Three Jerrys

The butterfly flapped her wings. Witham spotted a llama in Riverside Zoo, and here I am 39 years later, a born-again burbian whose greatest joy in Life is seeing what Scott's Turf Builder can do for my neighbourhoood standing. Jerry picked up a piece of llama dung, in the process meeting Ms. Eye Chart, or Wife#1. I like everybody, but not Jerry. Jerry was usually fashionably depressed, reclining regally on his futon in L1, dressed in $25(a long time ago, remember) jeans, Adam Ant cheaters, puffing and coughing on a tiny, perfect, Rive-Gauche existentiel Russian cigarette. No flippin wonder he was such a babe magnet, for which among you could fail to want to take home an underecognized genius of intellect so great that he dropped courses as a cute flower-girl drops rose petals at the feet of the recently conjoined? Jerry's greatest gift to a woman was to drop a course in her honour. The more attractive the woman, the greater the prize. Eye-Chart got Phil 214, mainly a tribute to Nietzsche, Sartre and Heidegger. I preferred Camus. He at least fired a gun in L'Etranger. Eye-Chart moved on to become a bauble of the Biggest Dope Dealer from Oshawa to actually complete all the 100-series courses required for successful matriculation to the 200-series. There was wild talk of Driscoll (who only sold pot) doing the same at Waterloo. I went to check it out, discovering that he had failed first semester Calculus. His high-maintenance companion Bev took too much of his not-very-well organized time. Did you know that Bev went head to head with Liz Hambone to get the starring part in Razzle Dazzle? It's true.