The Providence Strategic Family Clinic dubbed Arlo Coles “The Human Cockroach” after he successfully survived a third trimester abortion, the lone recorded survivor in the Clinic’s historic annals and one of four nationwide since the inception of modern natal alleviation procedures. The plaque and indecipherable photo still hang in the Clinic’s front hallway immortalizing Mr. Coles’ unique accomplishment—a point of pride for still bewildered staff members, their intrigued families and the various field trip patrons who aren’t looking out the window.
Arlo Coles’ crowning achievement was not vestige. Second and third grade end of year honor assembly, however, were potentially ensnaring. Those chairs lined up carefully by the janitorial staff all morning. Their winter—not allowed to call it Christmas or Holiday (do the etymological tracing)—bonus looked an awful lot like the cans rejected during the December food drive, the sweatshirts oddly like that box of XXLs unwanted by science fair participants. Conne Corn and a maroon 25th annual Science Jamboree regifted to the local dumpster. Might make a swell birds nest for a feathered loved one, just so much as he stops shitting on that new carport that took seven fucks of an hour to install with piss breaks so frigid you’d hardly be able to unzip and pull out that tiny icicle of a prick left after she nagged you about upgrading to the Friends & Everybody plan.
We’ll begin with the Character & Integrity awards, says the dilapidated knave who distributes post-lunch positive-reinforcement-incentive-based stickers to students demonstrating commendable and catatonic behavior after swiftly consuming their lunches and federally subsidized milk. One pupil, who’ll go unnamed due to legal constraints, once received six stickers in one lunch period snafu before his moribund pulse and pale skin were noticed. He nearly died, having choked on mediocrity. The stickers covered his pours, forcing his cold sweat inward, nearly drowning his lungs and entrails. Good thing he didn’t keel over, weren’t sure what to do, the janitorial staff admitted, treat it like a throw up (toss some lye on it and mop it up) was their plan. The character traits awarded—dedication, perseverance, commitment—were celestial promises from afterworlds, for an unchanging consistent, not virtues for the here and now. Disguises for what’s easiest in us: trapping a moment or sensation, pulling the moment, stretching it with ecclesiastical elasticity for some time. No virtue there, so stay in your seats before we become smaller, safer, sadder, Arlo bellowed, no more false titles. The Human Cockroach proves his namesake while teaching others to dance.
Heather sold more caramel popcorn and wrapping paper than the net G.D.P. of Botswana & Laos during the second and third quarters of the last fiscal year combined. I think that deserves a round of applause.
The admissions committee was impressed, leaning giddily around their glossy conference table buried somewhere in a Tudor façade bunker near south campus, rejoicing with the fresh life supplied to the committee vis-à-vis botched medicine some seventeen years past, folding and stowing glasses, clicking pens, sipping spring water, tea, coffee, shuffling papers, doodling a conspectus of what would become an honorary scholarship for student abortion survivors, a sigh of relief since a recent donation required a joint matching fund for such unique students who overcome adversity during adolescence. The race card and every other -ism having had their Liberal democratic limelight, running the gauntlet through academia upper echelons.
Other kids couldn’t compete: two years assistant student manager of girls’ JV basketball team—when you wash the shorts, throw them in and use the detergent sparingly. We’re on a budget. Oh yeah and don’t get yourself caught sniffing the girls' shorts. Get caught, right?
Oh and I see you received most improved four consecutive years. Most improved improver—well the schools are focusing more on analytic skill sets than facts, small-minded tasks, though we do like to see that you challenged yourself, so what improved four years to merit acclamation is of high interest to the committee at this point. Shakespeare? Midsummer or Romeo & Juliet? Very good that’s what we tend to look for. Not exclusively of course but it helps.
A ninth grade production of Coriolanus caused prompt dismantle of the school’s drama department. All plays and drama clubs were cancelled for the year’s entirety while the district school board charged a third-party investigation. Messy stuff. It’s all just words, you say in the beginning, archaic words. It’s all fun and iambic pentameter until someone gets hurt. They kept telling the director, some Danish MFA mess, that the set Tartan Rock sculpture was too high and clearly unstable. Authenticity needs its own cost-benefit analysis. That’s the angle we take when individually evaluating, pouring over each application in its entirety. We go through these documents with a fine toothcomb. The Coriolanus episode created fear of copycats. All Elizabethan dramas, heck anything with wigs or tights, were banned in the tri-county area.
Arlo Coles’ crowning achievement was not vestige. Second and third grade end of year honor assembly, however, were potentially ensnaring. Those chairs lined up carefully by the janitorial staff all morning. Their winter—not allowed to call it Christmas or Holiday (do the etymological tracing)—bonus looked an awful lot like the cans rejected during the December food drive, the sweatshirts oddly like that box of XXLs unwanted by science fair participants. Conne Corn and a maroon 25th annual Science Jamboree regifted to the local dumpster. Might make a swell birds nest for a feathered loved one, just so much as he stops shitting on that new carport that took seven fucks of an hour to install with piss breaks so frigid you’d hardly be able to unzip and pull out that tiny icicle of a prick left after she nagged you about upgrading to the Friends & Everybody plan.
We’ll begin with the Character & Integrity awards, says the dilapidated knave who distributes post-lunch positive-reinforcement-incentive-based stickers to students demonstrating commendable and catatonic behavior after swiftly consuming their lunches and federally subsidized milk. One pupil, who’ll go unnamed due to legal constraints, once received six stickers in one lunch period snafu before his moribund pulse and pale skin were noticed. He nearly died, having choked on mediocrity. The stickers covered his pours, forcing his cold sweat inward, nearly drowning his lungs and entrails. Good thing he didn’t keel over, weren’t sure what to do, the janitorial staff admitted, treat it like a throw up (toss some lye on it and mop it up) was their plan. The character traits awarded—dedication, perseverance, commitment—were celestial promises from afterworlds, for an unchanging consistent, not virtues for the here and now. Disguises for what’s easiest in us: trapping a moment or sensation, pulling the moment, stretching it with ecclesiastical elasticity for some time. No virtue there, so stay in your seats before we become smaller, safer, sadder, Arlo bellowed, no more false titles. The Human Cockroach proves his namesake while teaching others to dance.
Commendable, said someone, told a visitor they had an entire campus full of Arlos, though they knew it wasn’t true. It was a nice thought.
Most are born with one forcep and suction tube in the grave, said Arlo Coles.
Hold your applause till the end, form a coherent line to the right, my right, of the stage, then proceed, group photos are mandatory, we’ll reassemble outside, yes, ice cream sandwichs and your refuse goes where? That’s right. Designated trash reciptacals.
Heather sold more caramel popcorn and wrapping paper than the net G.D.P. of Botswana & Laos during the second and third quarters of the last fiscal year combined. I think that deserves a round of applause.
Arlo noticed the trash bins were full even before the ice cream was distrubuted. There was no place for his wrapper. At least we can all vote, a voice whispered, drowned out by gooey flesh vacuumed through a narrow tube.
