This document purports to chronicle the true goings-on during
that "certain summer session" at Salo Central High School, located
in a peaceful Midwestern community. Perhaps because it took place
at the same time as that space shuttle thing, the story was only
reported in the St. Louis Globe Democrat-Republican, the Weekly
World News, and GQ. The sketchy details were that a mob of enraged
citizens beat silly three teachers and the Principal of the high
school in the courtyard. The rumors persisted in the area until
the paperback you are now holding was published.
From all accounts, this memoir was begun by a French custodian
at the high school named Jean-Claude Paul Baptiste de la Salle
Louis-Josef de Bourbon de Mardi de Mercredi de Jeudi de Samedi
Allen Renais de Sharde.
The opening descriptions were written in a peculiar pseudo-
eighteenth century vernacular. However, sensing profit from the
infamies allegedly occurring at Salo Central, a ghost writer by the
name of HUGH N. MASENGILL was brought in to add "punch" to the janitor's prose. Mr. Masengill's previous credits include "Mark
Spitz: An Unauthorized Biography", "The '87 Cleveland Indians: An
Unauthorized Season History", and "The DeFranco Family: An
Authorized Biography".
Interestingly enough, Jerry Falwell's Christian Book-of-the-
Month Club called it "a great companion piece to Genesis, Chapter
18" and named it an alternate along with "The Gavin McLeod Story".
Here is Mr. Falwell's introduction:

Humanism is everywhere! It's in your schools. It's in
your colleges. It's in your day care centers. It's in
your carburetor and some parts of your transmission.
Humanism is everywhere, and some gallant figures (myself
included) have tried to warn you. Have tried to ride the
stallion at night and scream "The secular humanists are
coming! The secular humanists are coming!" But did the
media listen? I suggest not. Instead, the media paid
lip service to the very same libertines and fluoride
dispensers who are mentioned in this lurid document.
Instead, they frittered their time on "important social
issues", decrying a lack of funding for a disease of
deviants. This is the same media who never even
suggested penicillin when patriotic American Legionnaires
were becoming "Lesionaires" by a mystery ailment.

Makes your blood boil, doesn't it? But hold on there,
John Q. Pubic, there's more! Some of the infamies
described in this true story will turn your stomach. I
can tell you that personally, I lost weight reading this
book. But with a bible in one hand and a stomach
distress bag in the other, I persevered, and so shall
you, fair Christian. Sure, it's not a pleasant read, but
it's a necessary one. It's necessary that every
Christian know the secret itinerary of secular humanist
educators in this country. Thank you.

 

Yours in Christ,

---

Mr. Melton Straub conceived the idea for the singular revels
whereof we are going to give an account. He phoned several of his
friends who shared his tastes for both polyester and secular
humanist debaucheries of the most cruel and delicious kind.
Let us do our best to portray each of our four heroes.
Mr. Straub. Tenured typing instructor and principal of the
summer session. Bald yet vain, he sported a toupee; a "rug" as the
students would say, which, in fact, doubled as a merkin that he
liked to sport when cavorting naked in his bachelor pad condominium in _____ town. Born treacherous, harsh, barbaric, and with almost no fashion sense, there was seldom a vice that he did not embrace.
These vices included buggery, income tax evasion, drunkenness,
onanism with household appliances, theft of school office supplies,
cross dressing, tip stiffing, home taping of copywritten material,
lewd video rental, blasphemy, shameless flatulence, and sundry
libertine traffic violations.
"In Humanism, man is the measure of all things!" he was fond
of saying whilst whipping his goldfish. "There is no G-d! There
is no Devil! And without threat of the guy with the pointy horns
stabbing you in the hinder parts with his pitchfork and turning the
furnace up to pre-energy crisis levels, then man is free to do what
thou wilt. Go whole hog! Aieeeeeeee!"
As testimony to his loathsome avarice, he once owned property
in a housing subdivision. In the middle of the night he erected a
fence six feet and three inches beyond the neighbour's property
line. When the neighbours beseeched him to remove the fence, and
even offered proof in the form of municipal blueprints, his only
response was a terse "Bite me!" and noted that the cost of legal
fees required of the neighbors to win an injunction would wipe out
the savings amassed for their summer vacation to Disney World.
Broken by the humanist's lubricous maneuvers, the family
begrudgingly desisted in their protestations. Not content even
with that, Mr. Straub, when arriving from work, insisted upon
"flipping the bird" in full sight of the neighbours' impressionable
children.
It suffices to say that any domestic pets who dared stray onto
his property, or worse, relieve themselves on his putting-green
quality lawn were dealt with most sternly. However, the delicious
details of these punishments must wait for the sequel of this tale,
"SALO II: BACK TO SCHOOL."
Keep in mind the identical moral traits; next, adapt them to
an entity infinitely superior to the one we have just described:
there you have a portrait of Coach Ken Kendall.
Coach Kendall was an ex-Marine, a Vietnam vet who had served
as commander of various "sweep and clear" missions in the Mekong
Delta. This dark soul, this fiend, would order massive napalm
strikes for no other reason than to provide fire for barbecues when
charcoal briquettes proved unignitable. Kendall had gleefully
taken part in the indiscretions at My Lai, but had won a full
pardon from President N****. While in 'Nam, he forged alliances
with illicit narcotics dealers, and upon his employment at Salo
Central, served as one of the chief distributors of substances that
left an entire generation in a stupor, able only to utter phrases
such as "Y'know", "Like", "Uhhh" and "That's really retarded!"
As a gymnastics instructor, his discipline is legendary. His
"jock tests" were severe indeed! Failure of any of these tests
sent him into a furious rage. He ordered so that any boy who dared
not don an athletic supporter would be prohibited from wearing
anything under his track shorts for the entire semester. Imagine
Nurse Mabry's expression as wounded males would present their hall
passes to her, bent over double from invigorating 400-yard dashes.
Their thighs had formed a bell which sounded the ring of intense
abdominal pain. By mid-semester, more than half of the boys were
athletically unsupported, and more's the better! For Coach Kendall
could then look up their shorts whilst spotting them during rope
climbing.
Hygiene was of paramount importance to our hero. Coach
Kendall demanded that all of his students "smell like gentlemen",
and hot showers, sometimes lasting as long as 30 minutes, were the
order of the day. But did our lubricous libertine convene to his
office at this point to fill out attendance reports, re-inflate
dodge balls, or simply enjoy a respite? Heavens no! Coach Kendall
would personally hand out the towels, and if all the class did not
engage in the communal shower, punishments were in order! With
every towel he handed out, his Lil' Elvis would ascend heavenwards
inside his perspiration trousers.
Curiously, none of the students gave this behavior a second
thought, and attributed his obsessions t his merely doing his job.
His "straight" reputation was beyond reproach, perhaps enhanced by
his keeping a mistress who would pick him up from school each day
in a flashy sportscar. Of their curious "open" relationship, the
resulting lawsuits, and her subsequent appearance on "The Oprah
Winfrey Show", more shall be discussed in a sequel, "SALO III:
ASSIGNMENT MIAMI BEACH".
Margaret Kelly Michaels. A former Romper Room host and
dissolute day care attendant. Her infamies as a pre-school teacher
are the stuff of legend. She has been hanged in effigy in New
Jersey. Miss Michaels was tried and convicted of multiple crimes
that brought Captain Kangaroo to weep openly. On the eve of her
incarceration, she lubricously switched identities with _______,
star of television's "L. A. Law". To this day, a woman in the
Rahway Women's Institution becries "I am an actress" whilst Steven
Bochco Productions searches for their missing actress.
Sporting a new haircut and an exciting new diet, she moved to
______town.
Her tenure at Salo Central was low-key. The delights of the
wooden spoon, peanut butter KY and nude piano playing would have
to wait. She did, however, preach the humanist manifesto whenever
possible. She refused to present the fundamentalist Christian
viewpoint concerning hygiene, and insisted on screening the most
graphic nature films produced by ultra left-wing think tanks.
O ignorant, unwitting parent! How the caplets of poison were
planted in this supposedly tamper-proof school district. Miss
Michaels preached that petting was "O.K.", that homoerotic
curiosity was not wicked, that auto-eroticism was as natural as
auto maintenance, that pinching oneself so as to tingle excitedly
was "nothing new", that one's elimination processes were not mere
filthy necessities but "symbolized" something, that modern
brassiere design was cumbersome, and its necessity "questionable",
that other cultures "don't make a big deal" of pre-marital sex,
that children in the latency period "have a right to know why their
wee-wees are engorged", that Michelangelo always met the Pope
wearing a butt plug, and other more shocking propositions too
graphic to mention here.
Nurse Mable Mabry. More on this loathsome excuse for a health
professional later...
THE FIRST DAY
The summer session began with an assembly in the Whittaker
Chambers Memorial Theatre. The class bell rang and students
stumbled bedraggledly into the hall. So "zoned" were our captives
that they hardly noticed the sound of the doors being locked. The
alacritous A/V crew dimmed the houselights and threw a spotlight
center stage. Offstage, Mr. Straub gazed vainly into a mirror,
adjusted his "Vitalis look" wig and proceeded front and center.
Here, more or less, is the speech he delivered to the student body:
"Good morning, doomed students of Salo Central's Summer
Session. You've probably noticed that the air-conditioning is OFF.
Already, the scent of young bodies permeates the auditorium. Rest
assured this is deliberate. More on that in a moment."
Some of the more observant and sober students noticed
something wrong in Mr. Straub's tone. Others merely assumed that
Mr. Straub was trying to make some kind of "hip joke".
"I would like to announce some changes in class schedules.
First, please note that most of your classes have been cancelled
and will be replaced with the following:
1. BATIK, TIE-DYEING AND THE ART OF ANALINGOUS
2. PORNOGRAPHY AS LITERATURE AND ART
3. HUMANISM I, HUMANISM II, HUMANISM III: THE SEQUEL
4. ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS
5. GIANTS OF THE ADULT FILM INDUSTRY
6. JUNIOR PROSTITUTION ACHIEVEMENT
7. THESPIAN THEATRE: PHILOSOPHY IN THE BEDROOM
"And now students, I'd like you to, in unison if possible, say
hello to 'Li'l Straub'!"
Mr. Straub quickly undid his belt and dropped his trousers.
His member was small and retracted like a purple prune.
Gasps of mirth and astonishment were heard in the auditorium.
Whistles, catcalls and spontaneous applause were the order of the
moment. Mr. Straub, undaunted, repeated:
"I said, SAY HELLO TO MY LI'L STRAUB!"
The students maintained their enthusiasm, revealing little
interest in Mr. Straub's demand. Finally, Mr. Straub motioned and
the "enforcers" were summoned. They were all wearing vintage hall
monitor outfits and brandished Uzi submachine guns. The blonde
handsome male at the end of the line aimed his rifle to the floor
and clipped a round off. A rare moment of teenage silence
followed.
"SAY IT!" Mr. Straub demanded.
"HELLO, LI'L STRAUB!" the confused students shouted.
"O.K. Listen up, feeble, brain-dead suburban Jerry's Kids.
You are now creatures solely destined for my pleasure. Your
parents have gladly signed field trip consent forms for the entire
summer. In other worlds you might as well be dead to them."
"This guy's lost it," Senior Mike Deslo said in disgust.
"Come on, Dan, let's book!" The two headed for the theatre exit.
Mr. Straub smiled. They violently pushed on the locked Von Durpin
doors.
Mr. Straub hiked up his trousers and grimaced. "I can see
that Mr. Deslo will be the first in order for punishments and
therapy during the Saturday session, and make it severe if you
please!"
The audience moaned at the prospect of Saturday classes.
Mr. Straub barked: "Consider this, hormone heads! Salo
Central will be an open classroom. Grades, in the traditional
sense, will not exist. Learning techniques will focus away from
dusty textbooks and instead employ experience-oriented techniques.
Your bourgeois concerns about keeping up with the Jones shall be
replaced by feeling up the Jones! Guys, you'll explore
"alternative lifestyles". Your minds, and sphincters, will be
broadened. You'll develop manias that often take years of psycho-
sexual traumas to develop. Gals, you'll learn how to play three
hole putt-putt golf, shine trophies, win friends and influence
people.
"And now let's present your peer counselors. These young men
and women, easily recognizable with their hall monitor armbands and
conspicuous Uzi submachine guns with 30 clips per round capacity,
are the best and the brightest libertines and eagle scout humanists
from other school districts. Don't hesitate to come to them with
a problem. They certainly won't when they have one with you. Our
thespians have prepared a musical tribute to our champions. Mr.
Kenny, take it away..."
The thespians gathered in a chorus line, wearing signs and t-
shirts with a drawing of what looked to be a large asterisk mark.
Miss Michaels struck up some chords lifted from Stephen Sondheim
and choir sang:
UP, UP WITH ASSHOLES
YOU MEET 'EM WHEREVER YOU GO
UP, UP WITH ASSHOLES.....
The best and brightest turned their backs to the audience and
dropped their fatigues. They bent over in such a way that their
upside down faces were south of the subject of their little song
and dance. "Best and brightest rollcall begin!"
"Hi, I'm Bob."
"Hi, I'm Bob II."
"Hi, I'm Bob III."
"Hi, I'm Tipper."
"Hi, I'm Tipper II."
"Hi, I'm Chuck II."
"Hi, I'm Chuck III."
"Hi, I'm Chuck IV."
The thespians hummed a Negro spiritual as the best and
brightest assumed paramilitary positions at the sides of the stage.
A soliloquy was delivered by the president of the thespian troupe:
"The Anus: Our brown friend to the south. Elimination: The
pregnancy of the useless. Some of you bluenoses out there look
down upon our puckered pal just because our uh-uhs emerge from it.
Well, if you're not into the "hole", then you're really "square".
Progressive types dig it! Why is it that many Hollywood stars ask
for Listerine first when arriving for early make-up call? Get hip,
Salo Central, or at least in that general direction..."
UP! UP! WITH ASSHOLES...
"Thanks, kids. You've got pep. I look forward to being
whipped by each and everyone of you, but more of this later. Now
it's time for Mrs. Bradley of the Art Department to bring out that
painting she's been working on all week. It's time for a motor-
skills test for one of the girls."
Mrs. Bradley and one of A/V nerds wheeled out the canvas. It
was a large, colorful painting of Pinocchio, meticulously
illustrated in the "hotel-motel" style that had won Mrs. Bradley
several "Best of Shows" at the art fair in ______town. In the
middle of the canvas, right where Pinocchio's nose ought to have
been, was a hole three inches in diameter. Miss Michaels shuffled
her deck of pink classcards and selected a name at random.
"Donna Kleeburger to the stage immediately!"
A hush followed. Mr. Straub grew furious.
"Yell 'present' immediately, dammit! Frequent appearance on
the tardy list is grounds for toilet duty."
"Present." A shy voice from the audience spoke.
"Front and center, young lady. And Miss Kleeburger, why don't
you lose your laundry as well," Miss Michaels commanded.
Donna approached the stage and gave a "who, me?" look,
motioning to the strap on her lime green dress.
"Down to those white underthings that you dare tempt me with
in typing class!"
"Oh, gross me out," Donna said under her breath.
Mr. Straub grew vitriolic. "Must I really summon one of the
Best and Brightest when they could be resting themselves in
preparation for snake-cakes and Kissing the Dentureless Lady?"
Donna stood frozen.
Mr. Straub motioned. "Timmy!" Clean-cut Timmy took to the
stage and flashed a smile and a revolver at Donna.
Miss Michaels warned: "This means you, Donna. He's serious."
Donna slowly undid her belt and contorted her arm to open the
back zipper. Larry Bransteder, a preppy who had partaken in a
morning noseful of cocaine rather than "weed" grew incensed. He
knew there was some reason you couldn't particularly do this kind
of thing in America, although he didn't know exactly why. He
rushed the stage and shouted,
"Hey! You can't do this; it's against the Constitution and
stuff."
Mr. Straub laughed heartily. Chuck I and Chuck II leaped into
the orchestra pit and focused their deadly intentions on Larry.
"The Constitution?" Mr. Straub exclaimed. "Let me give you
a history lesson. Our so-called founding fathers were not very
Christian men at all. At recess during the first constitutional
convention, they took time out to chain-drain! In a wise move
they, through obvious intention, left teenage liberties to the
discretion of adults. The recent Supreme Court decision on student
newspapers bears this out. There is an appeal before the high
court to allow morning prayer in public schools, and that is simply
what I am doing. Donna's hands will be clasped in a holy fashion,
worshipping both taboo and totem!"
Donna pushed her dress to her knees and skipped out of it.
Her panties and bra were discolored red from washing machine
abuses.
"Tell your mother to use All Temp-a-Cheer," Miss Michaels
thoughtfully recommended.
Mr. Straub disappeared behind the painting. "Now, Donna, it's
time to play Pinocchio!" Mr. Straub said, as his genitals emerged
from the hole.
Miss Michaels played a brief fanfare on the Wurlitzer
8000.
Every time Pinocchio lies, what happens?"
"He gets impeached?" Donna asked, getting her recent history
mixed up.
"No, dammit. His nose grows! Must I belabour the obvious any
longer? Miss Michaels, why don't you start the game with a
question?"
"I've got one for you, Mr. Straub. Isn't Creationism just a
scientifically inaccurate religious fantasy?"
"Why, no, Miss Michaels! The descendants of Noah's Ark are
the only human ancestors. It's true! Fossils and carbon dating
are a bunch of hooey! It's all true what I'm saying!"
Miss Michaels shook her head. "Donna, the palm-court,
please!"
Donna's duty was obvious. She sighed and shook hands with Mr.
Straub's Power Lunch. His salt-and-pepper mons reminded her of an
uncle she had unfortunately met at age 11. She had endured these
abuses before, especially at family reunions, and was beginning to
think that it was a natural part of the pain of adolescence.
"Golly! Whip that cream 'til the butter comes!" Mr. Straub
exclaimed.
Donna avoided looking at Pinocchio's increasingly ethnic-
looking nose by staring out at the bright stage lights. She was
embarrassed that beyond them sat her classmates and her friends
watching her beat off the most hated teacher in the school
district.
Mr. Straub balked. "Jesus! I've had better hand jobs from
paint shakers. Stop. Stop now, you've ruined the sanctity of the
moment. Mr. Kendall, as long as you're teaching such vital matters
as Driver's Ed, why don't you make a note of it to teach these gals
how to waka-waka properly!"
"That's all for now, Donna. Take your seat," Miss Michaels
said.
Mr. Straub re-fastened his trousers and crossed to center
stage. "And now boys and girls, I'd like you to say hello to some
visiting movie stars. They are, in every sense of the word, method
actors. They'll be holding round robin discussions in the class
'Giants of the Adult Film Industry'. For the summer session,
they'll be known as 'The Friggers'. They're here for the delights
of passive intercourse and active dumb joking."
Two white mustachioed studs and three husky black men walked
onstage, wearing ridiculous bathrobes left over from the Senior
production of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum."
The singular attributes of these men were not ridiculous, however,
and Mr. Straub drooled at the prospect of regaling the student
body.
"Boys and girls, the star of 'Stryker Force', Mr. Jeff
Stryker." Mr. Stryker smiled graciously and undid his toga.
"Howya doin', ________town, my name's Jeff and I'm 8 1/2 inches of pure pleasure."
"Excuse me, Jeff, let me cut in at this point," Miss Michaels
said. "We humanists believe in world government by a consortium
that will include the trilateral commission, Henry Kissinger and
the Cineplex Odeon Corporation. That means America will go metric.
You are, in fact, 18 3/4 centimeters of pure pleasure."
"Heavens! Thank you, Miss Michaels. The humanists' metric
agenda has been thwarted for so long in his backwards and frankly
unhip country that I had almost forgotten about our dream of a
universal subversive measurement system that enlightened
collectivist countries adopted aeons ago."
The other men were displayed. Each Frigger's metric asset was
larger than the last. Mr. Straub described the last two with great
fanfare. "I fell in love with these guys when I saw them in a Bad
Mama Jama film. Measuring in at 38 and 42 centimeters,
respectively, boys and girls, presenting 'Long Dong Silver' and
'The Texas Longhorn'."
The metric champs disrobed. Their genitals dropped well below
their knees. The girls in the audience gasped in horror, while the
boys stared in silent fascination, unaware of the potential danger
these dynamos presented to them.
The Friggers had been genetically altered from birth by an
experimental chemical developed by the CIA in the '50's to prevent
communism. Their mutations had served them well at the box office,
however, our champions were not without their problems. The
enormity of their turgid powers made erection as difficult as
heating the Sears Tower. Walking, they were basically monoplegic
tripods. Social acculturation was difficult. For this reason, the
Friggers were accompanied by their therapist, Dr. Dennis Ruben.
Mr. Straub introduced Dr. Ruben to the students.
"Hello. I'm Dr. Dennis Ruben. I'm a psychiatrist. I'd like
to remind the young people out there that they should not treat
these gentlemen as pieces of meat, or in their case, a herd of
steer. These are human beings. They have feelings, too! As
their therapist, I've spent many weeks with these gentlemen, and I
just want to say one thing: Even though they may have big
phalluses, they have even bigger hearts. Thank you."
"Thank you, Dr. Ruben," Mr. Straub said, returning to the
stage. "I want to mention in particular that 'Long Dong' is an
especially sensitive guy."
Mr. Straub summoned Miss Michaels to the stage. He dropped
his pants and rested on the chair. A science club member, Kevin
Woody, was summoned to the stage.
"Miss Michaels, why don't you give the gals a lesson in jiffy
popping, while Kevin, you collect every drop of my seed in this
Petri dish."
Miss Michaels rolled up her sleeves and dampened her palms
slightly with a spritz of "Pam". She firmly grasped Mr. Straub's
turgid powers.
"Observe carefully, girls. Hold firmly, but, as Jen Levin
discovered, don't be a squeezer. Use even, brisk motions. For a
kinky variation, give the tip a dropper neck pinch."
Mr. Straub commanded: "Play that vivacious Negro music as
performed by British Satanists immediately!"
Led Zeppelin's live version of "Whole Lotta Love" suddenly
played at top volume. Miss Michaels stroked and shook. Mr. Straub
grew beet red with concentration. His jerk-off took a long time.
Luckily, Jimmy Page's took an equally long time, and the guitars
roared into a final burst of feedback as Mr. Straub erupted in
appreciation. Kevin Woody scrambled to collect the semen in the
Petri dish. He ran to a microscope projector and placed the dish
under the diopter. The A/V crew switched the projector on and
focused. Thousands of confused sperm swam on the screen. The
humanists formed a quadrumvirate onstage.
"DO YOU SEE THAT," Mr. Straub roared. "I AM AS VIRILE AS THE
SCHLITZ MALT LIQUOR BULL!"