… “If not, the fates with traitors doth contrive!” Artemidorus, Orange Julius…oops! JULIUS CAESAR!
That fine Sicilian, Salvatore Buttaci, has entered our contest, probably wanting to assume his rightful throne, as Sal was one of our last winners before we had to scuttle the site and rebuild.
Sal has entered You didn’t write that, our current contest, and though he meas his culpa here, there is no reason to let him bully his way to the throne. Write your OWN contest entry, simply pull down the rules from the menu bar. You could win an all expense paid trip to the steps of the Roman Senate, if that is what we were offering for a prize.
by Salvatore Buttaci
“Caesar” Augusta stood at the side of my desk reading the note. Tall and robust in her black habit, she was the Caesar no dirty senator would dare take a dagger to.
I wasn’t worried. I’d devised a foolproof way of sending notes. I wrote two: the real thing and a decoy that read, “Going to the game?” It worked. When caught, I’d walk to Sister’s desk, place the counterfeit note in her extended palm.
Hogan laughed out loud when he read my note, then tossed it back on my desk where it lay crumpled beside the decoy. In a flash Sister scooped one up.
“You didn’t write that,” she said, waving the note above her.
Had she figured it all out ? Was she saying the decoy was precisely that? Then I opened the note on my desk. “Going to the game?”
Sister had been good to me. Said I was a good student. Slapped “Bully” Dodd on the schoolyard when he threatened to blowtorch me in my blue school trousers.
“Sorry, Sister. I didn‘t mean it.”
She let the torn-up note flutter down to my desk.
“If Caesar crosses the Rubicon, she can be her own ship!”