A coalition of disgruntled students anonymously contacted the Tartan in a letter detailing their outrage that the administration continues to ignore the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of beloved professor Cuthbert Q. Cackleberry, who up until his disappearance, taught cirripedology at this institution. He has been missing for 13 days, which is a profoundly unlucky number of days for one to be missing. In what remote nook of this earth might he be sequestered?
We began our investigations by interrogating students in his own department. We asked one student whether she was outraged regarding Dr. Cackleberry’s mysterious absence. “Outraged?! I’m beyond outraged! I’m irate!” She reported, “Administration has had its squabbles with Dr. Cackleberry in the past, but I’d never imagined that he could just disappear, and they would pretend they had never heard of the man! They plainly refuse to investigate these suspicious circumstances! The jackal claw marks on his chair! The jackal bite marks on his desk! The jackal fur all over his office! Something is deeply amiss!”
We asked another student if she, too, was irate about the disappearance of Dr. Cackleberry. “Irate?! I’m beyond irate! I’m incensed!” She responded, in a manner that can only be described as incensed, “Dr. Cackleberry was my mentor. He was a true friend. He was the only professor who taught the classes I need for my cirripedology major. He also saved me from being devoured by jackals on three separate occasions. They called him the jackal whisperer. They also said he kept “an inordinate number” of jackals in his office, but I think the number of jackals was perfectly ordinate! And administration is doing nothing to find him! What am I to do if he’s truly gone for good?
We inquired of a third student, in a major completely unaffiliated with the sciences, if he too was incensed about his having apparently fallen off the face of the earth. “Incensed?! I’m beyond incensed! I’m livid!” He replied, “I have two children, both of whom are named Cuthbert in honor of that blessed man. I’ve never taken any of his classes, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a more compassionate man anywhere. And he was in the middle of writing me a letter of recommendation for an internship I was applying for! I found it, unfinished, on his desk, surrounded by blood and jackal saliva. If any, and I mean any, harm has befallen him, there will be no end to the bloodshed.”
We drove to Endicott and asked a fourth student, who had never even set foot on Gordon’s campus, whether he too was livid about the uncertain fate of Dr. Cackleberry. “Livid? I’m not sure I would go that far. I’m more… incensed.” We then asked him if there would be any end to the bloodshed, assuming that some harm had indeed befallen the good doctor. “I’m afraid not,” he informed us. “As deputy of the Endicott chapter of the People’s Army to
Defend Cuthbert [PADC, pronounced “paddock”], the bylaws specifically state that if Dr. Cackleberry’s whereabouts are unknown for more than 14 days, there is to be no end to the bloodshed.” He indicated a weathered piece of parchment, upon which were clearly inscribed the words “Bloodshed duration: infinite”.
I’m afraid there you have it, folks. We are left with no salient evidence or clues from which to deduce his condition or present location. We are resigned to inaction thereby, and our only option at this point may be to hold dear in our minds who we know Dr. Cackleberry to be: a great man, a kind man, a generous man, a man who kept an inordinate number of jackals in a confined space, an intelligent man, an inspiring figure in the lives of many. The list goes on. It would take days to recite all of his positive attributes. Much faster approaching is the deadline upon which his zealous cult of followers is contractually obligated to commence endless bloodshed. I recommend chain mail, and a nice, thick parka with which to conceal it. Be sure to stay toasty: it’s chilly out there!
Leave a Reply