An Idea Whose Time Has Come

I was talking with a friend the other day who mentioned that in light of the recent recession two out of the four security guards at her work are going to be laid off soon. This concerned her for several reasons, the main one being that she works at a home for troubled youth and, as you can imagine, she oftentimes encounters some umm...fishy problems where the help of a robust security guard comes in quite handy. However, now she and the staff will be working for eight hours, out of the 24-hour day, where no security guard will be available. They will be left to their own defenses which, no offense Mels, will most likely consist of the classic scream-and-point and, in desperate times, hair pulling. Probably not the most...effective way to subdue a springy, wayward youth.

Anyway, this news concerned me and made me feel for my friend. I mean, I work at the Utah County Health Department and although it's not really that risky I still frequently encounter my own "troubled youth" and drug rehabilitates. Once two of my smoker kids almost got into a fight when I was eight months pregnant and I pulled them apart using my massive belly. Just think if I hadn't had that belly I would have called the security guard who, while readily watching TV, would have jumped at my helpless call for aid. So at some level I understand my friends plea...it's just nice to have someone THERE, to protect you from evil and defend your honor. And that's when it came to me...not only the perfect solution to my friends problems, but also for anyone who is feeling a little scared, for those who would like a little extra security in such a troubled world. I flashed a mental image of the group that would be up for the task, they stand for vigilance and fight against the evils of our world. That's right! These able-bodied folk fight for truth and freedom from snively, rebellious tweens. So...who can I be thinking of? Well, isn't it obvious? I am referring to the stalwart members of the Sword and Quill club. I truly believe that here, my friends, lie the keys to solving our local and possibly, national, problems of security!

Many people have seen these hearty lads practicing outside the Wilkinson Center on BYU campus adorned in their traditional garb--vinyl pants, bed-sheet-cloaks accented with bits of pillow cases and towel. Sometimes the lady folk can be seen at the gatherings playing a lute and strumming the guitar, but the main event are the fearsome warriors--the men, not unlike William Wallace--who spend their valuable time practicing the art of combat for times such as this. I mean, they really are the prefect solution, and here are a few more reasons why.

One, words like "budget cuts" have no effect on them. They don't fight for the money, they fight for the honor of the Queen and will defend Scotland at all costs. Getting paid for this duty is a mockery of their very souls.

Two, they are well-equipped with finely crafted daggers made from old press board and glue. Not to mention their grand plastic swords and duct taped reinforced light sabers.I dare you...

Three, these people have been trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat for the last 800 years, I would say that is more than enough time to be sufficiently skilled.

Four, their keen whit and ability to scent out any potential problems can only be magnified by their fluency in Elvish. AND if, heaven forbid, something were to happen to their lance or cross bow, they could always cast a confundus charm with their wand.

Five, although they are more fighter than lover, they can still negotiate peace with a swig of ginger ale and a hey-nonny-no after a merry turn in traditional dance.

Yes! It makes so much sense to me and it's a wonder no one has thought of this before now. I can see the scenario so perfectly. My friend, Mel, walking the long corridor of a stenchy detention center hall when all of a sudden, a troubled youth comes ambling his 15-year old body directly at her flashlight. She hold up her hands awaiting the struggle when suddenly, "Ah-ha!" The teen is peacefully struck down with the Vulcon death grip as our hero leans against the wall and re-adjusts his cross bow. "Thought you might need some help," sweat dripping from his beard as he brushes the hair his from his eyes. "Fancy some pork at the local Discoteca?"
"Sure..." Mel bats her eyes and strides off in the sunset, arm in arm with our modern day warrior.

So, what do you think? All in favor say "AYE"!