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A pleasant visit to Point D

In a stroke of marketing genius, Dodger Blatheramm, Head of Public Relations, decided to relocate the Point Defiance Zoo Exhibit to the Music Building in order “to bring attention to the wildly diverse student body we have here on campus” and “to really show students that we’re committed to ‘Living Green.’ What’s more green than letting the flora and fauna we borrowed from the zoo have a new life in the practice rooms?”

Not all are very pleased about the changes. Director of bands Marshal Gard was heard to have said, “There is a CAT in my tuba! Why?! And why are the printers STILL not working??” After a week of troubleshooting the printer problem, the tech heads were about ready to take a sledge hammer to it when one of them realized that they’d forgotten to check printer door number four.

On the other hand, the university tourism business is booming. I got in line behind the prospies one day to see what all the fuss was about.

The tour guide, Stiles Stilinksi, was charming, gregarious and knowledgeable—a perfect example of the award-winning tour guide service we have come to expect from the administration.

For example, one of the hippos almost chewed a prospie-parent’s arm off, but luckily enough Stilinksi had a bag of those Hungry-Hungy-Hippo balls and so pacified the voracious, semi-aquatic fiend.

During the tour, I came across a number of very disgruntled music room users. “This is sooo dumb!” DeeDee Bananabruh said. “I tried to use the practice rooms the other day but couldn’t because a pair of blue-footed boobies were conducting a mating ritual!”

“You definitely can’t interfere with that,” I said sagely. “What do you play and what is your normal practice routine?”

“Normally I’m in the practice room before class, between classes, during lunch and then there’s ensemble in the afternoon, followed by writing music papers in the library. If I’m lucky, I can get some scales in around midnight right before I start working on my other homework, and then hopefully get to bed before three.”

“Holy cats that’s hard! How the heck do you keep up with that schedule?” I asked.

“Three pounds of coffee per week and—” here she paused, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “MORAL FIBERRRR!!!!”

“Ah I see. Moral fiber—that makes sense,” thought I.

“Here is the zoo’s highly eclectic gift shop,” said Stilinksi unnecessarily as we entered L1. “You can buy all sorts of things to commemorate your visit-like these large circle thingies right here, which are emblematic of the Sun, which we don’t see that often. This one,” he said as he picked up a whimsical jangly knick knack about the size of his face, “is my favorite. You can use it like this.” Beaming proudly, he then proceeded to chuck the thing across the room as if it were a frisbee.

“What’s a tambourine?” I asked, curious.

“It’s a toy—”

“—but I thought you said it wasn’t a toy?”

“It isn’t a frisbee that’s for sure. No, it’s a accessory.”

“Ok, ok, so,” he said while executing some impromptu thumb rolls. “We got this tree in the studio. That’s where the tambourine comes from. The tree’s name is SHELBY, the scientific name for a tambourine is Shelbicaa Janglefacecus, namsayin?”

“What’s a SHELBY?”

“She Has Excellent Leaves and Branches, Yo. It do, it do. Tru fax.”

Overall, the zoo looks to be a worthwhile investment, and will certainly do wonders for the diversity campaign. Several departments in the music building have set up ensembles specifically for the visitors, like the a capella group “the Caterwaulers”, which is basically just a bunch of angry cats hissing and spitting at each other with elevator music playing in the background. When asked to comment, their director said, “Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow.” You said it, dude!