They're Crocodiles, Dammit!
by Diana Oboler


         One day I was in class, sitting between two of my friends in the back of the classroom. While that was unfortunate as it meant that the three of us were having a hard time concentrating on the lecture, it was great because both of my friends are incredible artists, and artists during a lecture tend to doodle.

         So there I was, watching magic come out of the pens of two nice young men and wishing desperately that I could do the same. Well, why can't I? I asked myself. Next thing I knew I was drawing things that you could occasionally tell were animals. Chris, the man on my right and one of the most incredible of artists, joined me on my page and our animals frolicked with reckless abandon. I then drew a crocodile.

         In order to continue this story, I will now have to give you a bit of history. The Bestiary: A Book of Beasts, is a book that was written during the twelfth century, and gives the places and characteristics of many different animals as according to the medieval Europeans. The lion is the king of beasts and represents Christ, the pelican kills itself to save its children, rises from the dead and represents Christ, etc. Well, the entry for ferrets is particularly interesting. It says, in all seriousness, that 

  Some say that they conceive through the ear
and give birth through the mouth, on the other 
hand, others declare that they conceive by
mouth and give birth by ear.

         Why they thought this is a different question entirely and one that has be absolutely befuddled. However, if they were able to get professorships by discussing the sex lives of the creatures of the forest, I'm certainly not going to get on their case.

         Now, as fascinating as that is, you might not see the necessity of my small diatribe. However, if I had told you that Chris then wrote next to my crocodile, "I want oral sex" it would have made much less sense (though I'm sure that it might have made the story more interesting). In any case, he did write "I want oral sex" and I was forced to explain to him that this was a crocodile, not a ferret. So, I drew another one, this one with more pronounced teeth and no ears (okay, maybe it was a crocodile cleverly disguised as a ferret -- I wouldn't put it past them). I then wrote proudly next to it, "This is a crocodile."

         "No it isn't," he replied. He then elaborated, "That's an alligator. Crocodiles have alternating teeth." He then went off to draw an atomically correct crocodile (with alternating teeth) on my page, making my poor creature huddle and croon in shame for its un-crocodilishness. I gave my crocodile an opportunity to feel better. No one argues with big teeth.

         "Sic him!" I wrote.

         "Oh, he wouldn't do that," Chris replied.

         "Why not, he's ferocious."

         "Oh no. He's adorable!" My poor croc hid his head and cowered. No one hurts my creatures if I can help it. The war was on.

         The next stop, as far as I could see, was to have him admit that they were crocodiles. When he went to his next class, I put on a black turtleneck and the Mission: Impossible theme (to get me in the right mood) and proceeded to draw crocodiles. I drew all styles, making sure each time that the teeth were carefully alternated. I then made a covert operation to his room down the hall and posted my creations all over his door. When he came home he would be totally overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of a door full of crocodiles all ready to prove their worth. I went to dinner confident that my work had been done and that soon I would find a mauled Chris in the hall begging to apologize. Instead, I found him at dinner with a mouth full of hamburger.

         "You find my crocs?" I asked him innocently as if I hadn't been expecting to see him in several pieces by this point.

         "You mean those cute alligators on my door. They're adorable, thank you." With that he returned to his burgers.

         "Cute! Alligators!! They had alternating teeth! They're crocodiles!" I sputtered.

         "Oh no. Even with the teeth, they have such an alligator aura to them. I guess that that's because you drew them. They really are quite cute though." This was too much. I dug through my fencing bag, drew out my glove and stood in the busy cafeteria. Startling the people in nearby tables, I spoke in a loud voice.

         "Sir, you have offended those under my protection. I challenge you to a duel for the honour of my crocodiles." With that I threw my glove at his feet. At this point he stood with his glove (forcing me to look up at him -- he's a big man) and replied with the same formality.

         "Madam, I have said nothing to offend and have noted nothing but fact, spoken nothing but truth. I accept you challenge for my right to speak the truth about your alligators."

         At fencing practice we were having a scrimmage. Both of us fought for our school, preforming fairly well and having a lot of fun. It was known what had happened at dinner, and slowly the word spread as to the nature of my challenge. Our captain had agreed to be the judge, and by the time the scrimmage was over and we once again hooked ourselves up to the machines we had a crowd of onlookers all waiting to see the fate of my poor mistreated creatures.

         "Two out of three, Chris?" I asked as I pulled my glove on and connected my foil.

         "So, only two bouts and you'll admit defeat?"

         "You're right, I want more time to gloat my righteousness than that. Three out of five." I grinned at him and he bared his teeth in return.

         "One bout," said my captain, "you're both warmed up, and I have a paper to write."

         We came forward to test our equipment, then stepped back and flourished especially elaborate bows at the judge and each other. Donning our helmets, we stood in readiness. My captain stepped forward.

         "Prete? Allez."

         The bout was fun and furious:

         "You should know that I was wrested untimely from my mother's womb."

         "Ah, but I am not left handed."

         "Yes you are. Any way, you can't switch hands in any case."

         "Damn. Foiled again."

         The pun was too much, and I darted forward to land a hit on his flank. One down, four more to go.

         "My name is Inago Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

         "My hand meant nothing to your father. It's your crocs!" With that he pulled a classic saber move, hitting me with all his might, foolishly expecting the blade to bend past my sword and hit me. Which it did. Damn him.

         The fight continued, both of us flinging blows and quotes at each other with the truth slowly sinking in -- I was going to win. They were crocodiles and could never be considered anything else.

         "I expect an apology to my crocs," I said, stressing the last word. The match was over, the final score being 5-2 in my favour. I had fought for and protected the honour of my crocodiles, and I had won.

         "I admit defeat and the validity of your crocodiles." We started walking to the team room before a change and a shower, through a crowd of people pleased with our bizarre way of settling an argument. "However," he continued, "they're still cute."

         I had no choice but to hit him.

Diana Oboler has yet to have been entered into an asylum, much to the surprise of everyone. She is a founding memeber of F.I.G.A.Z.E.T.O. She would like an iguana, but as her parents refuse her this tresure, she instead carries a plastic one named Cuthbert. Also, she goes to Bard College, which should explain everything.



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