Chapter 20: What Happened to Candide When He Visited the Acclaimed High School of Diamond Bar

In the course of his many journeys, Candide actually made a trip to California, where he briefly attended a famous school known as Diamond Bar High School. Unfortunately the manuscript in which Voltaire described the stupefaction and admiration Candide felt as he visited this institution disappeared during a tremendous earthquake shortly thereafter. Recently, however, two small boys discovered this long-lost document in a hole they had dug in their backyard! Here, then, is the hitherto unpublished manuscript recounting Candide's adventures in California.

A/N: This is targeted specifically at DB English-III H students, but I think other readers will be able to find some humor in it as well. Enjoy. :)

Also, a GLC is a Grade Level Coordinator-kind of like a principal, but specifically for your grade level. Thanks, Geoffrey.

Between the time when they left Surinam and arrived in France, Candide and Martin were hit by a furious storm which blew them half way across the globe and shipwrecked them on America's west coast, where they found their way to a high school in the small town of Diamond Bar, California.
-Have you ever been in America, Monsieur Martin? asked Candide as they walked up Pathfinder.
-Yes, replied Martin, I have visited several states. They do nothing but watch TV and get fat, and meddle in the business of other countries.
-But, Monsieur Martin, were you ever in Diamond Bar?
-I am now.
-But were you ever?
-Candide, does God, not being omniscient, know if I was ever in Diamond Bar?
-I don't know. Does he?
-No! And if he doesn't know, neither do you need to.
-My! said Candide. Look at all those teenagers. Why are they in that cage?
-Because the government here, being everything God is not-namely, omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient, especially come tax time-has decreed that all persons under the age of eighteen should spend seven hours a day behind bars, having the philosophies of the country drilled into them.
-Philosophy! cried Candide. I should love to hear their philosophy! I mean-Pangloss is an optimist; you're a Manchee; Pococurante, who we haven't met yet, is a pessimist, and that know-it-all dervish is a deist. And I'm the bumbling, innocent, cardboard-cutout, annoyingly-naïve but- strangely-endearing-all-the-same title character. We can't have too many philosophies in a satire-bring on the Americanism!
Just then, an ear-splittingly harsh bell rang across the school, and students began running in and out of doors as though hellhounds were at their heels. Candide and Martin watched as a particularly fat horde of students were squashed into a narrow bottleneck. Screams and curses filled the air as the crowd oozed through the hallway, its fringes being crushed against the jagged walls as it squeezed through like some wriggling amoeba.
Candide looked at Martin, who shrugged. -Torture, Martin commented. They've got it in every culture.
-But what have they done wrong?
-They don't need to have done anything wrong. It's part of the process. Watch well, dear Candide-they say this is the best institution in the nation.
They both stood in silence for some time and watched. Presently the vast crowds disappeared and were replaced by the occasional lone student, who scurried about in the shadows like some nervous mouse.
-Martin, asked Candide, why are they wearing those turtle shells?
-Oh, that's part of the torture. So are the stairs. In America, everyone must be thin, and so they make the children carry around twenty pounds apiece and climb up and down two dozen staircases every day wearing the weight on their backs. It is said to be very good for the posture.
-Oh, said Candide.
-Look, said Martin. Now they have all gone into their torture chambers. If you really wish to hear a bit of this Americanism, let us climb over the prison fence now, while no one is looking, and eavesdrop.
-All right, said Candide.
They climbed the fence.
No sooner had they landed on the other side than a large, hairy man began blowing a shrill whistle and pointing at them.
Martin, being more experienced in worldly matters, scrabbled back across the fence and ran away; but Candide, our poor, innocent and naïve but endearing hero, following Pangloss' theory of free will, decided to use his legs as he chose and walked directly toward the GLC.
The hairy man grabbed Candide by the back of the neck, dragged him into the nearest room, and dumped him on the ground, slapping a yellow sticker onto the back of his head.
-Shut up, sit and listen, growled the GLC. Or you'll be suspended and then expelled.
-Suspended? Expelled? From what? quailed Candide.
-Don't be smart! snarled the GLC.
The torturer in charge of the room came over and ripped the yellow sticker from Candide's hair. He yelped.
-Ten minutes late, barked the torturer. He gets six hours. Sit, you chronologically challenged, mentally-deprived individual! (Because, of course, in America, everyone is always politically correct.)
Candide held his breath as the torturer stalked to the center of the room and confronted the group of poor young people in front of him, rubbing his hands together with malicious delight. He opened his mouth-and hissed.

Parseltongue, someone coughed.
Gesundheit¸ Candide coughed back.
-Bless you, chorused the class.
The torturer gave them a simpering smile. Then he opened his mouth again, very slowly, and launched into a tirade about the Causes, Effects, Pros, Cons, and Implications of Propositionseventytwowhichwillbevoted- uponnextmonthism. After which they moved on to AsquaredplusBsquaredequalsCsquaredism, and Derivativism.
Poor Candide spent five hours in the torture chamber. After the first hour, he was bored to tears. After the second, he was scarred for life. After the third, he was asleep. After the fourth-he was having nightmares. And the fifth-he simply couldn't take it anymore and began throwing eraser peelings at the girl sitting to his right, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Cunégonde.
But Candide never spent the sixth hour-which is probably a good thing, as the rest of Voltaire's fine satire might have been a bit different with a raving lunatic as the protagonist-because just as the clock struck two o'clock, a terrorist ran through the door.
-Osama bin Laden! he shrieked, ripping open his shirt to reveal a huge bomb strapped to his chest.
-O'Sarah's been what? asked Candide.
The people around him stared, and then they opened their mouths in perfect unison (because in America, conformity is the key to success, long life, and Happy Meals), and screamed.
-I'll pull the cord! the terrorist screamed back, showing them a florescent pink cord which was attached to the bomb, which displayed in lurid green lettering 00:00:04 (because although it was a homemade bomb made from nitrogen fertilizer and had no legitimate reason for a countdown screen, the ones in American movies had always had one, so the terrorist had followed suit. He'd also painted all the wires red.)
-Oh! A pink cord! cried Candide. That's Cunégonde's favorite color! Gimme!
He lunged across the room and yanked it.
That was the end of the Diamond Bar torture institution, which might more politely and politically-correctly be called the Diamond Bar High School.
Candide was burnt to a crisp and blown to bits, but, as people don't always die of these two accidents, he was still alive.
Martin came running into the room.
-Candide! he cried. Are you all right?
-No, said Candide.
-Now, said Martin pensively, Pangloss would sit here and reminisce about how this place was built for that terrorist to blow up, and how ears were made for earrings, but I, being a more realistic and three-dimensional character, shall call 911.
And he did.
-Martin, groaned Candide as sirens began wailing halfway across the city, how wretched I am! I have killed all of these people! Whatever shall I do! Howsoever can I ever justify myself in Cunégonde's eyes! Whatsoever can I tell her, aside from whosoever to misuse extended pronouns?
-Be practical, replied Martin. She likes pink.
-But the government, moaned Candide. They shall torture me horribly and behead me for killing its citizens.
-No they won't, said Martin. Just tell them-You killed the terrorist; God killed the rest.

Congress agreed with Martin. It decreed that Martin and Candide each be awarded seven million tons of Eldorado dirt and twelve million dollars' worth of Eldorado rocks.
However, this being America, the government took one-third in taxes, Internet scammers took another third, and processing fees took the rest. Then our dear travelers got addicted to the California lottery and spent all the Eldorado rocks and sand they had arrived with.
So they were penniless. They went on to France, where they found that the beautiful Cunégonde had become a gorgon (sans snakes), that everyone who'd ever been dead had miraculously resurrected (minus the minor characters and religious people whom Voltaire hated), and that gardening was the only occupation on earth that didn't cause eventual insanity; so they all gave up on philosophy and lived sadly ever after in the Garden of Eden. The End.