From abrown1 @ swarthmore.edu Wed Apr 7 19:43:24 2004 Date: Wed, 7 Apr 2004 20:17:56 -0000 From: Andrew B Conforti Reply-To: presidents @ swil.org To: swilnews @ swil.org Subject: The Call of SWILNews#6 The Call of SWILNews#6 Found amongst the papers of the late Dr. Marcus Manning, of Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts: It was early in the spring of 2004 when I first became aware of the hideous truth that was soon to induate itself into my life. Like many other students of Swarthmore, I had heard the whispers of a strange and terrible cult, one whose reach and agenda stretch far beyond the ken of mortal man. But, being a skeptic, I had rather assumed the tails to be rather ludicrous and not worth my attention. However, it was on the twentieth day of March, of the year of our Lord 2004, when I found myself suddenly engulfed in the intrigues of this strange organization and its queer, terrifying habits. At 12:10 PM, on that fateful day, I found myself in the Sharples Room 4, originally hoping to find myself a quiet place to spend my afternoon. Oh, fool that I was, not to heed the warnings of that mad American Alex Leader-Smith, whose writings touched on the horrid edge of the truths I was to discover! For at that time, the room, filled with folk of a decidedly queer manner, erupted into a wild orgy of sound which should have nearly deafened me, had I not had to foresight to understand the call which came a moment earlier. (The meeting was called to disorder at 12:10 -ad) I was yet horrified as the two who sat at the head of the strange arrangment of people chastised the "rabble," as they called them, for their horrendous show. It was intended, I was able to gather, that the din be greater. I shuddered of the thought of that noise were the terrible things to be allowed to unleash their full force upon Sharples. I noted a quiet, dashing man sitting in the corner, writing furiously as others spoke, and endeavored to speak to him, feeling that he looked slightly less frightnening than the great din had hinted his companions were. But before I could, one of the mob accused the two who sat at the head of the great meeting of having stolen ideas from her own head-as if such a thing were possible! A lively debate ensued, only ending at the fiat of the Two. Whether or not I believed the truths hinted at in the strange tome written by that mad American Alex Leader-Smith, I was now convinced it would be for the betterment of all manking to sit through this entire meeting. But it was then that I then first heard the word whispered in fear throughout the campus, the unspeakable word that brings the horrid images associated with this mad cult, spill from the lips of the Two. The mob sat up at the sound of this word, which I will write only to allow others to recognize it, for my pen shakes even as I transcribe the horrible torren which spilled from their mouths. *SWIL* It seemed that there was order to this strange ritual, as first, some members of this group brought forward offerings to the Two. There seemed to be little pattern as to those who held these sacrifices, but all had drawings of an unearthly nature, and one resounded in my mind upon seeing it. For it marked something of the nature of these people, by transcribing their name upon the paper. I do not understand the reasons for this sacrifice, although some whispers rose with regards to a 'T-shirt'. Whatever they intended to do with these offerings, I wanted no part in it. However, I cannot help but note that the assembled hinted that one of these offerings would be chosen for that unspeakable, horrible purpose, and apparently by the entire assemblage. I vowed not to return in one week's time, when I knew they would speak more of the meaning of these terrible sketches. Even if this random and vicious mob would not know of the ways their words would affect the choosing, I would not wish to know more about it. Then a hand puppet, presumable female by the shrillness of its voice, appeared between the two leaders of this horrid assembly, and made some terrible screechings about something called "prop". Although she seemed to encourage this uncertain and terrifying activity, those present jeered, and struck her, screaming "bother!" I should have fled at that time, but my courage was bolstered by those who seemed unconcerned, even amused, by the procedings. Nevertheless, the discussion then moved on to an even more frightful activity, called "SFDT." I never did understand what those letters were meant to signify, but frequent mentions of something called "Eastern Standard Tribe" were made, and at one point, the group seemed to reach a decison that the following week, they would discuss prophecies. I would not dare to presume what sort of prophecies these mad men would discuss, but I again noted that I should avoid the upper room of Sharples on Tuesdays, if the last remnants of my sanity are to remain intact. Once again invoking the dreaded name of SWIL, the rabble spoke of events to take place that night, during the popular and wildly wholesome Screw dance. It seems that they would not even allow such uplifting events to occur without their attempting to drag attention to their own wicked acts. Promising to overrun the CRC at 7 and play cards, they moved on to other, more unholy activities (although I can't think of many more unholy activities than Susan trying to get across "dog-walker on the R7 killed by a perky, teenage vampire slayer" in Chain-Link -ad) The mention of apparent nonsensical syllables brought new terror into my heart. An event called Walpurgitsnacht was to arrive on campus. I was not certain of the date, although it seemed to have something to do with the date and the positions of the stars and moon. I would not wish to know more about such a vague, horrible event, but what followed was a discussion of even more horrible activities. The next event which would call upon the name of SWIL was to be a reading of children's stories, something which I believed even these depraved souls incapable of mutilating, but as the meeting progressed, I grew more confident in their ability to corrupt anything... (And corrupt we did: we read "Babar vs. Osama bin Laden", and the seeds of "Curious George Summons Cthulhu were sown -ad) I do not wish to know what Schlock is, for the discussions of it included such dread phrases as "Hand of Fate", "Turkish Star Wars", and perhaps the most puzzling of all, "Badmovies.com". I am only glad that I was called away from campus on April the 3rd, such that there was no chance I would hear more of this looming danger to all of our minds and hearts. Endless in their apparent bloodlust, the group was to hold an event called the "Grande Melee", and one of their kind, a strangely unkempt and subtly terrifying being, demanded volunteers help him organize this slaughter. I was only too glad, again, that I would be spending the next month hiding in my room, studying for my Interpretation Theory finals. I would not wish to understand this strange process of the 'lottery', only rest easy in my knowledge that I was not expected to participate. The same woman who accused the two of theft won some knick-knack, and left, happy. It was then that they dispersed with the apparent order and onto "Non-SWIL Business", and events too horrible for even them to condone. First, it seemed that the quiet fellow I'd noticed earlier was demonstrating another world, the 10th kindgom, of whom he did not say. The location was uncertain, but the time was very certain. Sunday at 2:30. Although he seemed benign at first sight, I realized his intention were the same as the others: horrible and unspeakable. It also seemed that one of them, who called himself 'Nick', was showing Star Trek in the Hicks Mural Room at 9 on Wednesday. Whether this was meant to hide some further agenda, or just an opportunity to ogle Klingons, I do not and do not care to know. There may have been a game of Axis and Allies after the meeting, although I could not know; upon the end, I fled this place and its disarming, unnatural people, at 12:53. I could no longer listen to the babblings of this mob, resting with the knowledge of their presence on campus. However, I find myself sometimes wandering towards that room, before I can steel my will and avoid it. And sometimes, when my work is finished Wednesday evening, I wonder if I could find this Nick and his Star Trek, or participate in these weekly rites of passage. But I am strong. I will not be drawn in by the horrors of this place. For I have visited the dorm of the mad American Alex Leader-Smith, and heard mad whisperings from his mouth, and still do those words ring in my mind. "Ever-renewed, SWIL will forever wait, Until it rises, on that accursed date." Attendance List of Something About Flatworms And Riceballs Michael "If 'lumos' means 'light', does 'sumos' mean 'smackdowns'?" Noda JC "Brave, brace, brave--yaaaaa!" Ravage M. Jawaad "La donna e mobile" Hussain Jessica "I like purple ducks" Robins Jonathan "The winds of change" Schneider* Jerome "An die Ferne Gelielote" Fung James "Hunting For a Lucky Lottery Ticket" Brady Christopher "Hunting for a lucky random number generator" Jagor Ben "char *str = "nickname";" Thuryoni Thuroni Thuronyi Susan "SWIL is love" Zell Ben "having a plan" Newman Michael "[illegible scribble]" Cohen Alexandr "I'm wearing an invisible puppy helmet" Pshenichkin Eliza "Goodbye sanity" Blair Miriam "Look! Andrew's clawing his eyes out!" Newman Blair "The 6 year old who dressed herself" Reaser Blake "The Man Who Wasn't THere" Setlow Nick "Honore, gravitates et fronte" Ward Abby "Severus Snape is my bitch" Friedman Andrew "Floozy" Conforti Brown Jillian "Platyhelminthes" Waldman Mark "Tentacles--" Handler *This footnote is getting screwed with Greg