Weekly Skylights: The Tripod Looks to the Clouds

3 min read

Joey Cifelli ’23

Arts Editor

September 7, 2022, Part 1

Welcome back everyone. It’s good to see you. I like that jacket, Brent. Today I took a walk around campus and was reminded of a story an enemy told me about his experience in the navy. It goes like this:

“Alright everyone. The meeting, I’ve decided, has begun.” Admiral Pete said this to the collection of officers in front of him, top-notch guys, who all sat cross-legged on the ground without chairs. There was a groan of agony from the men at Admiral Pete’s announcement because of the severe cramps in their legs. They had been sitting cross-legged in silence for forty minutes when Admiral Pete began the meeting. Admiral Pete always did this. More or less. He did whatever he could to make his men as uncomfortable as possible. He believed this made the meetings go by more quickly. 7.7/10

September 7, 2022, Part 2

“Now men, this should only take a few minutes,” said Admiral Pete. He strolled in front of the chalkboard as he talked, and all the officers’ eyes stayed glued to his functioning legs, following them back and forth like pendulums of envy. A note was quietly passed around suggesting mutiny. “It’s come to my attention that there is talk of mutiny on this ship,” said Admiral Pete. The note was hastily folded back up and passed back to the writer, who lit it on fire. Admiral Pete continued, “well men, good on you. That’s exactly the kind of discussion we need right now. It’s as if you read my mind.” The writer stared down sheepishly into the smoldering ashes of his insurrection. He was all out of paper. And besides, he had no convictions. Someone screamed in pain and tried to gnaw his leg off like a wolf caught in a bear trap he had seen it on television, once. 8.1/10

September 8, 2022 (featured image)

Admiral Pete said, “the question is, who should we induce a mutiny against? Men, I believe I have the answer.” A game of chess going on in the back of the room had just concluded with infuriating results. The winning officer was so infuriated with his victory that he put the losing officer in a devastating headlock. The rapidly reddening officer slapped his hands feebly on the floor in a morse signal which happened to deactivate an enemy sleeper agent sitting next to him. The sleeper agent had been activated previously by the twisting pain of his legs as a failsafe against torture, but was now a loyal drone once more, until he was soon reactivated again by the unbearable shocks of pain racing across his calves. 8.2/10

September 9, 2022

“Gentlemen,” said Admiral Pete, “it’s the government. That’s who we’ll be getting. It’s high time we had a new one. What do you think?” Most of the officers shrugged with excruciating indifference. The officers who seemed about to decide one way or the other were quickly rendered unconscious by nerve gas. Admiral Pete smiled and clapped his hands together with a clapping sound. He said, “Well, I’m not hearing any nos! Let’s get this thing on the road then, shall we? Officer Lackey, send a telegram to the government informing it of our intentions at once.” A stampede formed from the officers’ singular goal of exiting the meeting ASAP. The herd of officers trampled arthritically over the many prone bodies on the floor, including the real Officer Lackey, whose screams for mercy continued to be drowned out by the Admiral’s clapping. 7.9/10

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