Meaux, rocking the mic at the talent show. Or is it ‘Puter’s psycho the rapist? It’s so difficult to tell the difference, really.

‘Puter attended his court-ordered* appointment with his psycho the rapist Nurse Dr. Ratched yesterday. ‘Puter hates seeing his psycho the rapist, but it keeps him out of jail. Nurse Dr. Ratched informed ‘Puter the ordinary treatment of powerful sedatives and near-deadly levels of ECT treatment was having no effect. Well, not no effect. It was making ‘Puter’s thinky parts even less normal. Take that, psycho the rapists!

Nurse Dr. Ratched decided ‘Puter’s case required unorthodox treatment. And that’s how ‘Puter found himself chugging a handle of rotgut gin, downing enough shrooms to kill a horse, and being hypnotized in Nurse Dr. Ratched’s office.**

Nurse Dr. Ratched had ‘Puter stare at her pendulous bewbs and count backwards from ten. ‘Puter told Nurse Dr. Ratched he didn’t know how to count to ten, much less count backwards from ten. Instead, ‘Puter sang the first few bars of his ten favorite choral works by Russian composers. By the time ‘Puter got to Borodin’s Polovtsian Dances, singing “Пойте пҍсни славы хану,” he was out like a light.

And then it happened. From deep within the darkest, most repressed part of ‘Puter’s subconscious out popped a memory.*** A memory so horrible ‘Puter shudders to even recount it here.

‘Puter found himself transported back to high school. And not just high school, but high school on the biggest night of the high school year: talent show night.

A low guttural moan of abject fear rose from ‘Puter’s hypnotized word hole. ‘Puter tried and tried to rouse himself from his hypnotized state, but he could not. ‘Puter remained hypnotized, knowing and dreading what was to come.

‘Puter looked at himself, standing there in the stage right wings. As expected, ‘Puter found himself clad in a sequined unitard holding two rainbow colored rhythmic gymnastics ribbons. ‘Puter looked across the stage, hoping against hope he would not see what he knew would be there.

And there she was, standing in the stage left wings, clad in her matching sequined unitard, holding identical rainbow colored rhythmic gymnastics ribbons. Even without noting the bad, cut-rate beauty school ‘fro perm, the orthodontic headgear, and the barely noticeable puddles of drool at her feet, ‘Puter knew it was Meaux.

‘Puter prayed to be spared the reliving of this moment, but his prayers went unanswered. Like clockwork, precisely at 8:17 PM central time, the AV Club cued up the music, and ‘Puter and Meaux strode out onto the stage.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes fixated on ‘Puter as he started into the interpretive dance routine Meaux had choreographed for him. ‘Puter had worked on this routine for weeks after Meaux convinced him to do the talent show with him.**** ‘Puter worked through the elaborate dance steps for about 30 seconds before he realized Meaux wasn’t on stage with him. ‘Puter froze in mid-plie.

All ‘Puter could hear was the thudding of his heart in his chubby chest and the strains of his musical accompaniment, but distantly, as if he were underwater.

… This tainted love you’ve given!

I give you all a boy could give you,

Take my tears and that’s not nearly all!

Oh! Tainted love! …

Time slowed to a crawl. Then it happened. The laughter. The taunting, horrible laughter. And then the pain.

‘Puter heard the high-pitched whoosh and knew the dull thwack of metal on flesh would soon follow. ‘Puter’s vision was gone as flashes of white-hot pain danced before him, the spotlights blinded him, and tears of shame streamed.

‘Puter knew what he would see as he looked up. ‘Puter didn’t want to look up, but someone with man-hands reeking of Amish butter grabbed his unitard and dragged him to his feet. It was Meaux.

Meaux had managed a costume change in the approximately 30 seconds ‘Puter was humiliating himself on stage. She was decked out in her head cheerleader finery and surrounded by the rest of her rampaging cheerleading horde. Meaux shone as brightly as the dorkiest, drooliest star you’ve ever seen.

The room faded until all ‘Puter could see was Meaux brandishing the antenna from ‘Puter’s 1972 puke-green Dodge Dart Swinger. ‘Puter figures the room faded from his blood loss, not because Meaux was so beautiful or anything.

‘Puter knew what was coming next.

Don’t touch me please! *thwack goes the antenna*

I cannot stand the way you tease! *thud goes Meaux’s fist*

I love you though you hurt me so! *37 pairs of Keds nut kick ‘Puter*

Now I’m going to pack my things and go! *peals of raucous laughter from the crowd*

Tainted love! *thwickety-thwack goes the antenna again*

Tainted love! *’Puter passes out*

With that, Meaux handed the bloody antenna with bits of ‘Puter’s sparkly unitard and flesh hanging from it to her second in command saying, “Clean this nerd’s cooties off this, polish it, and have it back in my hands in 15 minutes.”*****

As she strode off stage, Meaux knew she had cemented herself as unquestioned Queen of the School. Meaux’s reign of terror, like ‘Puter’s degradation, would last until her graduation in 1987.******

‘Puter awoke in Nurse Dr. Ratched’s parking lot next to her 1984 Chevy Monza. ‘Puter wondered why his pants were buzzing. Then he realized Nurse Dr. Ratched shocked him back to reality by attaching ‘Puter’s ‘nads to her car’s battery via a medieval set of jumper cables.

Nurse Dr. Ratched looked down at ‘Puter, puking in the gutter, spirit broken, and said, “I think we have the breakthrough we’ve been looking for.” She smiled slightly, turned on her heel, and walked back towards her office holding something ‘Puter hadn’t noticed before.

Something that looked suspiciously like a car antenna from a 1972 Dodge Dart Swinger.

* How was ‘Puter to know that driving a herd of pigs through the Des Moines airport’s Applebee’s during happy hour was a bad thing? It’s not like Applebee’s posted a “no feral hogs” sign or anything. And if Applebee’s didn’t want angry pigs tearing up its authentic local décor and goring its customers, maybe it should rethink serving ribs. In hindsight, maybe ‘Puter shouldn’t have represented himself in court.

** ‘Puter’s never been to a psycho the rapist’s office located in a shipping container before, but ‘Puter guesses it’s legit. The court wouldn’t steer him wrong, after all. Though ‘Puter does wonder about all the half-starved Chinese people chained to the wall. Maybe Nurse Dr. Ratched got a deal on it from an illegal immigrant smuggling ring. She really ought to do something about that smell, though.

*** Nurse Dr. Ratched’s notes at this point read, “The patient has commenced screaming in what appears to be mashup of Medieval Ottoman curse words and Tibetan sacred prayers. Mr. ‘Puter has commenced to urinating on the furniture and burning the macramé wall hangings. Note to self: increase Mr. ‘Puter’s hourly rate.”

**** Honestly, ‘Puter should’ve known better after his date with Meaux went so poorly, but it seems the Meaux-inflicted head trauma damaged his memory of that night.

***** Meaux named ‘Puter’s car antenna “The Nerdinator” and for the next two and one-half years used it to mercilessly beat any nerd hapless enough to cross her path.

****** Meaux didn’t pass any of her classes. In fact, Meaux didn’t attend any of her classes. The faculty graduated Meaux because they, too, were terrified of her.

'Puter

Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.

’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.

The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.

His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.

He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.

Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.

‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.