Welcome to autumn, my sweet little maple syrup strumpets! The leaves are turning vibrant, fiery shades, St. Mary’s Lake skinny-dipping invitations are declining in frequency, and our charming skunks are becoming ever more violent in response to the sprinklers — truly, this is the season of change! But while nature seems to be shriveling up and dying, Gipp can’t help but notice the many new blossoming relationships developing between Notre Dame students and South Bend residents. Even during the darkest hours, the coldest days, the most urine-soaked possessions and the smallest jail cells, the miracle of friendship and love lives on! How, you ask, my little acorns? Simply read on to find a tale 973 times more inspiring than your latest Wall Street Journal ...
Some nights, all that an off-campus Domer wants is to curl up in his bed, forget the terrors of neighborhood larceny and pass a quiet night in the arms of sweet, sweet slumber. Our first hero, Trusting Trig (named affectionately after a Palin), wished for just this one night, but alas, it was not to be. In the wee, dark morning hours, TT awoke to the sound of a grown man fumbling about in his room. Being of the friendly persuasion (and in a half-conscious state of mind), TT decided that his visitor’s intrusion must be nothing more than a simple, explainable misunderstanding. Even when said intruder started relieving himself all over TT’s bed as though it were his own personal chamberpot, TT somehow managed to laugh it off by repeating the calming mantra: “Crazy townies! These
crazy ol’ townies!” While trying to usher the new friend out of his room, TT was soon joined by yet another visitor: his roommate, the Peeping Piper. Excited to have some backup in the bouncing project, TT updated PP on the situation with one simple sentence: “Dude, check out this townie who has somehow broken into our house and climbed the rickety stairs and opened the door to my room and is now relieving himself all over my bed! South Bend, man!” In response, PP said nothing, but simply walked up to the visitor and said, “Come on, Dad, let’s get you to bed.” Indeed, the darkness of the night had made Mr. PP Senior unrecognizable — a Club 23-rejected townie nomad this was not. South Bend, you shifty mistress of sorcery! Not only do you seduce the young ones with your festive and wily ways, but even those who have begotten us are not immune! All Gipp can say is, at least it wasn’t another type of Father ...
So while that attempt at student-community relationships proved to be a farce, the Gipp’s next story is sure to cheer up those desperate for hope and inspiration amid the task of befriending the South Bend community. This next tale takes place at a party with revelers of all ages (including wrong ages). Our defenders of civil justice, hearing the fun and joy bursting forth from the apartment, decided to disperse themselves among the outdoor shrubberies in anticipation of a sting. When the front door opened, chaos did in fact ensue — but one head stood out among the rest. A gentle soul with the build of a lumberjack descended down the steps, ready to inquire and engage
in civilized and responsible discourse with our authorities. But before one could say, “Is there a problem, my svelte, attractive, punctual community protectors?” the en-shrubbed cops mistook our lumberjack’s outstretched hands of peace as an attack — and promptly beat him down. Confused, our giant tried to resist their blows, handcuffs and accusations, but ultimately to no avail. In the middle of the night, Lumberjack was transported to the county jail. But what could have been a nightmare turned into an opportunity, for Lumbie found friendship in the Big House. After a morning of bonding and watching the sunrise, Lumbie left with a future trial but also a standing invitation to visit one new friend’s house to his underage heart’s content — as long as he didn’t drop by unannounced during certain designated “business” hours of the day, as his new comrade described them. There are, after all, some entrepreneurship areas that just can’t be learned in our Mendoza College of Business.
So with these tales, the Gipp only hopes that all you darling Domers will remember this: you can pick your nose, and you can pick your townie friends, but if your townie friend pees on you, it’s probably just your friend’s dad.
Anxiously awaiting more of your scandalous and shameful shams,
The Gipper!
