving with the help of some persuasion. He convinced other Profs with severe indigestion To assign more homework but it was, “Just a suggestion.” Pretty soon all the Students were moaning and groaning About papers on Thoreau, Social Theory, and Cloning. “I have all this work that I now have to do And on top of all that I’m flying home, too. As if terrorism wasn’t enough stress for break I won’t have time to pig out on the food Mom’ll make.” So they packed up their bags full of books, binders and notes And took off for home before their backs and luggage broke. And the evil Prof rubbed his hands together and cackled, “They won’t have time to watch their favorite team make a tackle. They’ll all have to work; there’ll be no time for fun. No television, no parade, no relaxing, no sun. And no SNACKING!” He cried with a Profy-like grin. “They can’t eat while they’re working. I’ve done it! I win!” He went back to his office to gloat and to laugh When he heard a small knock, “Ah, it must be some riffraff. But what are they doing here a day before Thanksgiving? Come in,” he said, “what complaint are you bringing?” “Why none, Mr. Prof.” said the Student who stood there. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, were you not aware?” “Why yes,” said the Prof with a patented sneer, “Since tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, what are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same question,” the Student returned. “If you had put in a turkey by now it’d be burned.” The Prof growled at the Student, “How dare you,” he said “You think I’m tied to my cravings and must always be fed?” “Not at all,” said the student, calm and kind. “That you had nowhere to go never crossed my mind. “You’re welcome to join us - there’ll be more than enough food, and football, and family all in a good mood.” “But I can’t,” said the Prof, with a sad, droopy face, “My stomach gets unhappy with even the slightest taste.” “That doesn’t matter,” said the student “That’s no problem at all. We’ll just dose you up good with some Pepto-Bismol®. You’ll be fine and can eat everything that you want - Turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing - even tolerate my aunt. It’s beautiful stuff, just you wait and you’ll see.” I could do this, thought the Prof, I could finally be free! And he soon found out That the students could slack And put off their work And have time to snack. And they’d get all caught up And would learn all their facts But in the meantime They would try to relax! And what happened then...? Well...in Gentville they say That the Prof’s small stomach Grew ten sizes that day! And the minute his waist expanded to epic proportions He stopped putting the Students through homework contortions. And he gave them all A’s and no more did he scowl And he... ...HE HIMSELF...! Carved the roasted fowl! Lisa Game, 2001 |
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