Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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As if the arrival of the truck was a signal, a horde of screaming brats came rushing in, and with shrill cries of Plutonic Glee, they began to go through the laundry like a typhoon through a lingerie store. They fought over the clothes, ripped them, jumped on them, and played Tarzan using them as ropes. After tw-o days they began to tire, and one by one they trooped wearily home. After that seven blind hunchbacked dwarfs sorted the clothes out and took them in to be laundered. No soap is used in this exclusive Raggs' process. Just starch. The clothes are soaked for two minutes in cold water and then several bushels of starch are thrown in and the clothes are sloshed around. The shirts are ironed by laying them on the concrete floor so that a retired Indianapolis Speedway driver can run over them with a steam-roller. Everything must be at least as stiff as card- board. Any faulty products are starched again. NVash-cloths, handkcrchiefs. and underwear are especially well starched. The clothes then come under the care of the so-called Pickering-St. Andrew Liaison Officer, whose job it is to include a few S.A.C. clothes in P.C. bundles and vice-versa, just to promote good-will between the two schools' Obviously a born practical joker, he chuckles in a fiendish way to himself throughout the whole process. Next the shirts are put through an ingenious machine invented by Mr. Ragg himself. Each shirt is attacked by a pair of mechanical arms, one of which holds a pair of scissors, the other a hammer. The scissors snip off every other button and the hammer smashes the remaining ones so that they disintegrate when the shirt is put on. The clothes tor remains thereofj are packed and handed over to our old friend, the Claw, who drives them back to Pickering. MGM will soon release a screen version of this sensational piece of reportage, starring Boris Karl-off as Mr. Raggs, Bela Lugosi as Mrs. Raggs, Eric Von Stro- heim as the Claw, and many others including Peter llorre as Al Rogers. Nineteen

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fist and shouted back, XVell, thanks for the lift, you old bastard. And then the captain and the mate saw the last of him, as he turned in the water and struck out toward land, past. the black bell buoy. The ship swung away, her Diesel picked up, and the fog closed in on her writhing wake. Five hours later the ship lay anchored in the slanting afternoon sunshine a mile from the fish cannery of Frank Tsuomoto, waiting for the boat to come out. The captain sat in the cabin waiting . . . his head swung abruptly, for he had heard a sound,-the melancholy note of a buoy. He heard it again and went -out on deck and saw a black bellbuoy moving with ease and ponderous grace past the side of his anchored ship. And then the buoy heaved part of its bulk farther out of the sea to reveal dripping barnacles and then a quirk of the current rotated and the captain saw with narrowed and horror-filled eyes the large white number-H. the cracker BULLETIN-Fairy Lake, Ont., BURP Cdelayedb' E-d.itor's Note: Any resembl.anee between the laundry in this article and any other laundry, living or dead, is purely intentional and done with great malice. ' CTING ON A Hoi' TIP from a PU. student I decided to get an exclusive story on Raggs' Laundry for this edition of the QC. Early one Wediiesclayf morning I tied myself in a laundry bag, carried my- self downstairs, checked my name off the list and threw myself on the pile of soiled clothes. Not long afterward the laundry truck driver arrived and began to carry the bags out to the truck. He was a vicious-looking character with a patch over one eye, a scar on one unshaven cheek, and a hook instead of a right hand. NVith this he dragged the bags to the truck and threw them in. I will carry the scar for life. During the rough ride to Orillia, several bags of laundry fell out and were lost forever. I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my inspiration, for I had heard the rumours that the laundry did not bother to take the clothes out of the bag, but washed them bag and all. I had horrible visions of being laundered, boiled, starched and finally ironed. So at Orillia I slipped out of my bag and watched thc unloading from inside Raggs' building. Under this further rough treatment by The Claw Cfor that was the driver's namej several laundry bags were ripped open and their contents fell into the mud of the driveway. The Claw kicked them through an open door. Over this door was the following red neon sign: Citizens of Orillia! Do your children raise hola at home? Tear curtains, rip clothes ap? Send them down to Ra-ggs. We will take care of them and they can rip all the clothes they want. Eighteen

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heat TERRENCE SUMNER . HE SUN FLAMED MERICILESSLY in a metallic blue sky. The rays beat down on the sandy clearing with a pulsating intensity. The world was very still, the scrub pines were scorched and brown, their limbs drooping earthwards seek- ing moisture l-ong since evaporated. A cabin stood on the edge of the pines, its character was that of the land, dried out, wood bleached white and falling apart at the joints. It looked quite relaxed as if all desire to stand straight and whole had parted long ago. There was brown moss, once quite green and thick, splotching the roof, blotting out the contours of the hand hewn shingles. Lichen grew near the empty rainbarrel sunk in the ground at one sagging corner. Silence hung thick and viscous over the whole desolate scene. Two men sweltered inside the cabin. In appearance and character they were a study in contrast. One, seated at the table, shirtless, dressed only in filthy shorts and sneakers was not an impressive sight. His face was round and soft with multiple chins cascading into an almost non-existent neck. His body was obese-not pleasant to look at. His skin was white, like the belly of a catfish and hung in folds over his upper body. His eyes were the only attrac- tive feature about him. They were large. brown and luminous. The man was near-sighted and wore thick spectacles which lent him a rather serious mien. His name was James Forster, .and he was struggling hard to get ahead in a company where promotions were few. The heat bothered him horribly. The other man lay on the floor where it was cooler and read a lurid looking novel. He was almost the exact opp-osite of the former. He was lean and athletic with a dark handsome face that didn 't refiect an overabundance of in- telligence but was, nonetheless, quite attractive. His name was Allan Nichols but he preferred to be called Al because it sounded hard and masculine. Al wasn't much interested in getting ahead, he was only in the Company because of an influential uncle. He wished he was out of it now, this place was hotter than hell and, besides, there were no women and no bars around. The men had been living in the cabin for two months now. Forster had seen a chance for promotion and had volunteered for the job. Al had been sent there because his superior despaired of trusting him elsewhere. Their job was to make a survey of different types of fruit-bearing trees in the area with the hope of determining which survived the climate best and so could be planted in an African colony where conditions were quite similar. It was as simple as that, but actually the work was dreadfully monotonous because all there was to do was observe and take a few notes. Forster was engaged in making out a monthly report now. He hoped his superiors would be pleased with his concise and extensive observations, it might mean a promotion. Al c-ontinued to read his novel, laughing occasionally to him- self. The silence was broken by a grinding of car gears in the sandy clearing out- side. Al jumped to his feet, dropped the book. Twenty