In Which There Is Much Talk About Madness Of The Turkey Variety

The following being an excerpt from the seventh grade journal of Mlle. Kat Kire, in Siegel's class, room 107. PotJH cannot be held responsible for the actions of twelve year old Kat, on the grounds that she had very little common sense. By this same rule, we can't be held responsible for the actions of thirteen year old Kat either, but from there on in it's all too complicated for us.

Once, when I was in fourth or fifth grade - they've meshed over time, into a sort of hellish miasma of procrastination and teachers telling me that "I-have-lot-of-potential-but-don't-work-properly," - it was lunchtime. Un-unusual. And yet, the human race engages in wonderful conversation over lunch, a sort of munchy, cheese sandwich conversation. So as my friends and I were engaging in the short, bright, lunchtime of the soul, the issue of beef came up. There was Mad Cow Disease in Canada, and our dear Mac was (pardon the pun) having a cow.

He thought his sandwich was beef, that horrid elixir that (in our young minds) turned people in schizophrenicly rampaging cattle. He was making a big deal, in his own Maccish way, flapping his arms and giggling as if possessed, yet coming of as belligerent. Emmett was being his usual self, taking Mac about as seriously as he took Paris Hilton. (Note from the thirteen year old Kat: On looking back, I don't think I should have written that. I mean, we were in fifth/fourth grade. We weren't taking Paris Hilton in any way, serious or not.) I was in my accustomed role of observer and commentator, and happy with it too.

And yet it was Julian who ruly created the punch-line. Edgy, occasionally depressed Julian, who bit into the offending sandwich meditatively, with teeth of courage. One by one we turned from our debate-punctuated-by-Emmett's-bad-jokes, and watched with bated breath as one we'd known well chewed and - no! good heavens! - swallowed. I imagined a Julian cow. Brown, with splotches of white, I was deciding, when the sepruchal voice of St. Julian the Martyr rang out.

"Mac, you can't get mad cow from a turkey sandwich."

"Heed, mortals," said Emmett, as I turned back to my cheese sandwich.

FIN

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.