The following column is a continuation of Tuesday’s column by Zack Poitras. Both halves were individual efforts, and I would like the reader to take notice of the smooth transition from one author to the other. I respect Mr. Poitras’s style and attention to detail, and have thus continued those into my story as well. And so I proudly present to you the second half of this epic …
“What is this place?” Zack asked in a high, squeaky, girlish, pathetic voice. He began to cry, but Dan comforted him like a big, awesome brother. Dan’s hair looked great, full volume, completely natural. Zack was a noticeable two inches shorter than before.
The room was filled with golden doubloons of all sizes imaginable: large and small.
Slow, sarcastic claps echoed from behind them. Dan and Zack turned their heads toward the sound, and descending a golden escalator was what appeared to be an astronaut.
“It is I!” exclaimed the astronaut as he removed his helmet to reveal himself.
“Dan Goldin!” exclaimed Dan [Klein]. Zack, being a sophomore, didn’t know who Dan Goldin was, so the three grabbed a quick brunch at Ferretti’s where The Dans (as they decided to call themselves) could explain the situation that Goldin and Boston University found themselves in three years ago in which he was supposed to become president of the university but after a few scandalous weeks was denied the position but still took a couple million bucks for his troubles. Goldin kindly drove the three back to the treasure room in his ’97 Ford Escort. The license plate read, “NASADUDE1.”
“NASADUDE was already taken,” explained Goldin upon their reentrance. “Well done Mr. Goldin. Your mission is almost complete,” said a mysterious voice.
“Who is that?!” cried Zack like a huge wuss.
The figure stepped out from the shadows.
“John Silber!” exclaimed Dan. Zack didn’t know who Silber was, but now it was too late for brunch and too early for lunch.
“Where did you guys get all this gold?” asked Dan.
“All of the tuitions from CGS students paid for the room to be built,” said Silber. “And all the extra money we have from underpaying our professors and overcharging for meal plans paid for the gold. My wife paid a guy to have the gold pressed into doubloons.”
“Gary Kneer,” remarked Goldin.
“What?” asked Silber.
“I think his name was Gary Kneer.”
“Who?”
“The guy who pressed the gold into doubloons for us.”
“Oh yes, Gary! Of course …”
“What do you buy with the gold?” asked Dan.
“Well, for one thing: these!” said Silber as he shot a fireball at Dan and Zack. Dan did a really cool flip over it; Zack just kind of fell helplessly to the ground.
“Fireballs aren’t cheap you know,” commented Robert Brown, who was sitting on top of Silber’s shoulders. “We need them to kill you journalists before you reveal our secret plot.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Brown, we’re only opinion columnists,” defended Dan. “And to be honest, one of us isn’t very good,” Dan snidely remarked, blatantly pointing at Zack.
“Silence!” yelled Silber. “Before we kill you, like any villain, I’ll tell you our plot. You see, we’re not actually building any more Student Villages like we tell everyone. I mean, have you seen the space where they’re supposed to go? There’s no way any more buildings could fit there. That was just a ruse to get people to give us more money …”
Unenthused, Dan replied, “So BU just lies to its students about dumb crap to get money, but then you don’t do anything with the money except leave it in a big room?”
“Precisely!”
“That’s pretty stupid.”
“Well what else would we do with it?” asked Silber.
“Maybe build more dorms, like you said you were going to.”
“We’re too deep into our evil plot to do something that would make sense!”
“We also buy fireballs, don’t forget,” said Goldin, breathing heavily and sweating from the weight of his space suit.
“We’ve already killed the editors of The Daily Free Press, the DJs from WBUR, those girls from Vibes, all of the important people! And now you’re next.”
“Then why did you kill our roommates?” asked Dan.
“Because … wait, that wasn’t us.” Brown, Goldin, and Silber all looked at each other confused.
“Because they knew too much,” said yet another mysterious voice lurking in the shadows from the back of the room.
Echoes of the figure’s footsteps eerily filled the room; the figure even carried a dripping faucet to add to the tension. In horror, they all realized this man had brought them here for a reason.
This was the man behind it all, the man who had outsmarted and taken down the powers of Boston University, and with this final move, he would have the treasure for himself. As the figure crept in closer, it took the shape of a giant pinwheel.
“Jon Marker!” they all said, except for Brown, who actually mumbled “Keyser Soze.”
“But why, Jon?!” cried Zack in disbelief.
Marker removed a detonator from under his bandana and smiled evilly, like he always does when you see him like 10 times in a day. “You ever dance with the devil by the pale moonlight?” asked Marker. He pushed down the red button on the detonator. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeep …
Dan Klein, a senior in the College of Communication, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at dannyk@bu.edu.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
