Farm Boy Heads off to Big City College

Parents purchase health insurance for their son while he's enrolled in the Agriculture Program at UCLA -- just in case. Trevor Young came from a nice maggot-farming Mormon family just north of Pocatello. Blonde, Trevor was quite the handsome country boy, when he headed off to UCLA to study Agriculture. In his pocket was his "trick" for impressing young women, a sample from his Idaho farm. "Maybe I'll meet somebody to marry up with," he told his mother, a stout matronly sort. "Are you bringing your little box?" she asked sweetly. "Of course," Trevor said, "It's the best lure I got." His mother nodded. "If she doesn't like your little box, then she's not good enough for my boy," Trevor's mother opined. She and her husband, Hyrum, had also gifted their son with health insurance coverage purchased from a California Health Insurance agent. "We won't worry so much," she told her ninth-born.

Once on campus, Trevor settled in. One of his roommates noticed the little box. Left unattended on a bureau top, it was oval, smelled of chocolate on the outside, and was purple. "What's in this Farm Boy?" the guy asked. Max Weinart was a junior majoring in International Finance from the Bronx and guessed precious jewelry, like a ring, was in it.

"It's for a special girl," Trevor explained, implying to Max that the contents were none of his business. Max nodded, assuming he'd guessed right.

A few weeks later at a formal soiree, Trevor met that "special" girl, Karen. Big-boned but pretty, she hailed from Jersey. She later regretted popping the question. "What kind of farming does your family do?"

"Wait, I'll show you." Out came the box, the one that had so intrigued the girls from north of Pocatello. Karen gasped at the contents in horror, screamed and reflexively punched, smacking Trevor in the jaw and knocking him cold.

While recovering in the UCLA Medical Center, with his jaw expertly wired, Trevor spoke through clenched teeth. "I got insurance," he told Max, who'd come to visit.

"I heard what happened," he said, "But why did you show that girl a box of dead maggots?"

"It was my fault," Trevor admitted, "the live ones are so pink and beautiful. I should have figured that when I'm home, they keep better."