By Gordy Colander

DEERFIELD, IL—Just a few years ago, freshman bedtime was around nine p.m. Just last year freshman had to hit the hay a whopping five and a half hours earlier at 3:30 p.m. However, with Illinois passing legislature that pushes curfew an hour earlier, freshman will now have to go to bed at 2:30 p.m. (Yes, school is still in session).

According to Profe Kanefsky, “I instruct all of my freshman to bring their almohadas to class 8th period or at least try to get that period free. The new law is muy bien.”

Many freshman are not happy about the new law, though. Freshman Ben Voicecrack is especially upset, “How do they expect us to sneak into R rated movies or go bowling with the new law?” he questions. “All those things happen after five o’clock!”

Parents are hopeful, yet ambivalent about the new law. “I just want my son Sampson to get a good night sleep,” reported one mother. “And I think the new freshman bedtime will help him…Oh, you know, high school is such a delicate time.” Other parents are not as sure. “You know these high school kids; they’re so rebellious. Dare I say, I reckon they’ll be stayin’ out past 4 p.m.,” said one concerned father.

All things considered, the rest of the school is just happy they do not have to deal with those small, annoying, and awkward freshman.

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By Picov Andropov

FAIRFAX, VA – Tensions were high yesterday as members of the Screen Actors Guild and Writers Guild of America took part in a reenactment of the Cold War. The current strike has limited the production of television and film and has created many bored actors and writers. “I’ve just been sitting here,” says comedian and television host David Letterman. “I’ve been making smart-alec jokes all day and Paul can’t even fake laugh at them.”

The action took place outside of the Cold War Museum, which is actually just a file cabinet filled with suspicion. Each Guild was enclosed in separate warehouses. The Actors, containment oriented Americans, and Writers, communist spreading Russians, spent the day trying to determine the next move of the enemy. “We actually sent Michael Ironside to spy on the Russians. They’ll never know he’s not a writer, the guy hasn’t worked in forever,” said Alec Baldwin.

With espionage and accusations at their highest, onlookers witnessed the expansion of territory, the creation of nuclear missiles and rocketships, communist “witch” hunts and trials, the building of walls and curtains made of iron, SALT, SALT II, the destruction of walls, an invasion involving pigs, plans of Marshall and Truman, various coups, and Star Wars (not the movie, although that was scheduled for after the reenactment). Of course, none of this actually happened, it was just talked about, reconsidered, rereconsidered and written down, only to be confirmed or refuted by spies.

One family was very disappointed at the spectacle. “We traveled all the way from Jersey,” said Coger Rlemens. “All I could see were the telescopes pointed towards the opposite warehouses.” Interesting, the warehouses were ten feet apart.

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ASK MR. MOTZKO

Dear Mr. Motzko,
I just went to Deerfield Idol last week, and to improve my chances of winning next year, I have started thinking of the songs I am going to sing. I want to go with something classic; something that the crowd knows so that they can get involved. I want it to be upbeat, but I don’t want to injure any of the elderly. I am struggling between a pop rendition of “Happy Birthday” and a classical version of Britney Spears’ “Gimme More.” However, these songs just aren’t right. I need your help.
Sincerely,
Deerfield Idle Hopeful

Dear DIH (or duh)
I have been called a lot of things in my day: sir, hey you, the defendant, the Silesian Stallion, sugar (primarily by waitresses at Waffle House). However, few know that with the untimely passing of James Brown last Christmas, I have had to assume the weighty velvet-caped mantle of High Priest of Funk. Filling music’s vacuum (and cleaning its filthy carpets) has proven quite taxing, what with all the limo rides, dark glasses and profuse sweating. What weighs heaviest on me is not the searing limelight but the inherent responsibility of herding the promising few away from the Boltonesque depths and on to the high ground of soul. Perhaps I can give you an I-Pass to American Idolatry, allowing me to return to my books and professional Jenga league. First and foremost, you’re going to need the right material lest you do a solo turn of the dénouement from The Emperor’s New Clothes. As far as song subjects go, you simply cannot go wrong with maritime tragedy. Nothing “brings sexy back” like a slow-jam reworking of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Second, once you’ve got the dirge du jour, you’ve got to coat those pipes, lest you undergo a spontaneous vocal modulation on the order of Peter Brady (episode 65 “Dough Re Me”, original airing date January 14th, 1972). Drink a 3 liter bottle of clover honey before you go on and you’ll be set. Or in shock. That said, if you really want to freak their beans, you are going to need to incorporate some of those intangible elements that separate the golden throats from the gutted crows. Non-industrial lasers, dry ice fog, giant inflatable pigs and synchronized albino tigers on bicycles wearing ten-pound beards of bees can cover up the blemishes like a trowel of Clearasil.

Last, always remember to sing from the diaphragm. Using the mouth is optional.

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