What is this you’ve put in my hands, Palfrey? Have you no sense. My name, Endicott, defiled in this abomination of a magazine. Let our Puritan band discover the followers of these mountebanks and mirth counterfeiters. Every copy of this Endicott Review must burn. See to it.
But hold, let us determine punishment now. I want the editor to swing for this veritable maypole of perfidiousness. Just paging through it now I read of mirth and alcohol and dancing and masques and bright colors and whispers of heathen sex: all this from an undergraduate journal that has been loosed upon our world by its faculty advisors.
What say you? There is no editor, only an editorial board. Then let us pick four of the most deserving as our scape goats. The one called the Wolf King must die tonight. His very alias denotes him as the Lord of Misrule. In his poem, Who Am I/Enigma, he says,
For who am I?
Am I a great and noble leader
Am I a wise and intelligent scholar
Am I a strong and strapping Adonis
Am I a kind soul
Or a despicable villain…
Clearly we have a ringleader here. There are others.
Hadley St. Clair consorts with evil doers and satanic manifestations. Consider these lines written by her,
The man who taught me
how to write poetry
talks to wolves and cats,
wears tuxedo jackets and speaks
For more of my review of The Endicott Review go here: http://dougholder.blogspot.com/2012/05/endicott-review-spring-2012.html