Day 2, 3, Big Judd's and the Aftermath.

Oh here she comes! Its a biggin.
Oh my, my. 


The near one pound basket settled in on the section of table before me. Greasy, fried, golden brown. The 1 lb. plus fatty burger came tumbling after it. Those were just the fries- this was the burger- the Big Judd Challenge, the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the who's who in the Burger world. One pound of beef patty, mustard and mayo and ketchup, wholesome cheddar cheese, get your gnarly flabby pickles out-o-here but extra on the lettuce please burger lay before me, a beautiful sight to behold. Our three- day cleanse had rounded up on Wednesday 12 midnight and we decided to celebrate- I had said no way to Thursday, I don't want to die- so Friday it was. What better way to end the cleansing your system than taking it to new heights and pushing its limits?

 Parker got the double. He is a two time champion of the single. They say it has enough lard, grease, and fats to cork the aorta of 3 different men.

It crashed down on his side of table situated in the back room between walls of decorative americana. The crowd gasped, the women hid their children and everybody tried not to stare.

Ben said- Dude, when you finish that thing all the women in this room will want you.
Odd, as towards the end of his battle I specifically recall one girl running out of the room screaming- thats so disgusting!

Ben, Petit, and I all had the singles. Petit was first to finish after a mere 15 minutes. Ben was next at about 18. I was sipping back taking my time, and came up long of 30, the last bite alone taking a good 5 or so.

Parker continued strong, hitting the half way point on his beast at about the same time we did, his efforts were valiant, his speed remarkable.

And then he began to slow.

Earlier that week we had fostered our addiction to apple juice, drinking it every hour on the half hour. The prune juice had worked well to clean us out,  and I got my water from the fountain in a one cup measuring cup to make sure I had the proportions up. The cleanse had been hard but well worth it. All that juice and no food surely had lead to the shrinking of our stomaches.

Hm. Shrunken stomach and two pounds of meat. Parker's face wasn't looking to hot. 2 minute bites. 3 min bites. 5 minutes, 7, 10, 12, 15 minute bites. The party table to our side was slowly clearing. Those women Ben had spoken of vacated. A few single pounders remained, dispersed throughout the venue. Long story short- the clock ticked away and he didn't finish.

Long story short he took a heroic trip to the outside snow. Long story short our picture of the single pounder completers is on the wall. Long story short we took a ride home with our windows cracked in uncomfortably cold weather. Long story short we stretched back our stomachs in the best way possible. Long story short I am regular.

Long story short- 3-day juice diet recommended.



Sheep go to Heaven. Goats go to Hell.

Day 1

Well, well, well. Well. In thirteen minutes I am due for the drinking of a little water. The obstacles have been few and the nay-sayers many.

Thats ridiculous!
You can't do it!
You need more carbs!

They try to whittle us away. The present procedure for excretion may make me feel like a woman- but let me tell you- I'll be a man afterwards. A healthy man even.

Nothing but prune juice, apple juice, and water.
With a little raw pre-war gospel lovin'.

3-Day Cleanse

I now commence on a 3-day journey. A cleansing of my soul and body. A purification of Brasil from my system.

My insides have never been the same since the transition from Brasil back to the States. One of them has got go, and that will be Brasil. All you foreign servers know what I am talking about.

16 oz. prune juice every morning.
8 oz. alternating of apple juice and water every half hour for the rest of the day.
perhaps some celery at night for the deathly hungry.

Here it goes. 

Dreams

I dreamt a dream I've dreamt before,
of dreams I dream are gone. And in this dream
I dream no more, for all my 
dreams are gone. 

K-Mart Revisited

“K” is for King. “K” is for kind. I may have trouble validating my claims but I believe that Walmart was directly related to the new Chinese Stealth Fighter photographed last week. This news heard, when my roommates started talking kitchen supplies and Wally’s I noticed opportunity’s kick in the shins and made the leap. I threw the Wall Street paper down on the table, the pictures of the stealth fighter flagrantly obvious on the front page and said- “This is what your spent dollars will get you!”

Chit-chat and hullabaloo followed.

I rallied them around and Parker was quick to voice his concordant opinions that we should “revisit K-Mart.”

*         *          *

The aisles were wide and leisurely. Spacious. The shelves well stocked and the workers jubilant. Inside these walls we learned the true meaning of customer service- customers serving customers.

We divode and conquered. I retrieved my desired soap- King’s-Mart brand dove replacement for 4 dollars cheaper and bigger bars- and rendezvoused with Parker on the sponge and dish cleaning aisle. (A man wearing a top hat just walked down the hall).

Parker was involved with a silver haired woman of charming appearance, of happy eyes and caring hands. She elaborated to us the different uses of each item and their hierarchy of excellency and showed us her intended purchase when Ben arrived with the Q-Tips. She recommended the micro-fiber towels and begged her pardon, departing.We got the mirco-fiber towels. Altogether it was a pleasant exchange.

We adjourned to cash register, wherest in giving greetings to the cashier man, our relationship with the elderly woman was resurrected like a freshly dead phoenix.

“I didn’t want to lead you boys astray,” she us informed, “but I feared you hadn’t gotten one of these.”

She held up a blue-green-scratcher-sponge in the light. We indeed we hadn’t gotten one of these, all present being witness.

She gently pressed it into our hands, saying, “I’ve had boys, I know what its like.”

And she was gone.

“K is for kind,” chimed the cashier.
An aging man waited in line behind us with blank eyes.

Ben chucklewhispered, “Pay it forward.”

But with what? I asked, What have I to give?

Three micro-fiber towels came in the pack. We could do with two.

I turned, taking one of the towels in hand, and walked right up to the man and said- “Here, this is for you,” placing it in the man’s hands.

Bewildered, the man’s eyes were no longer blank. Shocked and confused, I left him, twirling my stache madly.

Finally, “Thank you!” he yelled in a withering voice encountering new sun. “Thank you,” it echoed.

There was a tear in the cashier’s man eye as the electronic doors closed behind us. You don't see that at the Other-Mart, he said.

We came back the next day.

Love Heather Salvation

-May I ask your name?
-Heather, she said.


Heather they named her.

The "W" scandal continued as I was directed to window six at the Registrar office. The pleasant woman greeted me from behind the window and raised the wooden curtain to accommodate my height. After exchanging pleasantries our mood quickly went down hill and exploded into flames as she informed me that my academic petition had been declined. I won't tell you, and I shouldn't tell you the number of obscenities that blistered through my mind as my eyes tensed with rage at the sight of the "declined" on my petition.

Four A's and one F! does nobody think anything is incongruous about that, INTEROBANG. I refrained from visual anger all the same and asked her what more I should do, with whom should I speak, and so on to change this F into the "W" it should be. The papers were shuffled and I was told to make an appeal. Lovely, I thought, an appeal to a petition. She was quite helpful all the same and heard me out well.

I tried dropping the class of the F various times on Nov. 9 to no avail as the school's website failed. I successfully dropped it for the "W" on Nov.10 as my financial aid advisor had counseled me. Successfully dropped I relaxed and focusing on my other classes. Last day of semester comes and the professor informs me, "I gave you an F, because you forgot to drop the class." Nonsense. So I sent in the necessary appeals, and now they had been processed and "declined". I wanted to pull a Jackie Chan through the registrar's window and throw down a Chuck Norris spin kick on everybody in the office.

Instead I told her I would return in a few minutes with an appeal with written testimonies of all the staff I had counseled with, my blog entries, and my browser history to make the necessary case.

I choose sit at a table in plain view of her window and get to work. I give a friend an elongated "not good" to his interrogation of my going. Minutes pass by and the woman of the window surprises me at my table.

"I made things a little easier for you," she says, "I talked with the guys at the front desk and they approved it for you. Your petition has been approved."

Smiles. Laughter. Frantic yelling of ecstasy and jubilation. Jubilation!

She turns to leave. But wait.

-May I ask your name?
-Heather, she says.


My salvation.

BYU-Inferior

No intercollegiate sports, no renowned research program, just came to continue my high school education at BYU-Isn't a real college- Idaho. Too much NCMO, too many mormons, and too many marriages at BYU-I do. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, just treeless desert at BYU-Idaho. The records office is a joke, the honor code is overkill, I want to wear pajamas in the library, and get a better education elsewhere, not BYU- Inferior. Rexburg just marks the unfortunate northern end of the I-15 Jell-O belt with hard ground, hard weather, worthless education, and Provo rejects.

An assessment is appropriate. My first semester at BYU- Idaho has closed and my second is about to commence.


Assessment: I enrolled at BYU-I because I wasn't accepted into BYU. I stay because I love Rexburg.


On occasion I hear negative remarks similar to the ones mentioned but they hold little water, and certainly it is the minority that opines as such. As usual, the ignorant minority screams louder than well-balanced and content majority.


I had the privilege to interview Brother Lane Williams at the end of last semester. He implements the teaching model the best of any teacher I have yet seen, and it is clear that he understands it.


In the interview I asked him regarding students who desire to leave the university because of the BYU-I Inferiority Complex. He returned speaking in terms of mission.

 "I would tell a student listen to the spirit. If the spirit is telling you to go some where else go somewhere else. But If they don't think the university is prestigious enough, you have to take a look at what the university is trying to be and ask if it is achieving its mission... This is a phenomenal university in terms of acheiving its mission.

"[They say] its Rexburg, its Idaho, its this, its that, its not prestigious, well they’re right this isn’t prestigious, this will never be, this will never be on the worlds prestige.

"But will it deliver an education that is first rate that may be in everyway as good as what you get at those other places and in some ways better.. the answer is Yes.

"If you want a good education that is interesting and powerful where you will learn to get a job and to enhance your testimony and to be built, there is no place better than BYU-Idaho, period."

BYU-I's mission, he said, is to give the highest quality education to the most students for the best price, and this it accomplishes.

So in conclusion I say it's all about making limeade with the limes that grow on your side of the fence. Take what is given to you and embrace it, cherish it, and make the most of it, because it is all you've got. I find that more often than not, the best place for you to be is right where you are. 

Put in all you have and you will receive the best education in the world.


Good semester to everybody, and good night.


Sincerely,
George Simons