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September 18, 2006 | by  | in News |
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The Debaters’ Ball

When I think of those times I masturbated in John Connell’s sock, or the time I tried to commit suicide off the Hunter rooftop, I am just left in awe at what a great debating year it’s been. We have been to space, to Jakarta, and to Hamilton, debating some really interesting topics against some extremely cool opponents, and we’ve always had an awesome time. Sadly the year’s debating events are drawing to a close. All that is left is the debaters’ ball.

I phoned Amelia Awesome to sort out the costumes and ask if she would go to the ball with me, but she said it would be better if we went as a Team. I couldn’t help wondering if my amputated arm and leg had anything to do with her decision, or the fact that I was probably rendered infertile from where Doogoo kicked me. Huh, women are such rodents.

Unfortunately a gang of weirdos had found out about the ball, and were lined up outside chanting such hurtful slogans as “debating is for fags”. Everyone from Debsoc was there. I got my first cup of Grouse and joined a conversation about which universities we would go to.

“I’m enrolled in Cambridge,” said John Connell.

“Pfwaw! I would much rather go to Harvard,” scoffed Chris Derbishop.

Then they looked at me. To tell the truth I had not thought about which university I wanted to go to as I was just pretty much focusing on my debating at the moment. But I knew I had to tell them something. So I said I was going to Moon University, the new university on the moon. I got myself another cup of Grouse and went to find Dashing Dave.

Dashing Dave and Amelia Awesome arrived together. I was annoyed that my Team had not bothered to dress as Team Rocket like I told them. They had changed their costumes from Jesse and James to Ted and Eleanor Roosevelt but had forgotten to mention it to me. Now I looked like a total idiot, dressed as Meowth. I even went to the trouble of doing my whiskers properly.

The Grouse had really started to hit me. I insisted we go dancing even though my doctors had specifically warned me that my peg-leg wouldn’t stand it. Things got pretty wild. At one point I was crawling around on the floor trying to find my severed leg, and then later I was puking into an ice bucket while Dashing Dave clutched my sodden head. I learned one thing that night, and that is that Dave is not always saying “RAPE” like I thought. Actually he is just saying “RAFE” really loudly and unclearly.

I decided to take some time on the balcony to cool off. Only when I found out I had soiled myself did I really begin to reflect on my situation. It seemed like the terrible things that had happened over the last months all had something to do with debating. Ever since I lost my leg in Jakarta things had kind of gone downhill. But debating was my life. It was not like I could just give it up.

It was then in my moment of doubt that I met a man who would change the very way I thought about debating. He wore a white suit and cap and stood at the other edge of the balcony, but I had not noticed him until now.

“Fancy a cigarillo?” he asked.

“Why yes.” Then I paused. “Who are you?”

He laughed a laugh that sounded like a rusted juke box. “I think you know who I am.” “You’re Dr Saw!”

“Yes I am! Really Richard, I am going to offer you an amazing opportunity! How would you like to become the greatest debater there has yet been?”

“Gosh, doctor, I sure would!”

He laughed again, a magical grating sound that inspired only confidence and imagination. “All you have to do is take part in my experiment!”

He took something from his coat pocket that looked like a small car engine no larger than his fist. “This is a debating engine,” he said. “It will give you an encyclopaedic knowledge and instant access to the transcriptions of every debate that has ever been argued. I will open up your head and fuse it to your thalamus. You will be 100 times as smart!”

“That’s incredible!” I replied. “What’s the catch?”

“You may lose your personality. You may be little more than a robot under my command. But it is a small price to pay for the power of pristine logic!”

I weighed up the pros and cons. He was right of course.

I followed the good doctor back to his laboratory under the ground. The operating room reeked of blood puddles that the doctor still had not cleaned up. Along the shelves were glass jars packed with stolen organs. He sat me down on an iron table and tattooed something into the back of my head. Then he showed me his writing in a mirror.

“Model 08?” I asked.

“The last seven experiments were terrible failures,” he said with a wink.

Then he went to fetch the anaesthetic. I’m sure he will be back soon. In the meantime I thought I would write up this report so my friends can know what happened to me in case something goes wrong. This is Model 08 signing out for Team Magical Adventure!

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Salient is a magazine. Salient is a website. Salient is an institution founded in 1938 to cater to the whim and fancy of students of Victoria University. We are partly funded by VUWSA and partly by gold bullion that was discovered under a pile of old Salients from the 40's. Salient welcomes your participation in debate on all the issues that we present to you, and if you're a student of Victoria University then you're more than welcome to drop in and have tea and scones with the contributors of this little rag in our little hideaway that overlooks Wellington.

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