Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and Fritos, may I have your attention please…I have found Robbie Brewer. Now for those of you who don’t remember, Sir Robert Weatherbee Brewer III Esq. he was a freshman in the Class of 2007 who dabbled in modeling for Brooks Brothers [this actually happened]…until tragedy struck. Returning for my Lower year at Andover, I was horrified to find that Mr. Brewer was no longer a student. Bewildered and confused, I made it my life’s calling to find my long lost chum, and give him a piece of my mind for leaving me after the best year of my life. But I’ve probably said too much already. Our journey takes us back to the perils of Senior Fall, in the midst of a terrible math test. Now there is a word in the English language that I am not sure if you are aware of: epiphany. I had one. And it was marvelous. Standing up in this momentous moment, I shouted with glee, “I’ve got it!” and marched out of the room. Tuning out the droning of my math teacher as to not cloud my precious thoughts. [Editor’s Note: This is why Pete will be entering the class of ’10 next year, and not graduating] I walked straight downtown to the Andover Shop and made my way decidedly to the back. With vigor, I kicked down the door to the sweatshop and grabbed the manager by the neck. “Where is he?!!!” I demanded. “Insolent fool! Do you know what you are getting yourself into!?!” “C’mon man, my wife left me, and my kid doesn’t even know my name anymore. And I got a bad disposition about me.” “ I’LL NEVE-,” I pulled on his Burberry scarf to let him know he was not talking to Pete Smith, but a man bent on destruction with nothing to lose. “Where is he?” The words crept out of my mouth like a death sentence on Sunday. “Go to old Abbot Academy, and ask about the Order of Baby Oil and Rabbit Paw. The Secretary will tell you everything.” Kicking him in the genitals, I bid him a fond farewell. Racing up to Abbot, I found a man standing in the atrium of the old Abbot Arch. “Are you who I’m looking for?” I asked. ”It’s too late, the deed is done.” “Where is he?” “Washington, he’s going to take out the president.” Before his words could take full effect, I was already on a plane to the nation’s capital. As I stepped into the terminal there it was. What I had always expected. Scrawled in bold letters across the top of a banner, “WELCOME TO D.C. SITE OF THE 2007 MALE MODEL CONVENTION.” I quickly grabbed a taxi and raced to the mall; time was of the essence if I was to save the President’s life. I ran out of the taxi, forgetting to pay, but I figured matters of national security superceded that of monetary stipulations. The loudspeaker rang out across the green, “Welcome to the 2007 Ma-” The President was speaking… I needed to find Robert. I sprinted up the steps of the stairs of the Smithsonian Male Model Museum and headed immediately to the rocket ship exhibit. With a diving effort, I leaped into the suspended spacecraft and throttled Robbie from his rifle. ”Don’t do it man. I still love you.” “There’s nothing left, I have no choice.” Taking him into an embrace, I g?ave him a warm caress and said calmly, “Choose this.” And that’s how I got married.
