Princeton Day School - Link Yearbook (Princeton, NJ)

Page 19 text:

There once was a singular monkey. He lived in the jungle among many others. Unfortunately, he was con- sidered rather peculiar by some of his fellows because he often jumped about wildly, creating disturbances com- pletely unworthy of dignified monkeys. He also had a ten- dency to slick back his fur and wear shiny black shoes. However, many of the monkey kingdom had an opportunity to change their opinion of him when, one day, a gorilla invaded their territory. Though the aforementioned mon- key was of no great size, he was known to be wiry. The small monkey leapt down from a branch over the invader's head, grabbed his knees and, though the struggle was tough, pinned the gorilla in only two - yes, two - minutes. Exhausted and overwhelmed, the con- quered gorilla crawled away, never to return. The monkeys gathered around their champion, amazed and admiring. But as they cheered him, he slipped away from the crowd to his favorite tree and began to compose a poem. Moral: When one lives I' Robert Salup near a hill, he is not like- ly to give oup. 4 1 mi, v i .-. ---- --- ------ - ----- '----1-i ---1'-Z' - T-

Page 18 text:

i Tim Medley Figuring that by decreasing the ratio of his height over weight by the length of his shadow in comparison with Boyle's theory of falling bodies, the thin, trim roadrunner knew he could easily double his speed and could do very well in the perennial road- runner cross-country championship race. After double-checking his results in his PDP-10, he concluded that his hypothesis was indeed correct and ideal for the upcom- ing competition. After donning his goggles, red-checked shirt and Adidas lightnings, he proceeded to start his trek toward the track. Once perplexed by an inability to give his best ef- fort to achieve, he closely examined his id and ego and announced to himself he would win. Yes, indeed. Moral: Roadrunners know the beaten trail. 14

Page 20 text:

Bob Peck The first of dawn's rays sped through the cave, ricocheted off one of the faded beer cans that decorated the failing Muntz , and hit the aging warthog dead in the face. Deeply disturbed by this untimely awakening, Charlie shot straight up out of bed for at least six feet, cursed spectacularly, and fell into the deep, soot-filled ashtray that nature had intended to be the cave's floor. Painfully he pulled himself from the pow- dery, gray rug and made the long, arduous trek of about ten yards to the brook by the mouth of the cave. He plunged his head into the freezing water and immediately snapped to his usual fuzzy state of awareness of the world around hun. Then he belched. lt was an uncommonly pleasing belch, the warm fumes of cheap tobacco soaked with third-rate beer, various late-eaten food smells, and even a faint whiff of . . . . . salami! Why, he hadn't had salami in over seventeen weeks! Boy, that was some belch, he thought, even for a master like me. He went back into the cave to throw out some of the older beer cans, find one of the newer butts off the floor, and dream of Madge. Yep, ole Madge sure did look good last night, he mused, all decked out in her good bowling jersey and dress hairnet with matching curlers. l'll haveta marry that broad one of these days. lf her parents ever ..... But Charlie was never subjected to this or any of the finer things that come to the average warthog with mounting years. He was shot on a rainy Tuesday in the spring by a near-sighted hunter with absolutely no sense of direction, who was in reality a re- tired meat packer from Camden. Donlt cry for ole Charlie, though, because he finally made the bigtime, for on the plaque that sports Charlie's countenance, this mortar- toting idiot inscribed: THE LION THE KING OF THE IUNGLE 16