From Concerned Reader: I am very disappointed in the Net lately. Net: That’s NetWORK to you, punk. Who cares about the MSA elections? Net: Well, about 10 percent to 15 percent vote (those are in years when people give away soda), and about 30 percent to 50 percent laugh at those who do. So that’s a pretty decent plurality/majority to give a couple day. Plus, there’s the public service argument. We’re here to help U! It’s not like it means anything anyway. Why fill the only valuable space in the Daily (other than Dr. Date) with that garbage? Isn’t there any other good garbage out there? Net: We’ve been digging, and we must admit — Yudof has great lingerie.
What happened to all the great debates of the past, like the Simpsons-kwigibo debate? Net: For the record, it’s kwyjibo. But don’t get us started. I want to see issues that concern the University public. My friends tell me I’m not very smart, and they’re right, so I can’t think of anything. Can’t anybody out there come up with something interesting? Where’s The Anagramist when you need him? Net: And also for the record, The Anagramist is a she. And we don’t know where she is. Anagramist, we miss you.
But election days are upon us. And, in the spirit of not influencing the election, we will not be running the various last-minute grovels we received. Except one. We feel the need to make an exception in this instance because we have breaking news that could tip the election! Yes, everyone …
For those of you who may not have been following, a genuine groundswell of popular support has arisen for the write-in ticket of Miles SPICOLI SPEAKS
Tarver and the mysterious “Spicoli,” a Gopher who takes his inspiration from the Sean Penn character of “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” We have not heard from the usually loquacious Tarver; however, his positions are known to all who follow the University’s public sphere. But today, at the last minute possible, Spicoli answered the call:

From Spicoli: After deep thought while watching “Saved By the Bell,” I’ve decided, sure — Why not follow Miles Tarver on the MSA ticket as the VP for all the righteous dudes and babes at the U? If I win, well, Aloha Mr. Hand. My dad’s got an awesome set of tools, he’s a TV repairman, we could fix some MSA shit.
My issues, well first of all, students need some cool rules of their own. I’m all about tardiness, and ordering pizza to your classroom. You don’t have to pay me anything either, cuz all I need is a cool buzz, some tasty waves, and I’m fine, plus I’ve got une nicolette in my pocket, bro.
Miles Tarver, I know that dude! He’s a beau coups baller for the U. I’d be happy to run with him. He’s a captain now — Clem can’t hold him back from talkin’, and when we win, neither can the Man! With that kid’s lingo, funky do, and mustache, who wouldn’t love him? So stick a bagel in your shorts on Wednesday and Thursday, and elect Tarver/Spicoli. Net: And with that, all candidates have spoken. It is now up to the people to decide. Think wisely — and catch the wave!
From The Angel of Cynicism Oh great and glorious Network — I have been stewing in my discontent for long enough, and I have decided to at last speak out on the ludicrosity that assails me. Net: With thesaurus nearby, obviously. It seems that the FFA (Future Farmers of America, for those of you blessed enough to have remained ignorant of their existence until now) Net: Actually, no: As of 1995, FFA no longer stands for “Future Farmers of America.” It just stands for FFA, much as Kentucky Fried Chicken is now KFC. has chosen this day to invade the St. Paul campus. (And it’s a good thing they’re staying over there. Goodness, if they came over to the Minneapolis campus they might see an African American, and as we all know every black person in Minneapolis carries a gun with the sole intent of killing white people. This isn’t my idea, I overheard an FFA saying it.) Net: The writer doth explain too much.
They parade around in their suits and ties, as if that’s what farmers always wear. Net: You’ve never been at a Tyson Foods board meeting, obviously. Farmers are stocked with lucre nowadays. “I’m goin’ out to milk Bessie, Jim Bob. Wanna grab me that new Ralph Lauren I picked up the other day?” Net: We wouldn’t be playing off stereotypes here, would we? What was that you were saying about black people? And on top of this, one of them actually had the nerve to turn his nose up at me as I walked by in a T-shirt and combat boots. Net: How dare he act such way toward a bastion of tolerance such as yourself. So, whaddaya got the boots for? Planning any rallies at Nuremburg, by chance? I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard a snide remark about my style of dress being made by the mighty farmer’s son. Net: Hey — if the blue jacket fits …
Being the dignified person I am, I ignored the remark Net: Choosing instead to whine about it to 40,000 Daily readers and made my way to a phone, as I’d just received an important page. Net: Don’t ignore that probation officer … When I arrived, I was horrified to see yet another uniform-toting FFA on the phone. As she chatted for a good 15 minutes to her girlfriends about how “big and exciting” the “real city” is, I stood by tapping my foot and glancing at my watch, being completely ignored. Net: Good. If she had seen you, the illusion might have been shattered. After a good wait, she hung up (at last) only to pick up the receiver again and reach for her pocket. What the heck, I decided — I’d interrupt her. “Excuse me, could I use that for a second?” I asked. The response was even worse than blatant ignorance- “Umm, you sure it’s important? Cause I need to use the phone, too.” Come on people! (OK — I gave you the joke.) Net: Yes! Yes! You’ve caught on! Smile on your brother. Everybody get together … No, I thought, I’ve only been standing here all this time, and am now rudely interrupting you, for something trivial. Much more trivial than your preteen friends in Colfax, Wisconsin. Sheesh! Isn’t there a farm somewhere else these people could visit? Net: Isn’t there a farm where we could sentence you to hard labor? Well, thanks for the space.