University celebrates one-millionth Ralph Williams impersonation

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Ann Arbor, MI—The English Language and Literature Department at Michigan recently celebrated the one-millionth imitation of Shakespeare professor and University gem Ralph Williams.

Jacob Kilgore, a student in Williams’ 367 course on Shakespeare’s plays, says he just finds the professor’s wildly flamboyant personality ripe for impersonation.

"It hit me how funny it would be to do an impression of [Ralph] to a couple friends of mine, who had also taken this class last year," said Kilgore. "I decided to surprise them with that line I’ve heard [Williams] say from ‘Julius Caesar’ about a gajillion times."

When asked to describe the hilarious circumstances of the impression, Kilgore humbly shrugged his shoulders and said, "When I got back from class, I yelled to everyone in the house, ‘Is this a holiday?’"

"It was stunning," said Kelly Holms, one of Kilgore’s roommates, of the impression. "I thought it was Ralphie himself, bursting through the door and delivering that famous question rhetorically."

"I ran downstairs to give him a big hug, maybe another handshake—and found out it was only Jacob," added Holms with obvious disappointment.

Gerald Tooms, another of Kilgore’s roommates, was also disappointed because, as he says, he must have "just missed the mark."

"I do Ralph every chance I get," said Tooms, oblivious to how gay that sounds.

Tooms is directly on the heels of Ralph Williams, the current holder of most numerous Ralph Williams impressions, whose imitations number in the thousands.

The department, which has closely monitored and tallied all impersonations, good and poor, accurate and inaccurate, done over Williams’ nearly 40-year career, says they are very excited to hold a reception in Kilgore’s honor.

"He’s going to receive a plaque from the department, a certificate of acknowledgement for a job well done, and a marble bust of the professor’s famed, parachute-like hands," said English department head Richard Cureton, pointing to two large boulders in the corner of the department’s lobby.

"It’s the least we could do," Cureton added. "We're only sorry we couldn't make the bust lifesize, but any bigger and it would have violated the fire code."

Kilgore Williams himself is, characteristically, the most excited of everyone involved, and has volunteered to bestow the honor personally to Kilgore.

"Naturally, this, ceremony, is, for me, quite—flattering," gushed Williams, who then translated the confession into Ancient Greek, Aramaic, and Sanskrit while rubbing his eyes, clacking his heels together, ascending and descending a nearby staircase, running to and fro, smiling, giggling, frowning, becoming overly serious, pointing at and startling a random student, doing several pull-ups, removing his smoking jacket, and shaking nearly a thousand people’s hands at once while cradling a small infant.

"I don’t know much about these things being but a simple Canadian," confessed Williams, who then shook his pointed shoulders in laughter like a silent movie villain. "I learn things from students every day, and they know more than I ever could."

"For," continued Williams, in a booming voice that shook the very foundations of modern literary theory as we know it, "as one of the better speeches in modern memory, that of Thomas North's sixteenth century translation of Plutarch, puts it, EX DEUS REX MACHINA EN LIMBO!"

"Eh?" added the professor in apparent rhetoricism.

Williams added that he'd like to thank Kilgore for the attention, and that it was inordinately marvelous to be in close proximity to him.

He then mentioned that there were many rubrics for the day, measuring in equivalence to three nautical leagues.

In related weather news, the wind is most certainly up.

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