Bart,
This question needs some background. It has plagued me since Middle School so I hope you can stick with it and solve this long standing riddle.
Here is the first back ground piece. For 7th grade Social Studies class, I had a lady teacher that was a real piece of work. We'll call her Mrs. TulipMuncher. TulipMuncher was Dutch, she had met an American and most would think that she was fortunate in moving from dreary Amsterdam to the Motor City after marriage. She did not seem to look at it that way and for whatever reason, was unhappy with her lot in life. As such, she pissed and moaned a great deal. She pissed and moaned all the time. She pissed and moaned to us, her trapped, hapless pupils. As if we could do anything about her woes, all we could do was sit there and take it. I suppose my experience with teachers matches that of most people. A handful were truly outstanding - they knew their stuff, were excellent at communicating and loved the work. Most were competent but no longer had any passion for it [if they ever had] but they got through their gig well enough. Some were truly awful. They either had given up totally as the union would protect them and were just mailing it in or they had no clue to begin with. Mrs. TulipMuncher was unique though. The pissing and moaning chapped me. I could handle the biology teacher in his 60's whom no longer gave a crap, he just dropped a dead pig off and said: "Cut that up - maybe you'll learn something. I'll be in the back room working the Daily Jumble in the paper", I could also handle the former Football star that returned to our school as a history teacher and thought that Erwin Rommel was an Italian. The whining about living in the US was sooo annoying though. If you hated it so much, just go back home. Or at least go across the river into Canada and see if that was any better. We had crossed swords on several occasions which inevitably lead to sweet, little old me being sent to the school office.
Which leads to the second back ground piece. The school office was a place of dread and doom for many but not so much for me. The front desk lady, just happened to live three doors down from me and had known me from time before I even had come home from the hospital initially. She was a bit of a genetic freak whose baby teeth never fell out - she had kept them her entire life. It is not really relevant but as Ron White would say: "That's just an interesting fact". So certainly there was nothing to fear from her - she would just chuckle a bit and have me wait for the Principle. It just so happened that Principle and my Mom lived on the same street growing up and she had been his baby sitter. So again there was not too much to fear from the big man. More of - "You gotta stop mixing it up with TulipMuncher WAN. Please. Now just sit outside on the bench until your next class starts and tell your Mom I said hello."
Here is the final piece of background information. At this time the Detroit Tigers were on the rise. They had a great core of players, some of whom would make the Hall of Fame. They would not win multiple championships but they would eventually win one. One of their back end of the rotation starting pitchers was a guy named Milt Wilcox.
He once came close to pitching a perfect game. Set 26 batters down in a row. The 27th was a pinch hitter named Jerry Hairston and Wilcox got the ball out over the plate and gave up a hard single to wreck the whole thing. Anyhoo. Wilcox kind of dropped down three quarters and he could be real tough on right hand hitters. He had a cut fastball that he called a "Yack-a-doo". Why? I don't know. I've never heard of the term before nor have I heard it since. However, at time it was pretty cool and lot of us dudes worked on cutting our fastballs and screaming -
Yack-a-doo. BTW - post retirement, Milt Wilcox started up
Ultimate Air Dogs which seems way cooler than opening a beer distributorship or being a color commentator on the TV.
Milt Wilcox - 3/4's. Yack-a-doovisitors can't see pics , please
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loginWith the background pieces all in place we can move on now. Mrs. TulipMuncher's class starts up and damn if she doesn't start up. "America has no culture, the Netherlands is so much richer in culture. Blah Blah Blah. I hate living here so much - I feel like I am dying inside. Woof Woof Woof. Amsterdam is so beautiful - canals, architecture, the bridges. Drivel drivel drivel. Detroit has nothing like that". So I spoke up and said "Hey we have great culture. Look at how well the Tigers are doing. Architecture? Tiger Stadium is a Masterpiece and Milt Wilcox's Yack-a-doo is da bomb." So that already put me right up the edge of the cliff. Just one little puff of air and I'm over the cliff and headed down to the office for another session. Finally TulipMuncher gets down to the lesson at hand - Greek Mythology. Specifically the Medusa - you know that green broad with snakes for hair. So she is teaching us about the Medusa. Which brought a question to mind. I of course had to ask.
"So it is only the front part of the snake that sticks out, correct? Does like the rear part of the snake go into the Medusa's skull then? I mean like do those snakes 'excrete' inside her cranium or what?" TulipMuncher's jaw dropped and looked at me with horror and disgust and once again I was sent to the office. The office lady [whom as you recall was some sort of genetic freak with baby teeth] had me wait and then sent me into the Principle's office. The Principle wanted to know what I had done to set Mrs. TulipMuncher off this time. I said "Nothing! All I did was ask a simple question about Greek Mythology". The Principle then asked what the question was so I told him. He didn't answer it of course. All I got out him was "You are one messed up little man. Go sit on the bench until your next class starts. Oh - tell your Mom I said hello".
So all of that leads to this question Bart. Do the snakes on Medusa's had shit inside her cranial vault or not?
