

The tale of C.A.C.A.
I entered the C.A.C.A. organization on December 13, 1998 hoping to grasp the power
this body holds over modern intellectual thought. Many mainstream universities like Kansas State Polytechnic,
The University of Northern Montana, Oral Roberts University, and The University of Florida have
all been suspected of being C.A.C.A. hotbeds. Little did I know that C.A.C.A. is, in fact, everywhere.
By pretending to be a member of the Florida International University chapter, I gained
access to a "certain" C.A.C.A. leader who, for fear for my own saftey, I can't identify by name. What follows
is a brief excerpt from a "casual" conversation we had one day over bagels and lox in a popular
campus hangout, The Taco Queen. The bulk of my dealings with C.A.C.A. and P.P. will soon be published by Viking Press as C.A.C.A. and P.P.:
Uncovering the Opening of the American Mind.
Yellow Dog: How long until that damn waitress gets here with my double espresso?
C.A.C.A.: Chill, dude. She's one of us.
Yellow Dog: How many of you are here in this town?
C.A.C.A.: Close to two hundred. But some are "sleepers." Take the English
Department's representative to the Student Council. She's one of us. But we strictly
keep her out of our weekly meetings and let her "sleep" until the time is right for action.
Yellow Dog: Is she bound to the C.A.C.A. dogma?
C.A.C.A.: Shhhhh! Not so loud. P.P. is everywhere. One slip up, and they're onto our whole
operation. From now on, when you want to refer to the organization, just say "here, here."
Yellow Dog: But is she bound, here, here.
C.A.C.A.: Of course. This town goes one way or the other.
This is what keeps our department so divided. You never know if the person you're dealing with
belongs to here, here or there, there. Know what I mean?
Yellow Dog: Sure, sure. It's the same with us.
C.A.C.A.: Take last week for example. I wanted to run off a couple hundred
copies of some work I've been doing on the department's Xeorex machine. Turns out
the secretary's a member of P.P. Didn't take long before she got wind of what I was up to. I think
my office mate, a probable P.P.er, tipped her off. Suddenly, my account was no longer in good standing. Suddenly,
there was gum shoved into my mail box. Suddenly, I was no longer invited to the annual Bean Bag Romp on Newman's Lake. That's how
things get around here.
Yellow Dog: So what are you planning to do?
C.A.C.A.: We'll show 'em. We've got port-o-johns rigged to go up in flames. We've
taken all the toilet paper out of the student union. We've tampered with the university president's
wastewater valve.
Yellow Dog: What does this have to do with what happened with the copier?
C.A.C.A.: Well, not a whole lot. But we need to show the university that C.A.C.A., I mean
hear, hear, means
business.
Yellow Dog: Is it true that C.A.C.A. is planning on taking revenge against the editors of A Florida
School Reader: The Intellectual Work of Lonely, Frustrated People Living in a Swamp for their
attempt to publish the secret doings of C.A.C.A.?
C.A.C.A.: Whatever you heard down in F.I.U. I can neither confirm nor deny. But I will say that
we know who's responsible for this work of trash. If you think the new Monica Lewinsky book
is a piece of crap, you haven't seen nothing. We have a spy within the magazine that's contributing to the piece. He's
told us a great deal about the editor, a certain J. Rice, his pet monkey, his involvement in smuggling
pet iguanas into Russia, as well as his attempts to destroy C.A.C.A.
Yellow Dog: Who's your spy?
C.A.C.A.: I can't tell. But let me just say this: this magazine recently suffered a huge
setback when they lost their lawsuit with the State of New York. You didn't
hear it from me, but C.A.C.A., er..hear, hear, had something to do with it. And there will be more to come if that piece
they're writing ends up in the Florida Reader.
Yellow Dog: I've read the "Foucault Is Gay" piece. It's pretty damn good. I can't believe
that Foucault did that with a grapefruit.
C.A.C.A.: Lies! Lies! All lies. Don't believe the hype. The guy who wrote that article
is a compulsive masturbator. I know. We have tapes!
Yellow Dog: What about your involvement in producing the much anticipated Johnny Tushie
cartoon series for FOX's Saturday morning lineup? Will it still go through? What's the delay?
C.A.C.A.: You guys sure are in the dark down there in South Florida. We need to send you someone from
our chapter here to get things straightened out. Listen, we had Travolta to do the main voice, but now
he's bailed out to do a movie version of the Thor comic book. If everything goes alright, we'll
probably get L.L. Cool J. He's very interested. Once we get him signed, it will all be over. No more Rugrats. No more
Batman: Dark Night. No more animated Mr. T. Saturday morning will be ours to. . .
Yellow Dog: Then it's true. You will use the cartoon to. . .
Here, there is much confusion on the tape. The waitress dropped a tray of dirty dishes on us while we were talking. It later turned out she was from P.P. How do I know? I followed her to her hangout, a popular disco in the seedy downtown district of town. There I learned the secret that could destroy academia if it ever gets out. And it will. In the next issue of Yellow Dog.
