A speech composed upon the circumstance of Pearson’s birthday processional

19 April 2007

One Score and One year ago,
Providence hath wrought the birth of a great man.

He is a man founded upon being Jolly, and the Proposition that all things can be made awkward.

Today we are gathered in solemn assemblage,

To rule on whether a man governed by such ideologies can – Nay, should! – Long perdure.

What shall we say then?

Shall we do away with Pearson that Peace may Increase?

May it never be!

Long Live Pearson.

Long live Pearson the Lau.

A mighty Pearson is our Lau

In Friendship never failing.

Our constant source of Joy and Pain

His Awkwardness prevailing

Alas! We now are late

His birth to celebrate

Twenty-One is now his age

Capri-Sun is all the rage

Drink up our goodly fellow

In our own powers did we trust

To sing his highest praises

Our efforts sure, would fall and bust

All heav’n his grandeur raises

Now to his Class we go

His powers forth to show

Exegesis on a scroll

His virtue we extol

May Pearson Live Forever!

Arranged: Flemming, Glazener, Schannep

Composed: Ye Olde Reformer

Freedom

Take a look; no, don't cring. Contemplate on it, revel in it:

its signifiance, its message, its raw machismoism.

Whitey tighties - the bain of every young man's childhood up to age 12. By why is this so? Has nature ordained this abomination? Or is this wretched rag a product of Adam's poorly sewn fig leaves?

Do not fear O reader, for I believe that like many existent evils in this world, God has placed this one in particular to teach us all a very crucial lesson: freedom. How? Well reader, please allow me to be so bold has to construe an allegory of utmost insight.

Life in Christ is progressive. Beginning on our spiritual journey, our loving Master allows us, in our depravity, to snap the elastic band of briefs upon ourselves - constraining us, imprisoning us. Little did we know, unlike typical undergarments, these particular ones are so tight that it reddens our skin and imprints its deadly elastic grip into our hips.

Seeing us in our helpless estate, we near the adolescence of our spiritual journey and discover the greater pleasures of life: total freedom, encased not in Hanes; but, in brands of much higher superiority: Joe Boxer....Fruit-of-the-Loom...and the like.

Inebriated we dance in our newfound glory. We learn to breathe. We learn to live.

God, in His Almighty wisdom, has appointed all for a purpose. Whitey tighties, as horrid as they are, serve to display the Maker's salvific plan: slavery unto the Law, but freedom in Christ.

A Quiet Friday

Friday, April 13th, 2007.

A day that many did well to fear. Friday, the 13th - the unluckiest of them all. A day when mothers keep their children inside, make them to play with soft, blunted toys, and eat only certified non-chokeable foods. It was not a day to be trifled with. One week following Good Friday, this one ought to have been 'Ominous Friday'.

But it wasn't.

Nothing horrid happened. No major constellations fell from the sky. No children that I know of contracted TB. No heads of state were assasinated. I didn't even see any car accidents. Heck it was even sunny! Surprisingly, miraculously, the world was at peace, and even joyful. how odd.

Yes, odd indeed. But, Dear Reader, I applaud your search for answers and your arrival at y.G.L.I.D.Y.M! (ee - Glid'-um!); you will not be dissappointed.

The astounding, and edifying reason for the blessed silence of yesterday flows directly from the Hand of Providence. Christ, having risen from the tomb and bringing the kingdom in its fullness to the world, knowing that Ominous Friday opposed the kingdom, and not wishing the world to suffer calamity in the week of His resurrection, he loved the world. IN this case, loving the world meant, not dying for that had been done, but allowing calamity to come to the one who would cause calamity. Yes, it was expedient that one suffer that the people might rejoice. In His sovereignty, He allowed that product of the Fall, Strep Throat, to overtake the mischevious Pearson, Sir Tricks-a-lot, who was sure to wreak havoc and ruin upon the world in celebration of his recent birthday. Indeed, taking advantage of this globally inauspicious Friday and its close convergence to another, personally auspicious day, his mischief was sure to rise to new heights, no man, living or yet to live, has dared to dream. But all that was thwarted by the mercy of God, who, not holding our sins against us, sent Jesus and strep throat to give us cause to rejoice in His greatness.

That, dear reader, is why Friday was quiet, why you woke to the sun and slept with a smile, and why we should all be thankful for Streptococcal Pharyngitis.


And now you know, the rest of the story.

Sincerely, the y.G.L.I.D.Y.M! NewsTeam

The Legend of Breakfast Ben

A limerick to my room-mate: Ben Flemming

A funny young fellow named Benny

Always left breakfast dishes so dirty

He swam in his rubbish

And was bit'o selfish

'Til slained by a school of crazed fish-monkeys

You just might ask, O reader: "How did Ben become Breakfast Ben?" 'Tis a long and daunting task; but nevertheless, I shall endeavour to undertake such a necessary task.

At the ripe age of 4 we join our youth, Benjamin, amid an escargot dinner arrangement. Playing with a wooden spoon he had stolen from the kitchen, young and eager Ben ran up and down the aisles...when alas! He ran into the leg of Uncle Bob. Now Bob was the fiercest of all the uncles and instantly demanded recompense: 3 sets of fine breakfast dishes. Alas, such a large demand rendered the Flemming family breakfast-dish-less, and all that had remained was the wooden spoon still gripped in Benjamin's hand. Mr. Flemming, steaming with rage shook his fist towards the heavens and cried out, "You promised!" (for Mr. Flemming had made a pact with Zeus earlier in his life that if Mr. Flemming had offered up his first-born, Zeus would break the curse. Ben, being adopted by Greecian diety would supposed to have had been freed from the evil Flemming curse: breakfast-dish-less-ness).

Now Ben, age 21, demi-god, lives his life in utter scorn against the Lightning King. He wakes up early, grinds his teeth, girds himself like a man, and defies the gods...using as many breakfast dishes as he possibly can. Such a frightening thing half-divinity can be, for Breakfast Ben does not use dishes at a normal human rate; but instead, (let the reader understand) the dishes are seemingly endless.

But little did you know, O reader, legend has it that Breakfast Ben was cursed by the Greecian gods to roam the earth for all eternity, never to rest his head. His toil? Eternal breakfast...with a new set of dishes each meal.

Toward a Healthy Academic Insanity

Dear reader,
Whereupon having engaged in the academic realm for well over several years, Ben Flemming and myself, Pearson Lau, have discovered our God-given brilliance. When in the course of human events which so deems necessary a grand-showcase of utter genius, the creation of a forum for giving to the desperate world that for which it yearns becomes most couth. Yes.

This blog is designed so that you, the reader, can participate in the sparks of revelation that originate at the breakfast table in the Bosom of Abraham and flit throughout our lives on such a consistent basis that humility becomes a most difficult, but excellently practiced, virtue.

But, alas, little did you know reader, by the very act of reading (nay, even viewing...thinking!!) such a blog validates (not validifies) our sheer quintessence. Have we sunk so far as having the need to vindicate ourselves? May it never be! Rather, our conscious bears us witness: we are freakin' awesome. Yes.

Thank you for coming: stay, bask in our greatness, refer us to your attractive single friends, and feel free to purchase from us premium indulgences (now 2 for the price of 1 1/2!).

Good-bye. *slap hands*
Ben and Pearson