Net: With the King …

Net: With the King of Terror bested, Networkians across the land reveled for a week in their newfound manumission; Citizen himself doffed his veil of namelessness (Visitor J, he was revealed to be), the Minister of Concurrence was freed from his shackles of servitude, and the NITWIT team once again disbanded, each operative vowing to rededicate to a life of higher learning.
All is well in Networkia again.
As for us, well … nothing changes too much out here in the nebulose ether. Readers come and go — it’s all we can do to deride you to the best of our metaphysical abilities — as do eras of good, evil and innocuousness alike.
But one thing never changes, faithful Networkians — for the forces that divide you shall also bind — this humble space will always be the last bastion of forthright intercourse at this daunting University; ’tis a sad day coming when Networkians haven’t a home.
Until that time — write on! Newbies and vets, lend us your rants, your tirades, your acerbic diatribes; bring on your scurrilous manifestos, your haiku, your favorite flavor of edible condom … we just don’t care!
Good morrow, Minister, and God speed!
MOC: Gee — thanks, boss. But you know, I’d be happy to stick around if you …
Net: MINISTER! We are trying to appear kindly here … so off with you then! Go home!
MOC: Yes, boss. Good morrow.
Net: Very good. And good morrow to you, too, Networkians. A strange wind blows today; change is upon us all, wethinks.

From Finite State Automaton: I was on a trip to the vendoland in the Electrical Engineering/Computer Science building when I spotted a noble garbage-picker. Net: A pauper is a prince when his kingdom reeks of refuse … or something like that. He looked to be about 50- or 60-years-old … and he didn’t look like he had anything particular to do with either computer science or electrical engineering. What at first glance seemed to be a well-worn University shirt was, under a closer inspection, simply an old maroon T-shirt, grayed on the back with dust or dirt, with large, dark, ruddy circles under the armpits, which were dank with sweat. Net: Sodden axillae bespeak censured royalty, for sure. Just check out Prince William. The comb-over hair, hopelessly trying to cover the bald expanse of his head, was matted into greasy stripes across his scalp. He was about the same height as myself, but seemed significantly taller — owing to the knobby, emaciated look of his character, plainly visible as the damp shirt clung to his body. Without acknowledging my entrance, he continued to rummage through the trash. Well-trained eyes selected a chef’s salad and hot dog as the most promising fare to be had. Net: In the dumpster? Score! I freely admit, I could not have chosen better myself. With a tragically noble air, he placed the boon atop the microwave, and produced from some hidden cache on his person a long, straight rod of twisted metal, with a loop on one end. If I had any doubts to his nobility, one look on this scepter of the estranged squelched them. Oh, stately lord of the misbegotten, oh prince of the paupers, if I am the only vassal in your court of the castoffs, it will be enough, for fealty I swear to thee over the viper lords of Washington, fidelity to thee over all the treasurers and pleasurers of this plane. He then knelt prostrate between the honor guard of vending machines, and reaching out with his scepter, swept under them for loose change which, having retrieved the humble tribute from his fiefdom, he pocketed and smiled at me. Net: A brush with greatness, no doubt.

From Phlegm of Discontent: For the past six or seven years, I’ve been hearing a lot of whining about Tibet. Free Tibet, Tibetan Freedom Concert, China is oppressing the peaceful people of Tibet, blah blah blah. Net: Seven years in Tibet, seven days in the movie theaters, seven more reasons Brad Pitt is off the “A list” … Frankly, I’m quite sick of it. For those of you who slept through geography class, Tibet is a mountainous, barren region of little strategic value and has a population of about eight million. Net: Most are monks. The rest are “the chosen one.” They can’t free themselves, and no country will step in to help. So while all these rock stars and bleeding heart new age hippie freaks are moaning about this practically worthless region, billions of other people are being oppressed in the rest of China, Russia, Asia, Europe and Africa.
So I propose we nuke Tibet. Hear me out. If we turn Tibet into a giant, glowing glass parking lot, I won’t have to listen to the whining anymore, the Tibetans will no longer be oppressed and maybe the bleeding heart, new age hippie freaks will do something about oppression in more important regions, or maybe even get jobs. Make a stand. The whining ends now. Nuke Tibet!

From Kidd-O: You know, I always thought I would enjoy living alone. I’ve had roommates before, most of whom I’ve loved to death or at least gotten along with pretty good. Net: So YOU’RE the one. But now I’m living alone for the summer, and it’s not everything that it’s cracked up to be. Net: Lots of quality time with channel 45, squiggly though it may be.
It’s weird to be able to do what you want when you want to do it — watch movies with friends when you feel like it or blast my favourite Net: Favourite? What are you … some kind of limey? Promise Ring song — “Picture Postcard” — I LOOOOVE that song — when I feel like it. Net: Tho that explainth it. You’re thome kind of thilly rabbit. So this is just a message to all the dorm kids — present and future — that the whole “no roomie” scene isn’t all that … (at least not as much as Claire Danes in “My So-Called Life”. 🙂
Net: So it was, so it is and so it shall be. Go into the world, seek trouble, get back to us. Just remember to insult cleverly, for someday, we’ll all be together.
Now hastily, we must away!