The Bolo*

By Craig Anderson
Printed in Twin City Rally Club "Downshifts" 4/75

Let's suppose, for one minute of madness if you will, that for some ungodly reason that only they knew, the CIA kidnapped Bruce Jaeger and offered you a terrific amount of money to take his place for a month so the public wouldn't become wise.

It would have to be a matter of the highest threat to national security for the CIA to even have to consider kidnapping Bruce Jaeger, and as for hiring you to portray him for a month, the threat of the public's becoming wise has never achieved a priority in the government mind higher than that of a bunch of hippie terrorists putting St. Paul on pontoons and sneaking it down the river to, let's say, Cuba. But we'll take some license here, and assume that all these things have happened, and now you're on the pan. What would you do?

You might consider the problem, for instance, of looking like Bruce Jaeger. This would be complicated by Bruce's own problem of trying for a new effect each morning. I first deduced this when a little old lady walked up to me at a bus stop and asked "Pardon me, but aren't you Bruce Jaeger?" "No ma'am," I replied. "It's just that I dribbled syrup all over my chin at breakfast this morning, my kid hit me in the face with a pillow, and as I was trying to wash off the feathers, I accidentally got my hair caught in a nearby fan... just then my wife screamed that I was late for work, I put on my son's pants by mistake, fell down three flights of stairs and a semi ran over my hat."

You would have to give some thought to acting like Bruce Jaeger. This might be simplified by remembering the four things Bruce does:

1) He sings and plays musical instruments;

2) He goes to college;

3) He's into cars;

4) He writes things.

You say you have no ear for music, and your singing combines the subtle tonality of an Oster blender with the color and timbre of a jar of marbles being run through a garbage disposal? Well, okay, you've got that part of it down, but how about going to college? Not hard: go south on 35W follow 36 to 280, take a right on University and park when the pedestrian traffic gets too thick to drive any farther. Do that for 270 days a year, and Phi- Betta Kappa will beat a path to your door.

Into cars? Show up at autocrosses and rallies in a red MGB, and walk around looking for people with speech impediments who want to know what's going on, so you can say to them: "That's easy for you to say! You'll have to throw out your mother to make room for the trophies. Ah, but writing... Not your strong point? Good. That's where Abraham Lincoln and Bruce Jaeger stand on common ground: they both draw heavily on Joe Miller's Jests. Memorize all the snappers from such questions as "How hot was it?" "What's a Grecian Urn?" "You say your family was rich? How rich were they?" "Have an accident?" Do you know there's a little old lady sick upstairs? "Say, do you have the time?" "What's this fly doing in my soup?" "Got a match?" and of course, "Where does this road go?"

I'm not suggesting this wouldn't be a hazardous assignment. Rumor has it that there are some people in J-School who don't like Bruce Jaeger and they do funny things to him like put his ribbon on backwards and set his left margin off the page. These are mostly malcontents from the Minnesota Daily who keep finding copies of Countryside, Midwest Motor Sport and the DNF in with their filler material. If the federal government were ever to crack down on filler material the DNF would have to carry a little tag: "80% Dacron. Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law."

One More thing: Watch this space closely in the coming months. If you should see anything suspicious, like: "Spring fashion note from Paris: They're wearing the same thing in brassieres this year," call the FBI. I've been kidnapped by the CIA, and Bruce Jaeger has got my job.

The Goopher*

By Bruce Jaeger
Printed in UMSCC "DNF" 5/75      

Let's suppose, for several minutes of madness if you will (I know you're slow readers) that the Lower Albanian FlatEarth Society has offered you the sum of 45.983,223 Cupro-Nickel Schlabotniks for the job of kidnapping C.J. Anderson. They say they want to force him to teach a class in Easy Eructation for Everyone.

Never mind the fact that 45,983,223 Cupro-Nickel Schlabotniks is worth only $2.98 plus 14 Fleer bubble gum comics American. It's the principle of the thing that counts, right? (If you hold out for the baseball cards, you might lose the deal.)

Assuming you accept the assignment, your problem is, like, what do I do now?

You might consider the problem, for instance, of finding C.J, Anderson. The only thing, you'll get looking for a C. Anderson in the phone book is dizzy.

A description may come in handy. Rather than burden you with a dreary description of my own, I'll quote one of C>J,'s favorite authors, Sir A. Conan Busterbar who once described C.J. in one of his stories, The Five Orange Zits:

"Craig reared himself up on his hind legs, his Brooks-Brothers mustache under his nose, and a fair proportion of his hair on top of his head. He then mainlined a couple cc's of Hart's Topper to slow his wildly beating heart, then walked into the Come As You Are Theatre, which was showing A double feature: "Bambi" and "FuckMeKissMeKillMeSuckMe" With prudence, Craig sat in the rear row, but she got mad and left..."

Not much help, huh? Well then, we'll have to look into C.J.'s activities. 0l' Craig-o does about five things: 1) He sings and plays musical instruments; 2) He dropped out of college; 3) He runs out of cars; 4) He's into Security; 5) He writes things.

(1) Now, it would be pretty hard to track down C. J. through music. While his singing voice, reminiscent of a wounded water buffalo in heat, is distinctive, among bluegrass musicians it's normal. As far as musical instruments go, Craig can play banjo and mandolin, and can't play electric guitar or balalaika. He owns an electric guitar and a balalaika, but doesn't own a banjo or a mandolin. He's got us outfoxed on that angle.

(2) One quarter of Calculus, and Craig heave-hoed himself from EE to journalism. He was hauled on the carpet by R. Crocus, who complained about Craig's writing for the Daily, etc., and neglecting some assignments. "If you don't stop this writing, you'll never become a journalist!" Craig joined the army.

(3) Craig has never had a car running for more than 48 hours at a time. He has a monthly account with Graham's Towing.

He does seem to have a slight knack for road rallying,(when he doesn't throw up), but a little detective work has revealed his secret: He goes to Radio Shack and buys a P-Box Bumper Beeper Kit. A couple shots with a soldering iron and it's done; he just slips the bumper beeper under Westberg's bumper, turns on his Science Fair 10-in-1 Direction-Finder Radio, and follows Westberg in one minute later for easy zeroes.

It doesn't always work, though; once C.J., confused by Westberg's new orange Datsun, slipped his beeper under Al Jesperson's orange Datsun, and found himself watching a bluegrass gig up in Lake Frodo Ontario.

(4) Craig got out of Army Intelligence (why is it people laugh when they hear that term?) and set up St. George, a private detective agency, Business was brisk... at Casey's bar across the street, where Craig continually cased the Busted Flush pinball machine.

All the specials finally lit up, however, and C.J. is now "security director" of some fancy-ass company. He's the guy in charge of installing the video cameras in all the rest rooms.

(5) A sneak look at C.J.'s book collection (not the one on the shelves, but the one under the trap door on the porch) will reveal such titles as "1001 Cheap Shots", "1001 Cripple Jokes," "1001 Party Jokes for the Senile", "1001 Belch, Fart and Potty Jokes for the Overweight" and others of the like. Craig has to get up early every morning to make sure that Boone and Erickson don't boot his material.

Should you succeed in kidnapping C.J. Anderson, and turn him over to the Albanians, stick around. A few rounds of his singing "I wish I chewed tobacco... I'll tell you what I'd do ...I'd chew it nice and juicy... and spit it all on you" and they'll pay you to take him back.