Net: Well, loyal Networkians, after frantic tabulations and careful deliberations and decoding of your drunken rants, we have made our decision. There is, as of today, an inaugural Network Slapnuts of the Year.
Who is he, you ask? Well, just your average no-talent hick, white trash, skinny white boy with negative ups, soon to be dissed by the entire NBA and destined to end up as Luc Longley’s bitch boy, ditching-his-team kind of little wuss who didn’t like losing so he took his scrunched up little balls and went home to mommy in Monticello, bawling the whole way about how he’d have played for Clem but this Monson guy expected him to go to class and develop this thing called a “jump shot,” with an Opie-ass-looking haircut to boot.
That’s right, cats and kittens, Joel Przybilla is your Slapnuts of the Year. So if you see little Joel over the summer, give him a shot to the jewels for Net. Or better yet, just wait a year, buy a case of beer, turn on TNT and watch Shaq, Tim Duncan, Alonzo Mourning or, hell, Shawn Bradley make Przy their bitch.
Oh, and by the by and by, young Nate Melcher, of Caseous and anti-smoking fame, finished a razor-close second. Finishing second to a man embroiled in the largest cheating scandal ever who left campus under a cloud of dishonor. Sharpen that pencil, Melcher me lad. It’ll be a long summer.
HOORAY FOR BOOBIES
From Nordic Horde: Net, What’s happenin’? Net: To tell the truth, it’s about beer-thirty. Last day of the year and all, so if you could hurry it up, we’d play along. ‘Tis I, Nordic Horde, a.k.a. The Sugar Dick Mac Daddy with the Candy Nuts. Net: Is that positive in any way? ‘Cuz we’re positive it sucks. I don’t know if everyone has noticed, but it’s the season — the season of the breast! Net: Long live the luscious, lickable rack! Every red-blooded male has noticed, as the temperature rises, the less clothes the ladies wear. I especially love my 8 a.m. class Net: Freak! The words a.m. and class shall not appear together in the hallowed halls of Network and seeing the beautiful and naive 18-to-22-year-old girls go to class in their tight tank tops — it’s just cold enough to see their circuit breakers pop, ya know what I’m sayin’? Net: No, we don’t. Would you care to elaborate? All these girls prancing around campus in their tiny tops exposing bra straps and bosom alike, just makes my, and probably every guy’s, day.
I just love to stare at the breasts! Net: Don’t sugarcoat it. Tell us what you really think. I mean, the honeys out here just want you to gawk. I am not picky; I like big ones, small ones, bouncing ones, pointy ones, Net: Yellow ones, red ones, live ones, dead ones … uhmm, erm, derp, wegottago it don’t matter! As long as the fine young females want to show off, I’ll be sure to pay them the proper attention. I just love it this time of year, ogling every chick that walks by with her cha-chas swaying from side to side. But just as the first droplets of drool form at the corner of my mouth, my wife smacks me in the back of my head so hard that my eyeballs pop out. Net: Ms. Net isn’t so thrilled, either, but like we say, we keep that ho in double secret check. Then she collects my eyes, and I’ll be lucky to see them until I go to class the following day, Net: You put them back in to go to class. Sheesh, you love tits, but you’re not the brightest where this ritual starts again.
Speaking of boobs, I’d like to nominate your Net: Oh sure, now he’s ours! Uncle Yudof for Slapnuts of the Year. For he likes to stick it to the students like a lonely inmate, Net: Actually, wethinks Clem was the one giving while he continually wastes money and tells the students to foot the bill for a pay increase. Nice bookkeeping, Mark! Maybe you could you use my accountant’s number; I’m sure he could find enough money that you could waste (like paying off an unethical ball coach), and be able to give your faculty a nice 10 percent raise.
That’s all, now! Hopefully I’ll get my eyes back in time to watch some hockey tonight. Net: Amen, brother. Along with beer, breasts and ice hockey complete Net’s holy trinity.
SHOUT OUTS
From Nasty Mcshasty: Dear Net Dogg and their Dogg Pounders. Net: Woof! Where our doggs at? I am gonna keep this really short, because I know ya’ll will have a lot of stuff to fill up with today. Net: Yeah. We’ve heard about those “lite” beers, but we’re sure they’re a fad, just like “computers.” So first of all, I would just like to tell everybody on this campus (minus a couple bastards who don’t deserve it) good luck on their finals Net: Finals? Tell us you’re kidding. We knew we should’ve bought books earlier and to have a nice summer jam-packed with good, clean and wholesome fun. Net: Who the hell are you, Ward Cleaver? Now that I sound like Mr. Cleaver, I would also like to tell everyone who read my sh*tty entries this year and enjoyed them — thanks. Net: You’re welcome, wethinks. And to all the people who didn’t like my pointless banter, or if I offended you somehow — go stick a two-by-four up your ass and twist it around a bit. And if ya got one, smack your old nut sack around a little bit, too. Net: Slap those nuts! Free Puffy! Well, that’s all the unoriginality I have for one year. Seeyanextyear. Peace. Net: And a lengthy summer binging session to you, too.
WE OUT
Net: Well that’s it, Networkia. It’s been a fun ride, kids. We’re gonna take a week or so off here for some serious crack and malt liquor time, but we’ll still be here this summer, keeping the world safe from the PC hordes. So long to all the regulars, sniff, sniff. We’ll miss you the most.
Tip your cups back this evening, folks, and celebrate another year on the books. And if those rumors about finals are true, we’ll probably be back next year to keep y’all company.
Once and for all, this is the big-boned, naughty-pirate lovin’, Puffy freein’, frat-argument-moderating, long-living, slapnuts-dissing Net saying smoke ’em if you got ’em, and if you ain’t got ’em, you hit rock-bottom. Keep on rocking in the free world, Networkia. Assuming we live there.
