The Eighth Page


I wake up to the smell of fried clams and barbecued ribs. I look over at my clock, realize that it is ten in the morning, and get out of bed. I take off my bunny outfit, put on a pair of jeans, shave my afternoon shadow, and nod at Andres Bobadilla ’06, who is dressed in a bull fighting outfit and playing a seven foot golden harp. He smiles. I open the door to my three room double, and there is my roommate Chris Cahill ’06 looking at a Yale brochure, and wondering how far away from Andover New Haven is. When he applied to Yale, he thought that it was an apartment complex that he would move into, and didn’t realize that he would be attending classes. I hear a spatula hit a grill. In the corner, our house counselor Mr. Cardozo is grilling hamburgers and has a chef’s hat on with “Bill’s Grill” written in golden italic letters. Mr. Cox is standing next to him, sipping on cognac, and reading Town and Country. Mr. McHugh is nowhere to be seen. I hear a bang, and McHugh comes into the room carrying a bubble maker, piñata, strobe light, seven small chicks, a can of whipped cream, and a bag of Dubble Bubble chewing gum. It is another beautiful Saturday morning in Taylor Hall. When I pass on from this fine academic institution, and am in a better place high above everybody, looking down, I will remember Taylor Hall. Taylor Hall’s modo, “Erectus Phallusus Nautae,” which means roughly, “Don’t Turn off the Lights,” speaks for itself. In short, Taylor Hall is a place of bonding, bondage, and war bonds. Bonding. When you put 42 adolescent boys in the middle of Puritan-land-Massachusetts in one brick building with only five bathrooms and a Pakistani goat named Picko, the fact that everybody survives is a miracle…every single night. I clearly remember the “Great Prank of ’04” when Arty Mitnock ’04 super glued all of the Lowers’ eyes shut in their sleep. Now I can’t see out of my right eye, and every time I cry, something in my esophagus closes, and I can’t breath. Bondage. Please seek Daniel Bacon ’06 for further details. Also, please do not go near Picko the goat in the company of Dan Bacon. The goat can no longer handle the psychological abuse that Dan has constituently insisted makes Picko a better animal. Picko is Yeager’s goat, Dan, and you can’t treat him like that. War Bonds. With all of our profits from the Taylor Kissing Booth, a form of school sanctioned prostitution, Taylor Hall purchased $300 worth of war bonds. They have appreciated eight fold, and now we are sitting on about twenty eight million dollars. Some still question the math of our accountant, Jay Park ’08, but I am sure he will figure it out soon enough. With the money, we have sponsored twelve Halo players from mainland China and one from Bangladesh to visit Andover and play Zach Dixon ’08 for a spot at “The World’s Best Halo Player.” Unfortunately for the Chinese children, Zach won, and after signing a paper before the game, they were enslaved to Andres Bobadilla ’06 for thirteen years. Oh well. Such is life. The Bangladesh child disappeared after the game, and Faisal Kassam ’06 has nothing to do with it. Taylor Hall has also funded an Ultimate Fighting preparatory (that’s twice now) camp for James Kelly ’06 to fight in Las Vegas. He was accompanied by his personal fitness trainer, Andrew Chan ’08. James won the gold, but only after he tagged in Chan, who jumped in the ring, pulled out the competitor’s heart with his bare fist, and then assaulted the referee. Taylor Hall funds have gone towards all twelve pending lawsuits against Mr. Chan. Some day, when we are all old, and Mr. Cardozo, Cox, and McHugh are retired in some tropical land far, far away, I think that Taylor Hall should have a reunion. Maybe we’ll cook some hamburgers, hit a couple piñatas, and have a moment of silence for James Watson ’06, who found his true calling, moved to Antarctica, and became a penguin therapist.