Volume 3, Number 11, Page 3

What It Means To Be A Leader

A metaphorical piece written jointly by Amy Kohn and Jessica Jacobs.

	Once upon a time, a group of squid took up residence in the center of a large 
oblong room.  They wanted to be like octopi so they threw themselves onto a large ice 
rink in the middle of the room.  There they discussed the merits of leadership, and 
whether Ms. [a name has been deleted here to protect the innocent OUMMCBNOM printing 
office staff] was, in fact, Satan in a skirt.
	One little squid named Ymama agreed that she was indeed Satan and proceeded to 
perform the superior dance.  "Can't we go home?" she pleaded in lilliputian despair, but 
just  then, the dreaded Saminator approached.  They all fled in terror.  The Saminator, an 
extremely obese buffalo, told all the squids to go back into the center of the room and 
form statues entitled "Satan:  A myth, or a teacher at Berkley?"  "Yip!  Yip!" cried Ms. 
Parnes in exasperated glee, and all the little squids rushed back to their original 
	They the broke off into color groups where they designed their statues under the 
helpful tutelage of Eissej-the lambada goddess.  Eissej slowly approached the Saminator 
who was eating a very large chocolate bundt cake.
	"Take me in your arms and dance with me, my grande hombre," she demanded.
	"Well, uh . . . Okay!" the Saminator replied pleasantly, and he and Eissej 
lambadaed out of the room.  Meanwhile, the squids had formed the most beautiful sculptures
known to man. 
	One sculpture was of Neeruam, the domestic engineer married to the Saminator.  
Another resembled Nadroj, a large cockroach that had just entered the room.
	As the Saminator grabbed Eissej, she stabbed him with a turkey pounder.  He fell 
to the floor and mayonnaise spewed forth from his orifices.
	It was then that the most wonderful statue of them all, the one featuring Nadroj 
being sacrificed to the Tsitsi god, erupted into flames that consumed the room.
	The squids were fried to a crisp.  Satan suddenly appeared.  She sprinkled Molly 
McButter on them and ate them for Sunday brunch.  With such a delightful meal, she lived 
happily ever after (except for a short period of indigestion).  Mrs.  Parnes' life is 
another story . . .

      The End?

Previous Page | Next Page | Index