History of the University

Note: English Department faculty
members are currently at work on
a revision of this history.

A Brief History of the University
As evidenced by artwork ranging from cave paintings to murals, our lovely campus has a long and varied history. Just 40 million years ago cavemen battled dinosaurs for water rights, and aliens planted the seeds of intelligence in the human brain. A lot has changed since then - those seeds have blossomed into poisonous flowers of wisdom - but water rights are still a touchy subject. Although campus itself has been around for millennia, the University per se didn't come into being until some time later.

Years ago this very spot was occupied by the former Springfield College and its closest neighbor, the Center for the Seriously Wigged Out. Both institutions worked together on a variety of medical, scientific, and weekend projects. It was common enough for a Psychology student from the college to intern at the top-rated mental health research clinic, a happy affiliation which only later proved both beneficial and disastrous.

Enter Dr. Elim Brainrage, a brilliant, handsome and charming psychiatrist. Dr. Brainrage's area of specialty at the clinic was the Psychogenic Fugue, an elusive condition where an individual wanders away from his own life and believes himself to be someone else. One afflicted patient reported waking up miles from home only to find herself on a strange bowling team. Other people reported suddenly finding themselves pushing grocery carts full of food they didn't really like. Under Dr. Brainrage's watchful third eye, research students at the College discovered that as the world kept getting weirder, more and more people were realizing they had been living the wrong life.

Each case study was stranger than the next. Another patient, a life-long homemaker and mother of 12, woke up to discover herself in the pilot's chair of a 747. Although her emergency landing was quite impressive, the airline cancelled her contract when they discovered she didn't have a driver's license, much less a pilot's license. They considered hiring her as a flight attendant but decided she just wasn't tall, thin, young, or pretty enough.

Another patient, a former chorus girl named Patina Nutshell, believed she was a great french chef. In fact, her cute little accent and "Viva Le Chef" apron were so convincing that in August of that year, the College President, who had seen her walking around campus with spatulas, asked her to prepare the faculty dinner in celebration of the new school year.

Unfortunately, Patina didn't know the first thing about cooking, and the mushrooms she used in the pudding were poisonous. Following after-dinner coffee, which no one could tell was decaf, the entire faculty suddenly dropped dead. The only guest unaffected by the toxin was Dr. Elim Brainrage, who refused to eat Ms. Nutshell's cooking after he broke a tooth on her Creme Brûlé. With classes beginning in less than a week and the entire teaching staff dead, the Board of Trustees were in an uproar. One of them suggested abducting a replacement faculty from a rival college. Someone else recommended converting the entire campus into a theme park called Educationland, featuring loveable animatronic characters such as the Bitter Bookworm, Princess Smartie Pants, and Professor Yatzee.

With time running out, it seemed the only alternative was for the Board of Trustees to give back all of the money they had stolen and tell everyone they were sorry. Luckily, at the last possible moment, literally seconds before class was scheduled to begin, Dr. Brainrage concocted a brilliant plan. Why not merge the college with the research center and allow the mental patients to teach the classes?

Thus was born the University of Psychogenic Fugue.

So the chorus girl became Chairperson of the Culinary Arts Department, though she was strictly banned from ever preparing mushroom dishes again. A dog groomer who thought himself to be Joan d'Arc taught French history, and so on. Although the Trustees planned to hire actual professors the following summer, student response to the patient-faculty was so positive they were instantly given tenure.

Dr. Brainrage was knighted Dean of Students to help with any unpredictable faculty behavior. His portrait remains hidden in a closet to this very day. Sadly, most of those dear old lunatics have gone the way of the dinosaur. One by one they awoke from their various fugues and were quickly and quietly replaced by legitimate teaching professionals. Almost a full 62% of our current faculty are certifiably sane, or were when they were hired. That's well above the national average.

Yet despite these and other changes, our valiant teaching staff is still fighting to regain many of the basic human rights that were abandoned when the original contracts with the patient-faculty were signed so many years ago. But believe you me the University has some damn fine lawyers and those contracts are ironclad.

Another dinosaur that has become extinct is the previously mentioned disorder, Psychogenic Fugue. The American Psychiatric Association eventually replaced it with the sleeker, more stylish name, Disassociative Fugue. They did this in order to protect their patients from mocking cries of "psycho!" Though the disease changed names, the University decided not to.

With all the money invested in catalogs, sweaters, bumper stickers, letterhead, lapel pins, and anniversary watches, it just seemed pointless. Besides, the University of Psychogenic Fugue does not abandon tradition so casually.

Today, we're still growing and changing to better serve your needs. You may think we're crazy, but you haven't seen anything yet. The University of Psychogenic Fugue offers the most unique and bizarre educational experience in the universe.