From Spartacus: I am so insanely disgruntled. Do police really have any viable function? Net: To Protect, Serve and Gain Weight. I got pulled over last week. Like 98 in a 65 is really that big of a deal. Then the little swine in dire need of a doughnut break starts ripping on me because I have gotten four speeding tickets since school started. Net: Perhaps a pair of skimpy Italian loafers would help, instead of the lead-plated shoes you’re obviously wearing. Whoopty-frickin’-doo. So, of course, I complain about this to everyone I see, and some of this cop’s little piggie friends overhear me. Direct quote from a swine’s mouth: “Cops aren’t purposely out to give people tickets.” Net: Actually, they’re out to spin the cherries and let the siren wail so they can live out their little childhood fantasies. Hello? Pull your two brain cells apart, buddy, ’cause they be fighting. May I ask what highway patrols do, then? Obviously their “role in society” is to pull over speeders to ensure the safety of the speeders and others on the road. Translation: They are purposely out to get me. Net: Paranoia sets in slowly at first, but soon festers into a pus-filled sore just dying to be popped. Or something like that. I don’t see them out there citing deer for trying to commit suicide. I don’t see them out there citing inconsiderate drivers who are pissing me off — which is the reason I speed, of course; lack of patience has nothing to do with it. I look at it this way. You’re speeding on the road. You can’t handle your car ’cause you’re a dumb sprout, then you end up crashing and you are dead. Natural selection at its best. Net: Darwin would be so proud. Hopefully when you crash you will take out a few of the other cars, thus eliminating another idiot category: the dorks who are so perceptive that they believe it is correct to drive 55 in the fast lane. Net: You can always tell the fast lane by the white stripe running alongside it. There is a message to all the babble here: Stay out of my way and kill the stupid people.
Thank you, Daily, for allowing me to vent. Net: And thank you, gentle Networkian, for filling space.


From The Ooze Of A Maladjusted Mental Laboratory: Hey, Network, penny for your thoughts? Net: The only thing you’re gonna get for that price is a punch in the ass. Roommates, roommates, roommates!!! Can’t live with ’em, pass the pizza. I have this roommate who keeps doing all this wierd stuff to me. Net: Like juxtaposing your I’s and E’s, for example? First, he wears a cap and gown to bed and constantly wakes me up in the middle of the night worried that he is a werewolf. Second, he refuses to carry his books by normal means; instead, he uses a hobo’s stick and bandanna. Third, he has attempted to fit himself for his own prosthetic peg leg. Net: As opposed to the naturally occurring peg leg, of course. And finally, he decided to give me a nickname … and now he will only refer to me as “Patches.” Some people complain about roomies smokin’ weed or dumping thier Net: There they go again! population porridge all over skin mags, but this, this is hell. Net: We know the feeling.


From MayQueen: Dearest Network, I’m writing today about the slum that I live in. Net: We didn’t realize they had rooms at the Bierman building. No, I don’t live in Dinkytown; I live in Centennial Hall. This afternoon I come back from work and am greeted with signs on the elevators saying that one will be shut down for almost two-and-a-half weeks for repairs. Later today, upon returning from my evening class, I find both elevators to be out of order. Often one or both elevators are out of order, and not always fixed in a timely manner. And two-and-a-half weeks to fix an elevator?!? They’d better be ripping it out and installing a new one, for chrissakes. Net: Perhaps if you volunteered to pay more for tuition, something could be worked out.
Also in disrepair are the bathrooms. I can’t speak for all of the bathrooms in this dorm, but the women’s rooms on my floor are terrible. Net: You got that right! They always seem to leave out the urinals! None of the lights in the showers work, and they have been this way for almost two weeks. Shaving your legs in the dark is a hazardous experience, let me tell you. Net: You don’t have to tell us. We’ve shaved your legs in the dark many times. They clean these bathrooms every day; don’t they notice things like that? Although I’m sure they don’t care, because they don’t have to use the showers every day like we do.
I pay $614.25 a month to live in a small room that is my bedroom, living room and kitchen. (That figure also includes 14 meals a week, of which I eat less than six, but that’s another story.) Net: Eat up! Get your money’s worth. For that amount of money, I could get a decent apartment that’s more than one room and not falling apart. But I chose to live in campus housing because it’s close to my classes. Net: Sucker. And where are your classes, by the way? Bruegger’s? I was a fool; I’d rather ride the bus to campus every morning than live in conditions like this. Centennial Hall just doesn’t care about its residents.


From Abortion Survivor: Dear Network, I was horrified to open the paper and see something that smacks of insensitivity and nascent thuggery. As I was reading the paper, I saw that the women’s basketball team has to wear some sort patch or slogan that says “One Heartbeat.” Where do I begin? Net: How about at the point where you explain why we should give a crap. First of all, I think it is awful the athletics department makes these fine young women take pregnancy tests in order to insure their eligibility. Net: Who says a girl with the preggies can’t run and jump and hurl themselves on the floor like anyone else? Oh … doctors. How prejudiced is this, like pregnant girls can’t play basketball. And I don’t even want to think what happens if they are caught with child; I suppose Clem gets out the rusty coat hanger and … well, you know. Net: OK, and what does this have to do with “One Heartbeat”? Oh yeah, I hate my parents. Net: Your mom just called. She wants her chromosomes back.