Now you're confused. You don't even know what that is, less even know how to pronounce it. Don't worry; I'll explain.
First off, it's pronounced SHAY-muss-eye-zing. Second, I'll explain why it has such a name. My high school nickname was Seamus, also spelled Shamus. It's the Irish form of James. My class held an affinity for all things Scottish and Irish. As the first and only one who practiced Seamusizing, it was named after me.
And now, I shall explain to you the ancient practice of Seamusizing. It began a few years ago, during Physics class. Usually, Physics was my nap hour. It was right after lunch, and the room was dark, and the teacher was uninteresting. So under normal circumstances I would hibernate until class ended. Today, though, I was awake. I think it was a lab day. One would think that "lab day" means that a cool experiment happens where volcanoes erupt or chemicals change colors. Or "lab day" could be the day that we bring a bunch of Labradors into class with us. Unfortunately, neither of these are true. Lab day usually meant that I and the five other boys in class sat in a circle trying to figure out physics problems demonstrated on a VHS tape...and if you want to know what a VHS tape is, just hop by your local museum. They're sure to have one there nowadays.
On this particular lab day, we were interrupted by an unexpected visitor. The junior high teacher, Mrs. Acker, needed the help of a particularly strong and courageous young man of unparalleled nerve and bravery. Naturally, all of us students stood. Our instructor laid aside his class time snack of diet soda and crackers and asked her what the problem was. Mrs. Acker explained that a spider was on the loose in her classroom and needed to be disposed of. All six students followed her back into the classroom.
Naturally, one would think that a request to squish a spider would be simple. Find the little bug and step on it while it remains lethargic. However, this spider was some unnatural spawn of the ancient world. It was faster than the Energizer Bunny on 5-Hour Energy. And this spider was huge, too. It probably had eaten a few Chihuahuas for breakfast, and then the Energizer Bunny for dessert. Just to prove he could run faster.
As Mrs. Acker cowered in fear at the hissing beast, we six men drew our weapons. Matt had a sword, Trevor readied his bow, Ted wielded an axe, Jake displayed an impressive six-gauge shotgun, and Zach grew bone claws out of his hands. I was weaponless...until I noticed a lectern sitting in the middle of the room. I grabbed hold of this and prepared to smash the spider.
Ultimately, the spider did escape our fury. It was no fault of mine, I assure you. I was new to using a lectern as a weapon, so I smashed wildly. I smashed a few toes, but completely missed the spider as it scurried into a dark corner, waiting for another day to reveal its wrath. Though the spider was still alive, a new art of defense had been formed. It was realized that one could grab a lectern by its top and smash things against the floor with the base. This art was known as Seamusizing. The art of smashing things.
As the days went on, Seamusizing developed and grew. More things were smashed. Milk cartons, homework, pieces of trash, freshman lunches...anything we could get our hands on I eventually Seamusized, usually out of creating fun for everyone. Word of Seamusizing began to spread through the students. Its popularity grew to such an extent, it became a rule that only seniors (and Zach) could decide what got Seamusized.
Then there was the day when Seamusizing grew to its peak. Many of us students were gathered in a classroom, having fun and enjoying the fact that school was almost over. A call of celebration went up. Jake, the only other senior (aside from me) present, decided to begin a game of Seamusizing. Styrofoam cups were set up around the room, and the students would madly cheer as I grabbed the lectern and smashed my way through a speed run. A few times, it was requested I Seamusize a fourth-grade visitor. No, I never fully smashed him, but it was fun to see him run. I'm sure Trevor's little brother wasn't traumatized by it. They'll let him back out of the hospital someday.
What climaxed the day, though, was when Jake grabbed hold of several packs of mustard and Thousand Island dressing. He explained his idea, we all agreed, and marched outside to the elementary playground. a little, strategically-placed pile of mustard packets was built under the seesaw. Video cameras began rolling as I grabbed hold of the opposite end and smashed yellow condiments all over the place. Super Seamusizing was born. A grand festival revolved around it, and late into the night the students cheered I smashed all sorts of condiments with the seesaw. The earth had heard no greater cheer since the gladiators last crushed the skulls of tigers.
Yes, that is indeed me in the video, sporting a military-style haircut which makes me look bald.
Since that time, though, Seamusizing dwindled. School ended, meaning that lecterns were scarce. I left for college, meaning that my high school was now without Seamus and also without Seamusizing. To boot, my university's lightest lecterns are on legs, not on flat-bottomed boards. But some day, Seamusizing will return. One day, a flat-bottomed lectern will cross my path, and I will exercise my authority to destroy! SEAMUS SMASH!
And now, I shall explain to you the ancient practice of Seamusizing. It began a few years ago, during Physics class. Usually, Physics was my nap hour. It was right after lunch, and the room was dark, and the teacher was uninteresting. So under normal circumstances I would hibernate until class ended. Today, though, I was awake. I think it was a lab day. One would think that "lab day" means that a cool experiment happens where volcanoes erupt or chemicals change colors. Or "lab day" could be the day that we bring a bunch of Labradors into class with us. Unfortunately, neither of these are true. Lab day usually meant that I and the five other boys in class sat in a circle trying to figure out physics problems demonstrated on a VHS tape...and if you want to know what a VHS tape is, just hop by your local museum. They're sure to have one there nowadays.
 |
| Don't these guys help you understand that P=(V^2)/R=(I^2)(R)? |
Naturally, one would think that a request to squish a spider would be simple. Find the little bug and step on it while it remains lethargic. However, this spider was some unnatural spawn of the ancient world. It was faster than the Energizer Bunny on 5-Hour Energy. And this spider was huge, too. It probably had eaten a few Chihuahuas for breakfast, and then the Energizer Bunny for dessert. Just to prove he could run faster.
As Mrs. Acker cowered in fear at the hissing beast, we six men drew our weapons. Matt had a sword, Trevor readied his bow, Ted wielded an axe, Jake displayed an impressive six-gauge shotgun, and Zach grew bone claws out of his hands. I was weaponless...until I noticed a lectern sitting in the middle of the room. I grabbed hold of this and prepared to smash the spider.
Ultimately, the spider did escape our fury. It was no fault of mine, I assure you. I was new to using a lectern as a weapon, so I smashed wildly. I smashed a few toes, but completely missed the spider as it scurried into a dark corner, waiting for another day to reveal its wrath. Though the spider was still alive, a new art of defense had been formed. It was realized that one could grab a lectern by its top and smash things against the floor with the base. This art was known as Seamusizing. The art of smashing things.
 |
| The standard lectern. More deadly than it seems. |
Then there was the day when Seamusizing grew to its peak. Many of us students were gathered in a classroom, having fun and enjoying the fact that school was almost over. A call of celebration went up. Jake, the only other senior (aside from me) present, decided to begin a game of Seamusizing. Styrofoam cups were set up around the room, and the students would madly cheer as I grabbed the lectern and smashed my way through a speed run. A few times, it was requested I Seamusize a fourth-grade visitor. No, I never fully smashed him, but it was fun to see him run. I'm sure Trevor's little brother wasn't traumatized by it. They'll let him back out of the hospital someday.
What climaxed the day, though, was when Jake grabbed hold of several packs of mustard and Thousand Island dressing. He explained his idea, we all agreed, and marched outside to the elementary playground. a little, strategically-placed pile of mustard packets was built under the seesaw. Video cameras began rolling as I grabbed hold of the opposite end and smashed yellow condiments all over the place. Super Seamusizing was born. A grand festival revolved around it, and late into the night the students cheered I smashed all sorts of condiments with the seesaw. The earth had heard no greater cheer since the gladiators last crushed the skulls of tigers.
Since that time, though, Seamusizing dwindled. School ended, meaning that lecterns were scarce. I left for college, meaning that my high school was now without Seamus and also without Seamusizing. To boot, my university's lightest lecterns are on legs, not on flat-bottomed boards. But some day, Seamusizing will return. One day, a flat-bottomed lectern will cross my path, and I will exercise my authority to destroy! SEAMUS SMASH!
 |
| A career with this fellow lies in my future...you are not alone, Hulk. |
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