Reynolds Club

MICHAEL: My friends, when a poet is in deep pursuit of knowledge, justice, and virtue, he is oftentimes temporarily derailed by a most vile entity: entertainment.

MILTON: Indeed, it is so. I hate fun.

EUGENE: Ah, yes, it is true. Once when I was a young scholar, I attempted to play hopscotch with a polar bear. Sadly, it attempted to eat me. It was, in fact, the worst experience of my life. However, I was able to channel my wounds and scars into a good cause: never again have I interrupted my philosophic thinkings and ponderings by having fun.

MILTON: Ah, yes. Sadly, some young scholars at this university lack our level of intellect.

MICHAEL: Indeed, it is so.

MILTON: Thus, they oftentimes attempt to entertain themselves. An entire pristine building has been erected for this very purpose; a building which contains rooms for tomfoolery and time-wasting activities like watching plays or listening to concerts.

EUGENE: Indeed, it is enough to make a true philosopher weep. Why are these students not learning all the time?

MICHAEL: Ah, it is but one of life's unanswered questions, my dear Eugene.

MILTON: As such, we must embark on a bathroom visitation trip to the Reynolds Club. Let us begin in the basement.

Reynolds Club Basement

EUGENE: Gentlemen, let us pause for a moment to remember all of those dear students who unwittingly decided to go to the Reynolds Club barbershop, which sits before our very eyes.

MILTON: Indeed, just as the flute player plays the flute, so are the haircuts received from the Reynolds Club barbershop the worst haircuts that I have ever seen.

MICHAEL: Sadly, it is so. However, the lucky citizens who are able to venture past the all-seeing eye of the Reynolds Club barbershop are treated to a surprisingly not-awful bathroom.

EUGENE: I have discovered two stalls and three urinals; they all appear to be in relatively good condition.

MICHAEL: Furthermore, it appears that the university has taken it upon itself to repaint the walls inside each stall. I really like smelling paint.

MILTON: My friends, I have found a most wonderful discovery: poetry! Some enlightened student - a fellow reader of Plato, no doubt - has written a splendid missive in verse on the right-hand-side wall in one of the stalls.

EUGENE: Indeed, this poem is highly inspiring. We must copy this down for future ponderance:

In Summertime the walls are clean
Protected from the words obscene
The school believes that it is safe
From shithouse proofs and poems erased
But there are those with memories long
Who while they sit with exposed schlong
And ass, do carry on the torch
Of shithouse poets come before
No wall is safe! no stall pristine!
Their battle cry, their meager dream
And where ever they find a place
Where those who creation do hate
Have taken it themselves upon
To whiten walls with egos strong
We enter in with righteous force
We come, we see, we write, of course

MICHAEL: Ah, yes, poetry of the shithouse variety. It is my favorite kind.

MILTON: I feel that the message of the poem is indeed an uplifting one, and it is a sign of humanity's infinite struggle for justice.

EUGENE: But Milton, I do not understand. What does this have to do with justice?

MILTON: Imagine a line, Eugene. On one end lies point A, and on the other lies point B. The line is divided by point C, which is anti-perpendicular to point D, which lies at the geometric nexus of the A-C-B axis. Point E, on the other hand, is equidistant from points A, B, and D, but it is twice as far from point C. Point G lies to the right of point C, but to the left of point E. Much as these points are the meaning of the line, this poem is the meaning of justice.

EUGENE: But what about point F? Where does that come in?

MILTON: Point F does not exist. It is merely a figment of your philosophic inquiry.

MICHAEL: You know, Milton, I just spent the last 30 seconds drawing your line on the floor. I almost ran out of pee by the end, but thankfully, you stopped at point G. And honestly, I don't think that your diagram makes any geometric sense. Also: what on earth is a geometric nexus?

MILTON: Indeed.

The philosophers' rating: Seventh Form of the Good

Reynolds Club Second Floor

MILTON: The second floor of the Reynolds Club is an important place indeed: Uncle Joe's - or, if you are lame - Hallowed Grounds is located on this floor, and apparently it is a popular spot for scholars wishing to study in an environment that is loud with bad indie music and smelly with bad pool players.

EUGENE: I have also heard that many a student has escaped to the second floor bathrooms in an attempt to save himself from watching a particularly awful play either on the first or third floor.

MICHAEL: Just as the soul is tripartite in form, this bathroom is tripartite in the good.

MILTON: Indeed, it is so. The three clear positive details are the fact that there is a urinal within a stall on the left and a window overlooking Hutch courtyard on the right.

EUGENE: Just as it is unwise for a philosopher-king to allow his subjects to see the inner workings of society, it is unwise to let people see your bottom while you pee. Thus, this ingenious urinal-within-a-stall invention is equivalent to maintaining the stability of society.

MICHAEL: Indeed, it is a thing to be praised. Doors should not be available only for those who poop.

The philosophers' rating: Sixth Form of the Good


Miles
Simha