Net: Networkians, your time is near — the mission’s clear. It’s later than you think.
Citizen reports that the number prime has nearly been calculated; NITWIT operatives are prepared to run the program as early as July 24, when the Commodore 64 will finally be laid to rest.
Ultimate victory is at hand. Obsequian encampments have all but been deserted; King T, upon completion of the program, will retreat into the depths from which he came. Barring any unforeseen insurgency, conflict has been narrowly avoided.
If July 24 passes without incident, the celebration will commence, and a new era of insouciant Networkian carryings-on will begin.
Godspeed, Citizen.
Now then … Minister, do you have any good letters for us today?
MOC: Um … no.
Net: Very good then. Bring on the not good letters.
WE COULDN’T AGREE MORE
From Surtr: There is only one good solution to this argument about Abercrombie or Pro Spirit. Net: For us to kill it? Sheesh, people, do we have to spoon-feed you a new topic? Awright — here’s the deal — come Friday, we’ll give preference to all FIRST TIME writers who can find it in themselves to expound upon FRESH TOPICS. On your marks, get set … Uniforms have novelty. However, private school is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to stay there. Net: Haven’t you seen the Brittany Spears “One More Time” video? We’d stay. The only remaining answer is people should go shirtless. I would be willing to take the bad with the good. So call your congressman and, if that doesn’t work, resort to civil disobedience. Only you can stop tan lines! Net: As much as we’ve endorsed the many pleas for public nudity, it just doesn’t seem to be catching on. We’ll keep trying, though.
From Feyerman: I’ve decided to take a few moments to peer out from under the stacks of beer cans, ominous red-striped envelopes care of the Hennepin County Police Department acquired through an entire summer of illegal parking and rougish imbibing, and sweat from lack of air conditioning piling up at my dilapidated house to interject something. Net: Well shut our mouths. You picked the wrong season to hibernate, Feyer. Since I’ve been lax in my devotion of attention to the Network since the cessation of spring quarter, I’ve been forced to look through the archives to re-orientate myself to the current campus happenings. Can anyone guess what I’ve found? Absolutely nothing! People are still talking about Rollerdiva‘s tainted panties, ragging on Abercrombie and Fitch and bitching about the king of dementia with the foot fetish. At least Brother Jed is no longer a source of debate. Net: We’d welcome Brother Jed. Sheesh.
Anyway, this is a call to arms. I want to hear people bitching about worthwhile things. I want incessant, sniveling whining about lackadaisical summer professors, skunky beer and vindictive meter maids. Get to work! Net: AMEN, BROTHER!
EXODUS THIS
From WeePeePee the inflamed: Northernphile, you half-wit reject, thank you for validating my point of wanting to get the hell away from this crap-ass state ASAP. Snow-worshipping morons such as yourself are paramount on my list of things I won’t miss. That list also includes (in no particular order) mosquitoes, heat indexes of 130 degrees (with humidity), ANOTHER playoff loss for the Vikings and all the God-awful ugly people here — this state is like a convention of plastic surgery mishaps and fat camp washouts. The only reason I could think of to stay here would be the fact that I can watch “The Simpsons” sixteen times a week, but thanks to a little invention called a VCR I can do that pretty much anywhere. Maybe your underdeveloped brain enjoys attending the University a.k.a. the world’s largest community college, but I personally would like not to squander what little drinking time I have left on this half-assed school. I wanna go somewhere fun, where people give a shit about their school and the community, not just commute from the suburbs for classes and then leave at 5 o’clock. As a result of your dim-witted little diatribe I am jumping the gun and unleashing plagues 3-5 on your precious “fine institution.” Net: Ahh, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Bring it on. They are as follows: 3) The University shall be inundated with a swarm of black name tag-wearing Mormons who will harass any hapless passerby in an attempt to help them “get to know Jesus.” Net: No … NOOOO! 4) The Lord is infecting this campus with a registration system that shall constantly screw up and cause a myriad of problems, headaches and errors. 5) I am erecting (hehe — “erect”) a building on Washington Avenue Southeast for alumni which will rival the Weisman in its aesthetic horridness and shall cause many a person to go blind from the sheer ugliness of it all (plus I will make all the copper on its outside turn green like the Statue of Liberty within two years). So why don’t you put that in your pipe and smoke it!?! And who are you calling vertically challenged, you Lutefisk-eating, you betcha-saying, Fargoish, inbred Mothaf*&^%er? I gots mad height about me!! Net: Too bad you gots no jump shot.
WE SERIOUSLY DOUBT IT
From Kidd-O: I have an apology to make, dear Network family and friends. I misjudged the residents (Captain Pepper and Dr. Morgan) of my fine res hall as being one of “them,” Net: What — pod people? when I should have been more open-minded and asked them out for a cup of mocha and conversation. Net: Uh-oh … we sense a request for an innocuous coffee date coming up.
It was bad judgment of me to think that they were so different from me. So ladies, if I haven’t made a complete ass out of myself, Net: You have. Should it matter? it would be grand if I could meet you for a cup of coffee Net: We KNEW it! Oh, Kidd-O, desperation is SO unattractive at the Espresso Royale in Dinkytown on Saturday night. 7 p.m. works for me — if it works for you, I’ll be there. I’ll be the modestly handsome fellow in the bluejean shorts wearing a navy blue Promise Ring T-shirt with silly animals on it. I would love to meet you. Net: Bring your beanie baby collection and Strawberry Shortcake trading cards; Purple Pieman can just stay at home.
Good morrow.
