Chapter 1: Origins
Part 2: The Headmaster
When we asked about Rufus's school days, he got a wistful, contemplative look coming from the area around his rectum. Fortunately he was sitting down, so we didn't get to see it, and the look on his face was far more appropriate for the circumstances.
"My school? My school!? I've never forgiven those syphilis riddled rat finks for the torture and humiliation they put me through!" His eyes burned with an angry fire and his hand, which had found its way to his genitals, was flicking his right testicle repeatedly. "Those people, if you can call them that, I prefer to call them scum breathing, shit stained, ass widening, thigh sucking, wart fondling, Twilight reading, low lives who masturbate into hand lotion and play 'who's in my mouth' with doberman pinschers that- Deborah! Saliva vacuum!"
With that Rufus was escorted out into the waiting room, injected with Pepto Bismol and heroin, and wiped. Fortunately for us, we have entered the time of his life when actual records have been kept, and we can now do independent research regardless of his personal feelings. We dug a bit, and found his headmaster, Heinrich Aribertheim, was still alive and living in Swaziland.
When we found him, he kindly invited us in and had us sit down on some quite comfortable, if oddly leathered, recliners. He fetched us tea, gave us some cookie dough, and showed us the school uniforms he designed for his students. They were a lovely shade of tan, with red arm bands, a white patch, and a window made of mostly black stitching, but with what looked like permanent marker connecting the arms. "Bloody patch makers forgot to stitch the arms of the swast... er... window together. The window stands for the window to the soul that we open in educating the youth. That and glass." He then went into his desk, past crunchy copies of "Chunky Druids Fucking Cookie Jars" magazine, and pulled out a picture of his best friend from his school days, whom he only referred to as "Dolphy."
He finally sat down and removed his eye, placing it in our journalist's cup of tea, which was oddly salty and smelled vaguely of ammonia, but we didn't want to insult him. He sighed and recounted his time with Rufus...
"Ah, Rufus. He was a very special boy. Sure he did well in all his classes, Zyclon-B, advanced ditch digging, walrus kissing, ob cetera, ob cetera, but where he really shined was the specialist classes, such as Plumbing and Germ warfare... I mean mineralogy.
"I remember when he came to me and forced me down onto the floor, saying what he wanted to do was give me some tea, or a tea bag, or whatever. He then pulled down his pants and put his scrotum on my head. I had expected this, of course, so I started thumping his testicle with my right hand while I punched his nose with my other fist. He tried to get up and that's when I stapled his scrotum to my forehead. I can still see the scars when I look at his patented 24 hour scrotum cam. Wait, that wasn't me..."
Aribertheim then passed out, mumbling something about the master race. When aroused, he continued his recollection...
"Mr. Aribertheim..."
"Mein Gott! How did you know my name?!?"
"You told us your name was Heinrich Aribertheim."
"Oh! Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I forgot that my name was Heinrich. I am not a criminal. I am normal."
"Of course. Mr. Aribertheim, when we told Rufus that we would be contacting you, he panicked and started foaming at the mouth and his teeth moved about and he got very moist. Why was that?"
"Ach, that must be because of the pants."
"Pants?"
"Ja. He once made a special pair of pants for me. I was his underwater firestarting professor one year, and I was paid handsomely for this privilege by his father, who expected Rufus to get a good grade. I was sitting in my fourth period class, threatening my students when Rufus came in, carrying a pair of pants. He presented them to me and I put them on, briefly exposing my hairy buttocks. When I put them on, I felt giddy, joyous, like I had never been exposed to pleasure before. What I didn't know was that he had laced the pants with some type of drug. I don't know the correct term, but the slang for it was 'cat pee.' So there I was, feeling gemuchlichkeit, and the next thing I remember I was standing on a field, ordering the marching of the students into battle. We then invaded Poland. He was reprimanded and a mark was made on his permanent record."
"... that's it?"
"Ja. He was pissed!"
"We'll check with him on that. And finally, headmaster, what does Hornswagle mean?"
"...Verlassen sie hier, sie jüdischer rohrmonteur!"
Epilogue: Upon further interview, we have turned Heinrich Aribertheim over to the authorities. Apparently, his real name was Kennith Grunderson, wanted for artificial lubricant fraud.
Epilogue 2: It turns out that the testicle thumping anger was brought about by his having a permanent mark on his record. We still don't know why.
Next time, Part 3: The Love of his Life...
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