Wednesday, November 16, 2005

60 Days In Orono

"Orono, Maine. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy". - Obi-Wan Kenobi, Star Wars, 1977.

The life of a collar-up brahmin knows no bounds. Due to our social status, it is quite common that the phone at Stately Pinhead Manor will ring and moments later, we are whisked off to another mysterious locale for a cotillion or even to smoke a mint Dunhill Cabinetta.

To our dismay, while away on our most recent excursion that took us to the far reaches of Europe, one of our dear friends, C.P. Maurer, was arrested after sailing his Aicon around the Sound after drinking an excess of 1780 Jameson. Upon hearing the news, we jumped aboard the Gulfstream GV and flew home for his trial.

Due to his recherché family lineage and recent donation to the town, C.P. was ordered to serve 60 days of community service. While it seemed he had succesfully eluded the long arm of the law's pinch with such a purportless sentence, the judge, after witnessing your superiors opening a bottle of Krug Clos du Menil in the courtroom to celebrate, turned a dour tone and did the unthinkable: He ordered C.P.'s community service to take place in Orono, Maine.

C.P. is collar-up chap of many skills, although a noted philanthropist, he is best known as the veterinarian to the cognoscenti. Whether your Neapolitan Mastiff has taken ill or you simply need a professional to groom your prize Persian, C.P. is your fellow. For that reason, to satisfy the inhuman sentence bestowed upon him by the judge who clearly had no concept of "cruel and unusual punishment", our gilt-edged friend decided to open up a veterinary office in Orono to serve the local riff-raff.

After a few weeks tending to the ills of the local Orono barnyard clientele, C.P. had seen enough and began to count down the days to the end of his sentence. They say when you see one sexually molested sheep, you've seen them all, but clearly, dear Dr. Maurer was getting quite squeamish.

After losing his right arm during a bovine fisting experiment gone awry, a young John Silber moved from Maine to Boston and began a career in education.

He phoned to tell us one disturbing tale of a conversation he overheard in the office waiting room between a pair of local women. Apparently, one of them, a 275 lb woman, was complaining because the pain in her knees from having sex 'doggy style' was becoming insufferable. When the other woman, quite unsightly herself even to a blind man, inquired if she knew any other sexual positions besides 'doggy style', she responded, "yes, but my dog doesn't".

According to the court documents, a juvenille from Bangor accused of molesting an animal after a night of drinking said it appeared to be "asking for it".

Upon hearing the women's conversation of accepted social bestiality, C.P. ran into his office, closed the door, and picked up the local paper, The Incestuous Oronian. It seems even the town's lone point of pride, U.Maine hockey, had gotten in hot water once again. Buried in the ads for used pick-ups and lightly soiled overalls was a story about a pair of intellectually vacant Maine hockey players accused of assault and criminal mischief.

According to the paper, Blackbears junior Mike Hamilton from "Parts Unknown, British Columbia" and "General" Wesley Clark of Oakville, Ontario (home of collar up hockey champion Sam Gagner) were arrested after they cowardly attacked a Maine baseball player who had, according to witnesses, slipped Hamilton's personal goat a "Liberace". The police report noted that 15 of their friends, including some fellow hockey players (excluding Ben Bishop, Derek Damon, Greg Moore, and any other Blackbear who had more than 10 points, according to coach Tim Whitehead) were involved.

The big rumors down at Old Town's paper mill and vacant dentist offices are the hockey players will be punished by the University, who has a reputation of no tolerance and strict discipline towards its hockey program. After the 1994 hockey scandal (remember, Maine cheated in 1992 and 1994, but not 1993), University fathers demanded that Shawn Walsh's players are not allowed to watch TV after 7pm for an entire week.

Despite the joy created by a sibling white wedding, the latest Maine hockey scandal has cast a pall over even the happiest moments in Vacationland.

When former Maine hockey horticulturist Paul Falco was proven to be a dealer of unlawful pharmaceuticals tightly wrapped in Zig Zags, Falco was ordered back to his dormitary without dinner. Less we forget when the ring leader of this "Maine Mafioso" was ultimately summoned back to Hades, he was given a send off that made Pope John Paul II's funeral look as empty as a U. Maine Mensa Club meeting.

After about an hour, the knock on C.P.'s door told him that his break was over and his next appointment to surgically extract a used and impacted condom out of the rear end of a moose had arrived.

As 60 agonizing days in Orono mercifully came to an end, your superiors feel that the experience has left our friend with a profound experience that comes with spending time in Orono, Maine. Perhaps when he completes his therapy, we can all sit around the fire, sip brandy while chortling about the time during his sentence that he had to remove a U.Maine freshman's trouser button from the colon of a raccoon. Time heals all wounds, even emotional ones.

Despite laws against animal fornication (more "guidelines" than "laws"), Maine residents find creative, yet discreet, ways to find loopholes.

Collar Up.

- DW