I read today of the explosion they had at the BC Institute of Techonlogy, up in Canada. Turns out it was a boiler which leveled the building in which it was housed. Luckily no one was killed, or even hurt badly. But, it reminded me of a similar incident, closer to home:

We had an explosion down at the Bayou Institute of Technology once. It happened in the main building on campus, which was actually an old beach house Hurricane Mabel had deposited, right where the crawfish propagation field had been. At the time, it housed the Administration staff (old man Beaudreaux and two janitors) and the worm breeding laboratory.

Seems one of the nit-wits, also referred to as “students” in grant applications, had been playing around with Perfessor Beaudreaux’s accelerated worm feeding system, and left the thing at a fast drip when everybody went over to Ledue’s Bait and Gumbo for lunch. Well boy, that worm feeder worked better’n anybody figured, and them wigglers just laid back and started in to stuff their little selfs. The Perfessor calculated later, that after about a half-hour or so, they were reaching what is termed in the worm bidness, “critical tension”, which means that they was getting as full as their worm bodies could get.

Well, I guess you done figured out what happened next. What with the worm food pouring in, and them nightcrawlers not being known especially for their brain power, they just kept eatin’ and eatin’. Then, just as the Perfessor and his entourage of future bait impresarios returned, stuffed with gumbo, them worms also got so stuffed they just started to blow.

It wouldn’t of been all that serious, but one tow-headed kid from downtown Mamou, who was actually a little sharper than the norm, being that he was on a crawfish-shucking scholarship, noticed the worm tank start to bulge, and screamed like a wild man. Of course, the entire class put the situation together in an instant and bolted for the door, where as fate would have it, Patricia Primeaux was just returning, having lagged behind to suck up one last helping of jambalya. Well now, Patty was what you might call “big boned” for a cheerleader, and consequently took up the entire space in the doorway where she stood, daintily licking her fingers, oblivious to the impending disaster. The kid from Mamou and two skinny girls who were twins from Breaux Bridge, all dove at the same time for the only exit visible, between the stoutly spread legs of the girl in the doorway.

Of course, about the time they realized they was stuck like a 2 -inch hawser in a 1-inch tackle block, the worm tank gave a slight groan, all the air left the room, and in an instant, flying worm guts filled the entire world of the terrified students. Fortunately, the kids had been lectured on the unlikely occurrence of this very thing, and most of them remembered to keep their mouths shut. Only Patty Primeaux, who was still relishing the grains of dirty rice stuck to the back of her hand, got a full order of nightcrawler melange.

As it turned out though, it was all a blessing, kinda. When it dried out, the mess actually gave a nice texture to the walls, and the Perfessor received a federal arts grant for the imaginative use of worm guts in decorating the entire facility, and another for his innovative technique of teaching “applied biology”. He actually got almost 40 bucks, which was enough to fix up the worm tank, and install a safety valve on the feeding spigot.

But the real winners of the explosion were Patricia Primeaux and the kid from Mamou. The trauma of being force-fed a pound and a half of worm guts actually put Patty off her feed for a while. She ended up losing about 79 pounds and marrying a television preacher over in LaFayette, where they operate the “Crabbing and Salvation” radio show and a chain of worm vending machines. The kid from Mamou actually found the entire experience quite enlightening as to his repressed sexual inclinations. He now has a world famous act, down on Bourbon Street in N’orlins, which entails two girls and a bucket of imported “Balinese Red” nightcrawlers.

So, I guess all’s well that ends well, as they say. But remember what the Perfessor says, and if you’re ever caught in an impending storm of flying worm guts, just remember to keep your mouth shut and your knees together,..... or not.

-- Lon (BIT, class of '67) Frank (lgal@exp.net), April 14, 2004

Answers

Very funny Lon, thankyou. And such good advice.

-- Carol (c@oz.com), April 15, 2004.

Yay LON!

-- helen (the@mule.likes.it.too), April 16, 2004.

Ah, the old Bayou Institute, a little BIT of heaven according to the brochure. Now I understand why the school's called AFU by their rivals (Approach From Upwind).

It doesn't take long for a decorating fad to catch on, does it. I think I saw a Saturday course in "melange application" on a Home Depot flyer just the other day. I wonder if the Perfessor's name is listed in the fine print on the little plastic tub the, uh, texture comes in.

Reminds me of the old saying, there's some strange stuff on the bayou, and some stuff is stranger than other stuff. We're fortunate to have the Sultan of Strange, Ol Lon himself, as a tour guide.

-- J (jsnider@hal-pc.org), April 17, 2004.

"Oh boy! Can I ever sympathize...." sighed the Henry County HS Chemistry teacher as she cleaned up the lab mess from a "methyl achoocol-school hall collision with a bunsen burner" ......

-- Robert & Jean (getingwarmer@ga.inthespring), April 18, 2004.

Redneck informs me that that never would have happened at Bayou Tech while Lon was there. All of their alcohol experiments were of the ethyl kind.

-- J (j&R@singin.dixie), April 19, 2004.

The computer screen flickers before his face, mingling with the predawn glow and accentuating the evidence of years written across the landscape of his face like the arroyos of high desert lands. He wears only an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, large hibiscus blooms on red with speckles of white paint, blue gingham boxer shorts, and tattered fuzzy house slippers. As he reads, he nibbles a breakfast of olives, pickles and cheese slices from an oversize plate on his desk, a Qing Dynasty charger with a mountain village scene surrounded by blue and yellow chrysanthemums. His “snickerdoodle” coffee is steaming from a chipped white saucer bearing the mark of the WWII U. S. Navy.

The breeze from the open windows ruffles his eyebrows, reclining like shaggy grey catapillars over half-open eyes, and a stack of food-stained papers held down by a bust of Neferteri. A two-foot tall Mexican santo and a small bronze of a nude girl, holding a basket for burning incense look down from a higher shelf. Reading and reaching for another olive, his hand inadvertently brushes a hula-girl wobbler who happily wiggles her green grass skirt as if she was still riding on the dash of a ‘64 Chevy 2-door Impala hardtop.

He scratches briefly under his left armpit, unknowingly keeping rhythm to the music playing somewhere behind him, “wild thing, you make everything groovy”; music, which like the listener himself, had somehow blossomed into consciousness and then faded, almost a half-century past.

Then, as he often does nowadays, the man talks aloud to the dog who is laying belly-up, bolstered by two pillows on the old wicker couch in the small office, and who doesn’t bother to open even one eye at this hour of the morning.

“Sultan of Strange? I like it, but why would he say such a thing, I wonder?”

-- old strange Lon (lgal@exp.net), April 20, 2004.

You guys are a tonic. Thankyou.

Lon, "faded" surely not. Not with an imagination like yours. I love the eyebrows.

-- Carol (c@oz.com), April 20, 2004.

How much ud he take fer that nood, yew recon?

Forget it, Redneck. I'm not loaning you any more money. My wife would make you throw it out anyhow.

Nuts. Yalls always spoilin my fun. I think Ill go over Lon's fer awhile.

(Looking skyward) please, please!

Whuts at?

Nothing, Redneck, but don't call first. It's always such a good surprise for them when you show up unannounced. You know how they love a surprise. Here's a twenty for gas.

-- J&R (jsnider@hal-pc.org), April 20, 2004.

LOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!!

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayels@telupa.naet), April 23, 2004.

You ARE a tonic! ((((((((Sultan of Strange))))))))

The breeze ruffles your eyebrows? LOL!

*Hands Lon a small pair of scissors*

Time for a trim! And I think we need Patricia Primeaux to help you with your wardrobe just a bit. Hawaiian shirt and blue gingham boxers? That will never do. Well, OK, you can wear them on YOUR beach. ;-)

-- Gayla (privacy@please.com), April 26, 2004.

It's the white socks and spit-shined black shoes that are distracting me ....

-- Robert & Jean (getingwarmer@ga.inthespring), April 26, 2004.