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Western Carolinian Volume 46 Number 09, October 16, 1980

Item
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Item’s are ‘child’ level descriptions to ‘parent’ objects, (e.g. one page of a whole book).

  • Joe Cojade stivty twW Ur Glassy / I20J (4t| pawls ,Bo4s.l»tas,1he Atlantic, rWtfc bacftdi 151 A War Story Editor's note: The following letter was received by us on Tuesday. The author is a student at Western and nothing contained in this letter was composed by me or anyone on the Carolinian staff. The views are not those of the editor. Joe Drop-oil No eats FuMoj cij4Tefte /Georgia Mootv faq\aKz& TresVMk MAP HigK^e. at j°T ' Sa Cartoon by Tony Cole away al the knee, the other blown off at the hip, he dragged himself towards mc on his elbows and as I stared in slupilycd amazement he began pulling on my leg, just as I am pulling yours. Sincerely, The Mystery Veteran |Name withheld by request] Hot Line Wars Greeks Help With Phonathon I'd like to lake this opportunity to thank the members of the sororities and fraternities listed below who assisted with the alumni phonathon last spring. Many of then members spent one or two evenings contacting alumni to ask for support of the university scholarship program. These students were eminently successful, raising over $6,400 in pledges directly from the alumni and another $4,600 in challenge funds stimulated by these gifts. In addition to the funds raised, these students talked to manv hundreds of alumni, many of whom had not been contacted by Western in a number of years. They talked about the university with enthusiasm and conviction, and were some of the best goodwill ambassodors we've ever had. They were a delightful group of students; polite, interested, and eager to help. I've not had the opportunity to work with a finer group ol Individuals than the members of Sigma Kappa Phi Mu Alpha Xi Delta Zeta Tau Alpha Delia Zeta Alpha Kappa Alpha Tau Kappa Epsilon Pi Lambda Phi Kappa Alpha Pi Kappa Phi Lambda Chi Alpha Based on the excellent response to this program and the cooperation of the fraternities and sororities on the campus, we plan on continuing the student phonathon next spring and look forward to additional assistance trom a variety of students groups. Sincerely, D. R. McGinnis Director of University Development -Jhe Obliieratecf Sine- Dear Editor, Since the draft is right around the corner for a lot of you. if Ronnie Rayguns wins, and since most of you will put your pants afloat at the thought of just going the the induction station. I decided to give you an idea of what to expect. At first I was going to tell you about the worst day 1 ever had in Vict Nam but then I thought "That could permanently ruin the Levi's of every 19 and 20 year old male who reads this, and make Cullowhee smell like Canton on a wet day" so I'll just narrate an average day; a very average day in fact. This must have happened 15 or 20 times...a month. Ten thousand screaming Asiatic infidels swarmed over the parapits howling like enraged banshees, hurling their black pajama clad bodies through the tangled masses rlf barbed wire, wildly firing their Ak 47 assault rifles into the night...and the bodies and heads of several friends. Calmly I sat behind my quad .50 meat chopper systematically mowing down row upon row of the yellow skinned devils as they surged towards mc like a giant black tidal wave. They died by the score under the withering fire of the four heavy machine guns and yet they came on and on, heedless of the numbers they had lost. Suddenly I was out of ammunition, a minute later I was knee deep in hand grenade pins. A wall of human bodies ten high and twenty thick surrounded what I tho.ught would be my last stand! Now all of my grenades were gone, my ammunition exhausted. I jerked my machete from its well worn scabard with my left hand, my bayonet with my right hand, and began to lav about jne with wild and savage strokes, cleaving skulls to the breastbone, rending, slashing, desembow- eling with my red and deadly blades. Impeded by their own number I raged through their midst like a tiger through a pack of hyenas, bleeding from two score superficial wounds. My vision swam in a red haze as I heard my own laughter ring out like the disembodied voice of a madman! Suddenly it was over. All about me lay the dead bodies and pieces of bodies scattered about the large jungle clearing as far as the eye could see. They died to the last man it seemed as I staggered through the carnage reeling like a drunken man in the midst of a goulish revelry. But wait. ..one figure still moved, the spark of life still burned in one bullet riddled breast; one eye dangling from the socket, the lower jaw missing, one leg shot 2/Western Carolinian/October 16, 1980 Editor's note: We chanced upon this going through our weekly mail and thought it was rather off the wall. We hope you ergoy it, too. At 11:53 P.M. Moscow time, the red telephone rings in Leonid Brezhnev's spacious bedroom. "It's President Carter to speak to you," says the dark-eyed operator Shimka Shostakovitch. "All right. I'll talk to him" says the Politburo secretary, sleepily. "Put the translator on too. I wonder what he wants from me at this time of night. Maybe he's going to give me another auto." "Leonid," comes the telephone voice from 5000 miles away, "I've had some disturbing news. Rosalynn said I should telephone you." "Jimmy, there must be some mistake. We've been bending over backwards not to cause any incidents. We're even serving Pepsi-Cola as a vodka chaser." "No, Leonid, no problem there. It's my stupid scientists. They tell me we're developing so many new weapons, that things are going to get out of control. Even the Republicans are getting worried." "That's funny, Jimmy. I got the same message from my stupid scientists. They said the only way out was for one of us to surrender, preferably you." "OK Leonid, if that's the way it has to be, let's flip a coin...oh no...that would never go over with the senate.They're even annoyed that I serve too much peanut butter at the White House luncheons. "I'll tell you what, Jimmy, You tell your Senate that we'll run a five mile race and I'll tell my Politburo we'll play a game of chess to see who surrenders." "Leonid, you're a genious. Just for that, even if we win, I'll scrap the plan to turn Red Square into Kremlinland and to put advertising on the Moscow subway." "Jimmy, you're a Southern gentleman. If we win, I'll cancel those big pictures of Karl Marx on the World Trade Center, and we won't plant cabbages on the Red House, I mean the White House lawn. "Leonid, one good turn deserves another. After disarming, you can keep your Red Army and put them to work in your department stores and eliminate waiting lines in your next 5 year plan." Jimmy, that's just wluit we need. Your capatalists can keep their mansions and their golf courses. In fact, you can put your defense plans to work building golf courses on the moon. Can I go back to sleep now?" by Jr. /3es/er Dun/opp Hi-ho, kiddies. I trust everyone is ready for yet another week of nonsense, so I'll begin this tome. Yesterday, as I was ernestly trying to conjure up a subject for these rambling lines of prose, I stepped out of our humble hovel in Joyner to get a breath of fresh air when I was almost run down by the subject of this madness. I mean, really. Folks. This was cute. I've never seen a motor vehicle with a full porch replete with sliding glass patio doors, bolted-down potted plants, and lawn chairs before. The gargantuan beastie lumbered to a halt in front of the building and several interesting creatures emerged from within. Being the concerned conservationalist I am, I paused for a second to examine these weird critters. After lining up in front of a solitary molting maple, the rather bovine creatures proceeded to proclaim how beautiful it's dead leaves were. Once they had finished gawking, the air was filled with the pop of numerous flashbulbs as they took turns having their picture taken with a "Genuine Mountain Tree." Ansel Adams would have gotten ill. The females of the species were dismissed from tne ritual rather early to perform yet another curious feat. Literally pounds of food mystically appeared from the confines of the gas guzzeling Iranian mobile and was summarily eaten upon the grass. After it had been consumed, they lumbered off into the sunset toward Palm Beach, content that they had truly "roughed it in the mountains and witnessed nature at its best." This bothers me, folks. Don't these people know that there's an energy shortage? Just the gas required to go one mile in one of these contraptions could probably heat one of these polar expenses known as dorm rooms for weeks. Oh. well, no use worrying. I think I'll put on my Izod sweater and go for a ride on the firetruck to forget this energy thing. Question of the week: Is it true that if a certain local food emporium burned to the ground, the ceiling would still be intact? Send your answers to The Line, P.O. Box 66, Lilly Valley. The winner receives what he deserves. Coming next week: Tripod's triumphant return... Campus building goes to the birds...Albright Airlines start Fantasy Island shuttle run...Cotton goes to Harlem, and much, much more. Tune in next week, same time, same station. Later, you crazy catamites.
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