little timmy

7/30/2019 Little Timmy

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Chapter 24

Little Timmy woke up.

"What is my name?" he said. "I have no name!"

"Hello," said Aunt June. "I'm Aunt June. You lost your name."

"Why?" said little Timmy.

I don't know, said Aunt June.

"You are not a helpful aunt," said Little Timmy.

"Well I can tell you this," said Aunt June. "You might find your name at The Final

Pierce Sports Frolic."

Just then, an airplane crashed into Aunt June and she died.

"Aunt June?" said little Timmy. "Why did you turn into so much smoldering coal?"

Aunt June did not answer.

"I wonder where Sports Frolic is?" said Little Timmy. "I wonder when it is?"

Sports Folic would be at the Henry Crown Center on February 3rd at 8pm. But

Little Timmy did not know that.


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Chapter 23

William Yeung, Charlie Sun, Erin Simpson, and Tyler Webb arrived at the glen at

the same time. They stood apart and stared at the wreckage.

"We are too late," said grim Charlie Sun.

"Which way did he go?" asked William.

"This way," said Erin, heading toward a footpath into the forest.

There on the path lay a flaming hot Cheeto.

"We need to hurry," said Tyler. "Pierce Sports Frolic is on February 23, 8pm, in

Henry Crown, which is a great distance away."

----

Little Timmy had traveled a very long way. His flaming hot Cheetos were gone,

and was hungry. He was thinking about a little nap under one of the big trees

when the trail turned and suddenly he was in a meadow, a great field surrounded

by hills all around. The clouds hung like smoke over the hills, curling around their

tops like his mother's window treatments, sheer and drooping with age.

Little Timmy saw someone in the middle of the field. He walked there.

"Hello," he said.

Then he walked closer and saw it was a statue.

A woman stood atop a block of stone. She smiled out toward the western hills.

She wore a long flowing gown.

There were letters on the block: SAMNGOOI. Little Timmy sounded them out:

"Sam 'N Gooey." Sam and Gooey! This must be Gooey, but where was Sam?

"Hi Gooey," he said. "I don't know my name or I would tell you."

Gooey smiled out toward the western hills. She smiled so kindly that Little

Timmy's chest hurt a little. Little Timmy wished she would talk to him.


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"I will sing to you," he said. "Perhaps then you will wake up and walk off your

stone."

Little Timmy sang. He sang about the hills and the smoky clouds. He sang about

the violet waves of the sea back home. He sang about Aunt June and the plane.

He sang about losing his name. He sang about his mother.

He sang very beautifully.

As he sang the hills and the meadow and the trees and the animals and the

insects and even the birds all grew silent. The grass quivered in its hush. The

statue seemed to soften, to grow warm, and just as Timmy was ending the

song...

Nothing.

The statue was still a statue. Timmy stopped and sat down. The hush left and the birds started their own

song, echoing Timmy's melody.

Timmy dropped his head to his chest and walked out of the meadow and into the

forest.

As he entered the forest on the western side of the meadow, a single tear ran

down the statue's cheek.

---

Dear All,

This is the author. The narrator is unreliable. The statue was actually Sam

Throsby.

Best,

Nancy.

Dear All,

This is the narrator. That's insane. It's about Sam Ngooi.

Best,


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Samantha

Chapter 22

The presidents strode into the meadow. Will ran up to the statue:

"Sam! Did you see the boy? Was he here? What did he say? Was that him

singing? Which way did he go?"

Sam said nothing.

"Come on Sam, say something! Help us out!"

Sam said nothing. "So it's like that, is it," said Will. "She gets this way," he said to the others.

"Will," said Erin. "She's a statue."

"This way," said grim Charlie Sun. "Let's follow her eternal gaze."

---

Little Timmy strode through the forest. He did not know where he was going and

did not know his name. He knew only this path. Suddenly, someone started

singing and Little Timmy fell flat on his back, knocked over by a tree sprung up

where the path used to be.

"Ouch!" said Timmy

"Oh my!" said Ellen Verner.

"Who are you?" said Timmy.

"I am Ellen," said Ellen. "When I sing, trees grow. I never know where."

"That is very inconvenient," said Timmy.

"BUTT!" said Ji, and collapsed in giggles.

"That is Ji," said Ellen.

"BUTT!" said Ji, and fell over laughing.

"She likes to say that," said Ellen. "She thinks it's funny. No one is sure why."

"Tell me about the worst, most humiliating moment in your entire life," said Mitra,


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pen ready.

"Who are you?" said Timmy

"BUTT!" said Ji, tripping over her hilarity.

"Go ahead, tell me," said Mitra. "Today I woke up and had no name," said Timmy.

"This is riDICulous," said Tyler Wojak. "What is even going on in this story. It

makes NO SENSE at all. Who is Ji? Why can't this stupid kid remember his

name?"

"BUTT!" said Ji, sprawling in guffaws.

"Come here quick!" said Ali G.

"Tralalalala!" sang Ellen.

A tree grew around Ji, Mitra, and Tyler. Their heads stuck out of the tree like

three puppies in a laundry basket.

"BUTT!" shouted Ji, her face contorting in mirth.

Ali G. grabbed Timmy and leaped over the first tree, which was shorter than her.

"Listen," she said. "If you want to find your name, you must head to The Final

Pierce Sports Frolic February 23 at 8pm in Henry Crown."

"I know that already," said Timmy. "But I don't know how to get there."

"To get there," said Ali, "You must become a true Thompsonite."

"Tralalalala!" sang Ellen.

Ali shot up toward the clouds. "Find Bigwood!" she shouted over and over, her

voice growing tiny as the tree hurtled upward.

---

Dear All,

This is the author. The narrator is unreliable. This was actually about Thomas

Choi and poop, not Ji and butts, Jasmine, not Ellen, and Maya, not Mitra. Tyler


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Wojak though is Tyler Wojakwho else could he be?

Narrator: This is the narrator. That's ridiculous. It's definitely about Ji, Ellen, and Mitra, and poop is not a

factor.

Author: Don't be stupid. I am the author.

Narrator: Playing the AUTHOR card again eh? Asshole.

Author: Well I mean I'm the author. My will is art.

Narrator: The narrator is the true bomb. You are now a character in your own

email.

The author scratched his head. The narrator grinned.

"But wait," said the author. "Who is narrating this?"

Best,

Namantha

---

Dear All,

This is God. The author and the narrator are narrow-minded. Both their

interpretations are correct.

Best,

Jennifer

Chapter 21

Little Timmy came to a dark, wide river with chunks of ice floating on it. He could

not cross it.

He sat down on a rock and cried.

The rock stirred. It shook. It shot up into the air, knocking Timmy on his back.

It was a meerkat. His name was Colin (Weaver or Bohan, whichever you prefer, both interpretations are

correct).

"LITTLE BOY!" he purred. "YOU MUST GO TO THE FINAL PIERCE SPORTS


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FROLIC SATURDAY FEBRUARY 23 8PM AT HENRY CROWN!!!!"

"I must become a true Thompsonite first," said little Timmy.

"Ah well, a true Thompsonite is game for anything," grinned the meerkat and

jumped in the river.

"GRASP LIFE BY THE HORNS BOY!" he caterwauled as he floated down the

river on a chunk of ice. "DO YOU WANT YOUR NAME?"

"Well," said Little Timmy, and jumped into the river.

He began to drown.

Chapter 20

The presidents arrived at the river.

"How did he cross this river?" said Tyler.

"Look!" shouted Will.

"Meerkat droppings," said Erin. "He met Colin."

"A fateful meeting," said Charlie. "Now only the RAs can save him and bring him

to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic February 23 at 8pm in the Henry Crown

Field House."

----

Timmy was on the bottom of the rushing river. One of his legs was no longer

attached to his body. He was numb. His lungs were filled with water. He

wondered if he would meet his mother and find his name if he never made it out

of this river. He wondered if he would ever see Gooey again.

He looked up toward the top of the river hoping to see the sun as he died.

Suddenly high above him he saw two people dancing, their forms twisting and skipping on the surface of

the water.

They danced and they danced. Their dancing told him they were fabulous cooks,

immaculately well-dressed, and hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch.


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"WE WILL SAVE YOU!" they shouted as they danced.

Chapter 19

"There you go" said CJ. "Your leg's back on, your lungs are right as rain, and"

"Don't do that again!" said Mo. "It's very dangerous to follow Colin without a

snorkel."

Little Timmy stood up. "Now can we go to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic on

February 23 at 8pm in the Henry Crown Field House?" he asked. "I want to

find my name!"

"We will take you there!" said the RAs.

Then their phones buzzed. Jay-Z wanted CJ and Beyonce wanted Mo to meet

them at AlineaAileen and Jasmine were down to babysit Blue Ivy.

"Call Shahzad!" they said as they ran away so fast.

"Who is Shahzad?" said Little Timmy.

Chapter 18

Little Timmy had seen a statue, met some interesting people, dove in a river, and

been knit back together on his journey. He had learned that his name could be

found at the Final Pierce Sports Frolic, that in order to go to the Final Pierce

Sports Frolic he'd have to become a true Thompsonite, that he needed to find

Bigwood, and that true Thompsonites are game for anything but always bring a

snorkel.

But he was still wandering in an neverending mountain forest wondering where

the Henry Crown Field House was.

He trod and he trod and he trod. He ascended.

He came to a high place where he could see beyond the tree lines into a vast

row of fields beneath. He sat down, his back against the hillside, cedar needles


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sticking into the backs of his knees, and stared out over the fields.

The sun set and turned the wheat to embers. A breeze teased his face. The air

tasted like milk and apples. He was lonely and he wanted to know his name, but

for a moment he felt happy.

He fell asleep.

When he woke up, it was night. The moon shone blue iridescence over the fields

below. The wheat was moving, swaying, churning. The wheat was not wheat at

all anymore. It was thousands of people dancing in the moonlight.

"Who are they?" he asked.

"Thompson past," said a Quokka.

"Who are you?" he asked. "And why are they dancing?"

"Kimberly," said the Quokka. "They dance together every third Thursday of

months starting with the letter 'F.'"

"But," said Timmy.

"Yes, once a year." said Kim. "And the light is bluish because the closer it is to

death, the more the moon looks like the Thompson House Lounge, a.k.a. FRYIN'

'N' BUYIN'. Look!"

The moon melted and set the air on fire. Wave after wave of blue moonfire rolled

across the sky like a thousand guitars screaming air raid sirens in liquid-glass

tiny bells warning in and out, far and near, the luminescent ridge ripping the sky

tide.

Thompson 1960-2012 danced beneath the molten sky. Their clothes and skin

burned off. The blithe skeletons glowed bright blue as they stepped. "What does this mean, Kimmy?"

asked Timmy.

"A true Thompsonite dances to the bitter end," said Kim.

"A Time, a Time, and Half a Time, and it will be Saturday, February 23, at


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8:00pm, and you must go to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic and find your

name."

Chapter 6

Little Timmy woke up. The sun was shining on his face. He was alone. He looked

at the field below him. It was filled with dandelions.

Little Timmy had learned that his name could be found at the Final Pierce Sports

Frolic, that in order to go to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic he'd have to become a

true Thompsonite, that he needed to find Bigwood, and that true Thompsonites

are game for anything but always bring a snorkel, and that true Thompsonites

dance to the bitter end.

He was hungry. Underneath a beautiful fig tree he found a bag of flaming

hot Cheetos, a small bottle of ranch dressing, and a bottle of nard. A flag nailed

high in the tree above waved cheerfully. He feasted.

(In the meanwhile, Jennifer David ate some Ben and Jerry's.)

Thus fortified, Timmy set out.

He trod and he trod and trod back down the mountain. All was dappled by the

sun through the trees.

Around the bend he met two people with death's heads. The bodies were fleshy

and clothed, and the hair was still on the heads, but the faces were skeletons.

The taller one with darker tufts of hair said "Hi! I'm Sam!"

The less tall one with lighter tufts of hair said "Hi! Ben!"

"Hi! I lost my name!" said Timmy.

"It's ok!" said Sam. "We lost our faces." "We sure did," said the Coin.

"Stevie Ray Vaughn came back from the dead and played Blue Chicago with

Gary Clark Jr.," said the Coin.


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"We said, YES! WE WILL GO!" said Sam. "And it wasawesome."

"But then they both starting soloing at the same time," said Ben

"A rare thing" said Sam.

"Indeed" said the Coin. "And our faces melted off."

"MELTED RIGHT OFF," said Sam.

"Worth it," said the Coin.

"TOTALLY worth it" said Sam.

"We have no more faces!" they said.

A man walked up with a dog. Where their feet used to be were bloody stumps

bound with bits of driftwood.

"Almost home?" said Sam to them.

"I have walked 500 miles and I have walked 498 miles more," said Charles.

"That's a long way," said Timmy. "Are you looking for your feet?"

"No," said Charles. "Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down

at her door."

"She is not too happy with you," said the Coin. "She would have preferred you

stayed home with her and the kids. Or at least out on the corner in the pouring

rain."

"Argh." said Timmy. He threw up the Cheetos.

"Listen kid," said the Coin. "We're going to help Charles and Darcy walk home. But keep in mind: a true

Thompsonite knows how many guitar solos are enough

and how many miles are enough. Now wipe your chin and let's go to the Final

Pierce Sports Frolic February 23rd at 8pm in the Henry Crown Center."

Little Timmy had earned that his name could be found at the Final Pierce Sports

Frolic February 23 8pm at Henry Crown, that in order to go to the Final Pierce

Sports Frolic he'd have to become a true Thompsonite, that he needed to find


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Bigwood, that a true Thompsonite is game for anything but always brings a

snorkel, that a true Thompsonite dances to the bitter end, and that a true

Thompsonite knows how many guitar solos are enough and how many miles are

enough.

Chapter 12

Timmy kept walking. He wished he had a banana. He found a corn dog on a

rock. He ate it.

He trod and he trod and he trod.

He came to a small town on the bottom of the mountain.

As Timmy walked into the small city, some of the residents were deciding the fate

of a guy from up the hill.

"He was trying to escape his town and we caught him," said John Schmitt. "I

brought him to you."

"Who are you?" Timmy asked.

"We are the wise women of Abel!" said Lauren and Mara.

"And I am the wise man of Abel!" said Justin.

"And I am Jasmine Hebel!" said Jasmine Hebel.

"Do you know my name?" said Timmy.

"Shut up kid, we don't know your name" said Mara kindly.

"Well what should I do with this guy?" asked John. "Cut off his head and kick it back up the hill Fifa-style

to his friends on top!" said

Mara with a playful grin.

"No, no, no," said Justin. "Cut him in half and give one half to each of his

mothers."

Little Timmy sat down and put his face on the dirt.

"You're upsetting this boy!" sang Lauren. She spun in a circle, raised her hands in


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the sky, and belted to the treetops "A live dog is better than a dead lion!"

"No one from up there is supposed to come down here," said Mara. "We need

them up there to block the sun from us."

"We would turn the sun into a great red ball of dying screams!" sang Lauren.

"Remember the treaty between Mursili II of Hatti and Niqmepa of Ugarit," said

Justin.

11 (lines 61-69) [And if] some [population] sets out [and comes] to

[your land], and you, Niqmepa, [speak] unfavorable words before them

[and direct them] to the mountains or to another land, you will transgress

the oath. Speak favorable words before them! Show them [to] the road

(to Hatti)! Give [them] beer and provisions....

"Mursili was a colossal wuss," said Mara, "and so was Niqmepa for that matter."

"Let us consider this treaty," said Justin. "It could mean we should feed this guy

send him home. Yet the texts says "give them beer," which could mean that we

get him blotto and hope he smacks into a large piece of driftwood on the road,

which would then shoot out fire and consume all the other trees, as the parable

goes."

"It says 'speak no unfavorable words,' which is to say to treat him with utter

kindness," sang Lauren.

"Or to speak kindly to him so he doesn't anticipate the removal of his head,"

suggested Mara with a gentle smile. "We are not exactly Ugaritic" observed John.

"Chop him in half and give him to his mothers!" cried Justin.

"Off with his head!" said Mara.

But his head was already gone. So was the rest of him. He had crept off and

jumped into a river. He didn't have a snorkel.


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"This love is taking its toll!" sang Lauren.

"Listen kid," said Justin. "A true Thompsonite knows that a word rightly spoken is

like apples of gold in pictures of silver. Now get on to the Final Pierce Sports

Frolic

Chapter 3

Little Timmy left Thompson-is-Abel, aka Abel-on-a-hill, and continued on the

path. He hoped it was the path to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic Saturday

February 23 at 8pm, but he didn't know if it was.

He trod and it began to snow and he trod and white drifts and he trod and there

was ice on his eyelashes. The dark branches of the pine trees waved like flags

against the thick white wind.

Timmy's legs up to his waist were plunging into snow driftscrunchand he

struggled to yank them outploip.

Crunch. Ploip. Crunch. Ploip. Cruch ploip. Crunchploipcruchpoip.

Timmy realized that the crunches and ploips were faster than his legs. He looked

to the side and saw a figure walking beside him in a black sweatshirt.

They walked together silently until his companion turned into a cave with a large

wooden door.

"Enter if you wish," he said to Timmy.

Timmy hesitated at the entrance of the cave. He watched him walk in, shake the

snow off his body, turn on the radio, sit abruptly, and begin drawing. There was a low red fire in the

corner and Tame Impala's Endors Toi was playing

on the radio.

Timmy peered over the shoulder of the figure. He was drawing a series of

cartoons, but not just one strip like in the Sunday Funnies, but page after page of

colored deeds.


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One was a friendly looking lion sitting at a desk facing the artist with the letters NO-T-J-E-S-U-S written

down his stomach.

"Is that a story? What is it about? I can't find my name," said Little Timmy.

"This is the story of Bigwood," said the artist. "That is, it is a story about

everything. I don't know your name, but you can call me 'The Icon.'"

"I'm supposed to find Bigwood," said Little Timmy. "But I have no idea how and I

don't think I will."

"I thought that too," the black-sweatshirted figure replied, his pen in hand. "But

then he rescued me in a bar fight."

"I am not old enough for bars," said Little Timmy.

The man smiled with all his teeth. He beckoned Little Timmy. "Bars will be loved,"

he said. "A true Thompsonite knows Bigwood will always find him."

He held up the book of drawings to Timmy. In this panel there was dark room with

shriveled pool tables. In the corner sat a laughing group. They seemed so happy

he could almost hear them laughing. He could hear them laughing. Their mouths

were moving and one girl just flipped back her hair.

Little Timmy's feet no longer touched the floor. His elbows now rested on slick

wet wood. "What'll you have?" asked the bartender.

Little Timmy had arrived at Jimmy's.

Chapter 2

Little Timmy grasped the bar to keep from falling somewhere else. He looked around.

A man sat in the booth. He had a red and white name flag that said HELLO my

name is and then in black marker N-O-T-A-D-A-M-L-E-V-I-N-E. Joyce and

Proust walked in. They sat down with him.

"Do you like truffles?" Joyce asked Proust.

"Yes," said Proust. "Do you?"


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"Yes," said Joyce.

"I also like truffles," said Adam.

They got up and left the bar.

Four people came in and sat next to Timmy at the bar.

"We have found you," said Erin.

"Have you learned how to be a true Thompsonite?" said William.

"I have learned that..." said Timmy.

"Is there really such a thing?" asked Tyler, "or do we just tell ourselves what it

means to be a true Thompsonite to create stories out of the jettison?"

"There is such a thing," said Erin. "These qualities are jars of pickles in a

basement."

"They are borders of cows in a kitchen," said Tyler. He waved a piece of

driftwood at Erin. "Name one real thing a true Thompsonite does."

"A true Thompsonite does not threaten visiting barflies with Bigwood!" said Erin.

"Did you ever give up?" Charlie asked Timmy.

"I stopped singing to Gooey," said Little Timmy.

"Never stop singing," said Charlie. "Never stop." "You have failed," said Erin. "You will have to pass

several tests tomorrow at The

Final Pierce Sports Frolic February 23 at 8pm in Henry Crown to see if you

are worthy of becoming a true Thompsonite and finding yourname."

The presidents exited.

Little Timmy cried.

In the corner at a small round table sat a long flinty man with a wide grin, a less

long man with long hair and a beard, and Julian.

"We don't cry," said Pierce to Timmy. "We don't cry. Drink this."

The other two watched Timmy slide down, walk over, and approach the table. He


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lifted the honey fire to his lips. His head begin to spin.

Pierce chortled grimly.

"Why is the room spinning again?" asked Timmy.

Ross hummed and looked not at Timmy, but over his shoulder. "Everything will

be alright" he said in dead voice. He resumed humming. Timmy could not quite

catch his eye.

"Everything will be all right," said Julian, closing his eyelids.

Timmy fell under the table.

Pierce grinned. Ross hummed. Julian thought. They slowly leaned closer and

closer and closer and closer until their foreheads were touching.

Without looking at each other, they all began to laugh.

Chapter 7

Little Timmy woke up. His mouth tasted of rancid oranges. He crawled from

under the table. The bar was empty. The light outside was grey.

His body ached. His head ached. His teeth ached. He had learned that his name could be found at the

Final Pierce Sports Frolic

February 23 8pm at Henry Crown, that in order to go to the Final Pierce Sports

Frolic he'd have to become a true Thompsonite, that he needed to find Bigwood,

that a true Thompsonite is game for anything but always brings a snorkel, that a

true Thompsonite dances to the bitter end, that a true Thompsonite knows how

many guitar solos are enough and how many miles are enough, that a true

Thompsonite knows that a word rightly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of

silver, that a true Thompsonite knows Bigwood will always find him, and that

a true Thompsonite does not threaten visiting barflies with Bigwood or give up.

He had also learned a sad thing: he would never be a true Thompsonite. He

knew that in the pit of his stomach. This is probably why he lost his name to


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begin with. He did not deserve his name, or to be a true Thompsonite, or to meet

Bigwood.

He stared at a flag hanging above the bar. He sighed.

He would go to the Final Pierce Sports Frolic February 23 at 8pm in the

Henry Crown Field House. He didn't know his way home anyway, and what else

could he do? He would fail, again, and he would not find his name, and he would

not become a true Thompsonite, but he was on this path now and there was

nothing more but weary treading, nothing but crunches and ploips in his ears.

And maybe, just maybe, if he tried very hard and did very well in one of the

challenges set for him, maybe then someone would overlook his failures and tell

him his name. Maybe if he made one more effort he could become someone

Thompsonites liked okan associate's associate.

Frozen statues behind and fruitless toil ahead, Little Timmy walked out of

Jimmy's.

He crossed 55th going south. He trod and heas he looked ahead, he saw a

great gathering of people and a hubbub: a fierce and joyful clamor. They were

lined up on both sides of the sidewalk. They were holding banners. They were

chanting. They were beating pots and pans. He drew closer and saw Mario and

Safiya and Alex Dunlap and they were smiling, and they had the nicest smiles he

had ever seen. And everyone else was smiling too and they were looking at him.

He looked at one flag and he saw "W-E-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-L-I-T-T-L-E-T-I-M-M-Y" and he heard

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Mario and Safiya and Alex and they hugged

him.

And a man wearing a large wooden letter 'M' said "I love you Timmy!" and

splashed water on Timmy's face with a piece of driftwood.


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"We love you Little Timmy!" said Ayo and Gabe and Daniel and Michael Paul and

Neaka.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Jenn and Maura and Katzer and Sean Venard

and Allison McCaffery.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said William and Zane and Alice and Ben C. Yu and

Jane and Sonia and Claire.

There were bowls of bananas and oranges and chocolate everywhere. Megan

Augustiny put a banana in Timmy's hand. He ate it as he walked.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Dana and Diana Chen and Steven Bogacz and

Shir and Scott.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Eva and Eva and Sarah and Despena and Neal

and Henry and Ajay.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Lyda and Cathay and Patrick and Benjamin

Struve and Penelope Rosenstock-Murav.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Derek and Chelsey and Cameron and Chana

and Irvin and Kaia and Jasmine and Aileen.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Adam Gillette and Kumar and Tyler Wojack and

Gaby and Ryder and Colin and Colin.

"We love you Little Timmy!" said Miriam and Serene and Mitra and Ellen and Kim

and Ali and Ji, who then fell on the ground laughing.

"We love you Little Timmy!" shouted all the rest, all the Thompsonites, too many

to name, too many for Timmy to take in, even as many of them hugged him and tousled his hair.

They shouted loud and beat the pans like a battery against death as Timmy

walked the gauntlet of loud affection. The sun broke through the clouds and there

was a double rainbow but no one except Anerudh noticed. Little Timmy was


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crying again.

In the middle of the line sat the presidents smoking double-apple hookah and

drinking Turkish coffee with sugar. Erin blew sweet smoke into the cold air and

said, "Welcome, Little Timmy."

"I don't understand," he said.

"A true Thompsonite is loved by Thompsonites," said grim Charlie Sun. "That's

really the whole show."

"I love you Little Timmy," said Sam.

"Gooey!" said Timmy. She hugged him like cold stone statues do not.

CJ and Mo and Jay-Z and Beyonce formed a circle around Little Timmy. "You

don't have to be sad anymore LittleTimmy," said Beyonce.

CJ took one of his hand and Mo the other. Flanked by Jay and Bey and Gooey

and followed by the presidents and the rest of Thompsonite Past and Present,

they marched to the great wooden doors of the Henry Crown Field House.

Standing there flintily were Pierce, Ross, and Julian. "Welcome Little Timmy" said

Pierce. "Now that you've figured out your name and become a true Thompsonite,

let's go win Sports Frolic."

Ross smiled. "Bow down, bow down" he sang, and all of Thompson joined in:

BOW DOWN, BOWN DOWN

BEFORE THE IRON CEILING.

OR BE CRUSHED, BE CRUSHED

BY OUR JOLLY BOOTS OF DOOM!

THE END

little timmy

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