“So, uh, an alien walks into a bar.”
A bead of sweat fell from Bobby Beacon’s quivering brow as he stood before an assembly of unenthused winter semester onlookers. They were promised free food, but so far Bobby’s Stand-Up Comedy Extravaganza has provided them with nothing more than the unappetizing overabundance of poorly conceived jokes and cringe humor.
“His friend says to him,” continued Bobby, his voice giving way to a momentary squeal of microphone feedback. “‘Hey, Gleeblo. I was recently perusing the Mass.gov list of registered sex offenders and I noticed your name was on it. What gives?’ So, Gleeblo, the alien, looks at his friend and says, ‘Well, you know us aliens, we just can’t help ourselves. I cropped a field!’ Get it? Cop a feel? Crop a field? He’s an alien! Ever hear of a crop circle?” A high-flying tomato splattered against Bobby’s forehead.
Attention is a fickle fiend. Many who get a taste of it spend the rest of their days chasing that ever-fleeting spark of fame like moths in the night, unaware they are flying directly into a bug-zapper. And now, as the shipwreck graveyard of washed-up has-beens packs itself to the brim, the siren of celebrityism calls out to claim yet another tired castaway—UMass Boston’s iconic mascot, Bobby Beacon.
Following last semester’s situation involving whether or not Bobby was the father of freshman Bool Beacon, his reputation has hit an all-time low. Recently, there have been calls for him to resign from his position as mascot. However, the administration has spent too much money on Bobby-themed imagery over the years to let him fade away. So, foolishly, they decided a stand-up comedy show was a surefire way for the lighthouse man to get his groove back.
“What do you call a magical aquatic weasel?” pondered Bobby to his deeply uninterested captive audience. “Harry Otter!”
Some would argue that Bobby never had a groove to begin with.
But if Bobby is to be replaced as mascot, who could possibly fill those oversized, clown-looking foot-fungus concealers he calls shoes? I’ll give you a hint: four paws, black fur, one nose, two eyes and upwards of 42 teeth upon reaching adulthood. As he entered the auditorium where Bobby’s show was taking place, the faces of the bored-to-death students instantly lit up. UMass Boston’s new community resource dog—the adorable, unproblematic and instantly lovable Beacon—was an overnight sensation.
“Oh, look. The guy with the mouth. Who let the dogs out?” Bobby tried his best to conceal his inner rage and jealousy as the attention of the crowd shifted fully to Beacon. The audience affectionately cheered as Beacon bounded joyfully up onto the stage next to Bobby. A loud thud was heard from the back of the room as someone’s skull made contact with the floor, appearing to have fainted due to cuteness shock. Bobby looked ready to vomit but was determined to put the spotlight back on himself, and thus, he started to improvise.
“Dogs. Four legs and the truth, that’s what grandma always said. His name’s Beacon, huh? That’s original. They just take my last name and slap it on some mangy mutt? Let me guess, you guys are gonna start claiming that I’m this thing’s father, am I right? You know though, now that I think about it, I’d rather have fathered this little pound-bound son of a b— instead of that Bool the Ghoul loser.”
It was at this point that someone in the audience called out, “Get off the stage, we want Beacon!” Bobby did not respond well to this remark.
“If dog backward is god, then that makes me a…” Bobby trailed off, thinking hard for a moment, “…a tsiehta!”
The crowd took a second to piece together the strange joke. When they finally understood, they burst into a frenzy of boos. Bobby had officially passed the event horizon. He was bombing worse than the time the University put on a stand-up show by a man who’d had his butt replaced with a baboon’s butt. As his image plunged forever into the empty void, serenaded by a hundred angry hecklers, he decided, like most failed and controversial comedians, to double down on his offensive remarks. His voice seethed with unbridled anger and disappointment:
“I was on the UMass Boston alumni website the other day, and do you know what it said about dogs? It said, and I quote, ‘Dogs transcend cultures, religious beliefs and political affiliations.’ Do you know who else transcends cultures, religious beliefs and political affiliations? YOUR MOM!”
An all-out tomato assault bombarded Bobby who simply stood and took it, shouting aggressively, “Where are you guys getting these tomatoes from?”
Beacon, whom the students had been careful not to hit, frolicked playfully on stage in light of the chaos, lapping up bits of the scattered red debris as he went. Upon seeing this, Bobby got down on all fours and began doing the same, sucking the smashed tomatoes off the floor like Noo-Noo from Teletubbies.
This concerning display continued for a few painstaking minutes before Bobby stopped, having felt an odd warmth on his left foot. He spun his head around to catch Beacon, leg lifted high, literally filling his shoes—full of urine. Bobby let out a disgusted scoff as he sprung to his feet, nearly slipping on the tomatoey carnage in the process. The entire auditorium roared with laughter, the first laughs to escape their throats all evening. This was the final straw.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” questioned Bobby accusingly. “When you gotta go, you gotta go. Accidents happen, am I right? I think I’m starting to get a feel for this school’s sense of humor. You wanna see an accident? I’ll make an accident happen right now!”
With a grimace that would make the purple sludge monster from McDonald’s proud, Bobby focused all of his might on his final joke of the night. Raising his arms to the heavens as if channeling some mysterious mystic energy, he contracted all the muscles in his body, scrunching himself down in a way that looked incredibly painful. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, his veins swelled and his teeth were clenched so tightly it looked as though they could have shattered. The audience watched in horror as the pressure in his body rose. Higher. Higher. Higher. And then… relief.
For a moment, people were unsure of what Bobby—who stood on the stage smirking as if expecting applause—had done. But then somebody took a sniff, and within the span of a millisecond, the crowd burst into a terrified, screaming pandemonium. The students practically climbed over one another as they raced for the exit, leaving a very confused and embarrassed Bobby in their wake.
“Double standards! Double standards!” wailed Bobby as he watched his comedy career file out the door. He looked down at Beacon, who sat wagging his tail innocently, and sneered, “This is all YOUR fault! It’s just like 2006!” Bobby waddled off uncomfortably through the rear door, his tortured cries echoing through the halls as he shamefully slinked back to the Boneyard to take a shower and change his pants.
The now-empty auditorium resembled a warzone—if the characters from VeggieTales ever decided to duke it out—with red-stained tomato smudges covering all surfaces. The sole remainder of the event was, of course, Beacon, who sat center stage peering out over the wreckage. It may have been my imagination, but I swear, the look in his eyes almost appeared prideful. The look of a job well done. Of course, I can’t be sure of this, but what I am sure of is that my decision to go into the tomato-selling business was not a poor one.