Installation Blues

I realize that as our mentally-handicapped Harvard liaison it's partially my charge to deliver the occasional slack-jawed commentary on all the highly intelligent happenings of this here fine institution of brick buildings, international aristocrats, and DisneyWorld-caliber smoke n' mirrors. But I'm the first to admit that I'm not very good at that. Hell, I can't really think about anything right now except how much Moss's last post is begging for some e. e. cummings crack, but I can't bring myself to make it for a variety of bad reasons.

But now I'm wracking my brain, trying to think of what exactly has happened here worthy of note and/or badly worded, uninspired adolescent aspersions. What do I come up with? Something that happened a long, long time ago:

The Faust Installation.

So as you may know already, Harvard recently elected their first ever (supposedly) female president. Her name is Drew Faust, and much like Goethe's famous character of the same name, she's a man.

She's about six-two, has shoulders wider than the freshman beds (proven fact), and has hands that can effortlessly crush the skull of any Columbia football player. She also has a penis bigger than my leg that has been known to eat squirrels that cross her path on campus. Have I myself seen this? I'd rather not talk about it.

Fortunately at her installation she was wearing a huge Jedi robe that covered all her superhuman anatomical endowments, and I think very few people noticed when a huge node of flesh slivered out from behind the podium during her speech. Which I'll get to in a minute.

But first let's talk about the seven thousand introductions. I was in my room writing a paper for most of them, which explains why I still have some modicum of sanity left. It also explains why I have almost no memory of the ceremony.

So here's what happened:

I arrived when Mop-head Petersen was giving his whiny speech. I didn't pay much attention to it, since I was looking around to see if I could find anyone I knew, though I did get to experience that tricolon first hand. So much enthusiasm. Whatever.

Next up was Deval Patrick, or as I like to call him, DeePee. He delivered a speech that couldn't have lasted more than five minutes. It was mostly an anecdote about his time at Harvard. It won more than a few chuckles and a great deal of applause. Afterward a full grown man holding a Harvard umbrella turned around and asked me if I knew who the speaker was. Isn't that great? You know what's greater, though? Just to be an asshole, I said, "I have no idea." Welcome to Massachusetts, assbag.

Who spoke after this? Some old guy, and then some old lady. They both said the same things in different words, all of which meant nothing. Then, finally, Mr. Faust herself came to the podium. A hush fell over the crowd. They were scared of her. She looked so tall, standing there. So powerful. So male.

Her huge, thin-lipped maw opened up above the overtly phallic microphone. Her Adam's apple quivered with excitement. I could only imagine what thoughts were going through her head. She was holding a manila envelope that had been sealed for over fifty years, containing a letter written by a Harvard President during the Cold War, addressed to the first Harvard President to assume office in the 21st century. Its message was one of profound fear and anxiety about the future. It spoke of the tremendous burden that would be lain upon the shoulders of whatever person dared take command of America's oldest and most revered academic institution in the uncertain future. And the first line read, "Dear Sir." You could see the faintest glint in her eye. It wasn't smugness. It was joy. It was the absolutely rock-solid sensation of success, of having finally arrived. She knew she had now broken down a barrier that fifty years ago had seemed insurmountable. She had torn another pane out of that shattered glass ceiling. And now thousands of people from all across the country, and hundreds of the world's most distinguished academics, all huddled together in the rain, eagerly awaiting her first words as the newly-installed President of Harvard University. She was on the verge of breaking the silence--but someone from the crowd beat her to it:

"Show us your tits!"

And that's how I almost got expelled from Harvard.