Witness account of a tragedy in Clemson today...

Apr 1, 2004, 3:44 PM

This is from an unidentified witness who experienced the horrible tragedy in Clemson today...

"A drunk freshman slammed two carpenter's nails into our tires' side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Omelets in the dining hall, we'd just delivered the bomb. The Harcombe bomb. In the toilet. Eleven men went into the parking lot. Jeep went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first ticket witch for about a half hour. Female. Three hundred pounder. You know how you know that in the parking lot, Chief? You can tell by lookin' from the head to the ass. What we didn't know, was that our lunch mission was so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, ticket witches come cruisin', so we formed ourselves into tight groups. It was sorta like you see in the calendars, you know the squares in the old calendars like the Sports Illustrated 1978 one and the idea was the ticket witch come to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and sometimes that ticket witch he go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that ticket witch looks right at ya. Right into your eyes. And the thing about a ticket witch is he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. And a big belly. When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he writes a ticket and bites into your Twinkie, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The parking lot turns white with creme filling, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin' those ticket witches come in and... they rip your Twinkies to pieces. You know by the end of that first dawn, lost ten packs of Twinkies. I don't know how many ticket witches, maybe a thousand. I do know how many Twinkies, they averaged six an hour. Thursday mornin', Chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Boson's mate. I thought he was asleep, holdin' a whole Twinkie. Reached over to wake him up. His Twinkie bobbed up and down in his hand, kind of like a top. Upended. Well, it'd been bitten in half right where his hand was. Noon the fifth day a Chevy Tahoe swung in low and he spotted us, a young freshman, lot younger than Mr. Hooper here, anyway he spotted us and a few hours later a big ol' fat mini-van come down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened? Waitin' for my turn. I'll never park on campus again. So, eleven men and a hundred Twinkies went into the water. Eight men and three Twinkies come out, the ticket witches took the rest, April the First, two-thousand and four. Anyway, we delivered the bomb."

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> This is from an unidentified witness who experienced
> the horrible tragedy in Clemson today...
>
> "A drunk freshman slammed two carpenter's nails into
> our tires' side, Chief. We was comin' back from the
> island of Omelets in the dining hall, we'd just
> delivered the bomb. The Harcombe bomb. In the toilet.
> Eleven men went into the parking lot. Jeep went down
> in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first ticket witch
> for about a half hour. Female. Three hundred pounder.
> You know how you know that in the parking lot, Chief?
> You can tell by lookin' from the head to the ass.
> What we didn't know, was that our lunch mission was
> so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They
> didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first
> light, Chief, ticket witches come cruisin', so we
> formed ourselves into tight groups. It was sorta like
> you see in the calendars, you know the squares in the
> old calendars like the Sports Illustrated 1978 one
> and the idea was the ticket witch come to the nearest
> man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and
> sometimes that ticket witch he go away... but
> sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that ticket
> witch looks right at ya. Right into your eyes. And
> the thing about a ticket witch is he's got lifeless
> eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. And a big
> belly. When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to
> be livin'... 'til he writes a ticket and bites into
> your Twinkie, and those black eyes roll over white
> and then... ah then you hear that terrible
> high-pitched screamin'. The parking lot turns white
> with creme filling, and despite all your poundin' and
> your hollerin' those ticket witches come in and...
> they rip your Twinkies to pieces. You know by the end
> of that first dawn, lost ten packs of Twinkies. I
> don't know how many ticket witches, maybe a thousand.
> I do know how many Twinkies, they averaged six an
> hour. Thursday mornin', Chief, I bumped into a friend
> of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball
> player. Boson's mate. I thought he was asleep,
> holdin' a whole Twinkie. Reached over to wake him up.
> His Twinkie bobbed up and down in his hand, kind of
> like a top. Upended. Well, it'd been bitten in half
> right where his hand was. Noon the fifth day a Chevy
> Tahoe swung in low and he spotted us, a young
> freshman, lot younger than Mr. Hooper here, anyway he
> spotted us and a few hours later a big ol' fat
> mini-van come down and start to pick us up. You know
> that was the time I was most frightened? Waitin' for
> my turn. I'll never park on campus again. So, eleven
> men and a hundred Twinkies went into the water. Eight
> men and three Twinkies come out, the ticket witches
> took the rest, April the First, two-thousand and
> four. Anyway, we delivered the bomb."

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Witness account of a tragedy in Clemson today...

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