The time: November 1992. The scene: York University campus.

After finally discovering that the only reason why students go to dinner with the provosts is so that they can get drunk, the provosts from all the colleges got together for a meeting. In order to try to not look inconspicuous, they decided to inflate themselves with a bycicle pump stolen from Riverside cycles and float 2500 feet above campus inflated to a length of 70 feet each. We now bring you...

REVENGE OF THE INFLATABLE PROVOSTS

The provosts are called here by the first letter of their college.

G: Is everyone here?
A: Not yet, we're still waiting for the Derwent provost. Apparently, he has a puncture on his left leg. This is causing him to make embarassing noises and I think I saw him hiding behind the stone Buddah.
L: Actually, I just told him that he should use any book on psychology he could find to cover up the hole.
W: Does anybody want to here my theory on why there is no lake between Alcuin and the Chemistry building?
A: Is that because the Alcuin porters were fed up of swimming to and from the Chemistry building with passangers on their backs and decided to drink up the whole lake by themselves.
W: No you stupid dodo, it's because the absence of a lake would greatly ease the escape of goblins and elves if there were a fire in Alcuin.
A: Yeah sure, and I'm Marylin Monroe on acid.
V: Would you two keep quiet, I'm trying to pray for the Lithuanian corn harvest.
W: Why can't you pray for something more unusual instead, like the Latvian rubber-duck harvest or the well-being of the Australian elbow licking competition or...
V: You're begining to get up my musical nose, now would you shut up.
W: ... the first siamese cat to set foot on Mars or...
[the Vanbrugh provost in an angry outburst releases the air from the Wentworth provost who falls towards the ground and lands on a goose]
G: My God, this is getting boring. I could have spent this time keeping my dog warm.
A: Why don't we sing a song to pass the time. Unfortunately, the only song I know is "Happy birthday to you"
L: You can sing if you want, but I came here to discuss the problem of students getting drunk at our dinners.
A: But I don't know anyone who has a birthday today.
L: PRETEND IT'S YOUR MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY!!! Christ! the people you have to put up with.
A: [singing] Happy birthday to you, etc...
D: [floating up from below] Sorry I'm late. I've had to figure out which psychology book I could use to cover my puncture. I chose one on guilt complexes because my mother allways kept telling me to clean between my toes, and I forgot this morning.
V: Why didn't you chose one on dream psychology instead?
G: Hey, aren't you supposed to be praying for the Lithuanian corn harvest?
V: Oh yeah, nearly forgot. [continues praying].
D: Could anyone tell me what this is? [pulls out from pocket what looks like prune]
A: [still singing] ...Happy birthday to you, etc...
L: I think it's the Wentworth provost. The Vanbrugh provost deflated him in a fit of rage.
[The Derwent provost proceeds to orally inflate the Wentworth provost]
G: Good, now that we're all here, I would like to discuss the increasing numbers of students leaving our dinners getting pissed. I first noticed it when various students who I invited round for dinner seemed more rat-arsed after the dinner, than before. At first, I thought that this was pure chance, but when I noticed that I had significantly less wine after the dinner than before, things began to look a bit fishy.
[pause]
G: Is anyone listening?
L: [quietly and in a high pitched voice] I am.
W: [while being inflated] me too.
J: Me three.
W: I thought James college wasn't finished yet, so how come it's got a provost?
J: As you can see, I am still attached to my umbilical chord which leads to my mother stationed on the ground in Bootham. I will return to my mother after this meeting so that she can complete her pregnancy without any further interuptions.
W: Umbilical chord?! For a moment there, I thought you were just extremely pleased to see us.
A: [by now beginning to sing out of tune] : ...Happy birthday dear your mother, etc...
G: I am trying to say something, would you all listen.
V: Ok, I've finished praying. Could you repeat what You have said.
G: Good, now that... ...a bit fishy [pause] is anyone listening?
V: I think that when I said repeat, I didn't mean rewind and replay exactly.
W: [talks to Derwent provost] Ermm... I think you can stop inflating me now. You see, I'm only supposed to be 70 feet long, not 700000.
[The Derwent provost lets go and Wentworth provost is propelled by the air escaping from his valve which the Derwent provost forgot to close. The Wentworth provost is seen disapearing beyond the horizon]
D: Oh never mind, Let's continue.
G: I then began to monitor how much wine each student was drinking by watching their faces and seeing how much of the stuff passed through their mouths.
A: [still singing] : ...Happy birthday to you, etc...
V: I tried that once, but one of my subjects kept complaining that I stared at her and that people were making remarks that I fancied her.
[At this point, the Langwith Provost explodes]
D: You think you've got problems. The same thing happend to me, only this time, the complaint came from a guy.
G: After spending many nights awake in my bed with only my Jedi knight carved out of a carrot for company, I figured out that the students were in fact using OUR WINE to get PISSED right in front of our noses AT OUR EXPENSES!!! It really makes you want to fill your armpits with carbon, doesn't it?
J: Oh boo-hoo-hoo, what a personal disaster. [If you haven't seen the "Mary Whitehouse Experience", I would advise you to shoot yourself where it hurts]
V: Shut up, you havent even been born yet [grabs James's provost's ubmilical chord and pulls it hoping he will shut up]
J: You smegheads, that was the secret code to my mother to pull me back inside. [is yanked downwards] Byeeeeee.
ALL (including the Alcuin provost who has just stopped singing and the Wentworth provost who is just passing by after his first complete orbit of Earth): Oh boo-hoo-hoo what a personal disaster.

TO BE CONTINUED...

By Andrei Ellman, Aaardvark by royal appointment.