Net: Brace yourselv…

Net: Brace yourselves, Networkians:
If King T shall to strike,
Be it this night or in the morrow …
From Yngwie: I had to take summer classes this year, because of an unforeseen “F” I received last fall. It was my first one; I was so proud! But, dammit, I need that class, so I had to take it again.
Even though once again I didn’t bother to learn the material, things were different. My classmates were, by and large, big stupid blobs of flesh, thereby making me look better. Net: It’s all relative, babe. That’s why we keep the Minister of Concurrence around. And it was only five weeks long, thus cutting down on the amount of time I needed to fake it. By and large, things were in my favor, and I passed with flying colors.
I say, screw semesters! Let’s have a summer session model all year — short classes with instructors who don’t care and students who act as if they need directions to the bathroom.
From Finite State Automaton: I have come to purge my soul of my most grievous of sins. I missed opening day of “Muppets From Space.” I blame all of you!! You knew!! Net: We missed the opening of “The Blair Witch Project;” after seeing it, we’re glad we did. At least we knew it wasn’t real … sheesh — that movie’ll shake your very foundations of reality. Go.
Let’s do away with human actors altogether and make only muppet movies. For example, “The Phantom Menace” recast with Muppets: Anakin = Gonzo; Obi-Wan = Kermit Net: Wouldn’t he be a better Yoda? Green, funny voice …; Qui-Gon Jinn = Fozzie; Darth Maul = Animal; Queen Amidala = Janice; those evil noseless guys = Statler and Waldorf; Emperor Palpatine = Sam the Eagle; Yoda = Dr. Teeth; C3PO = Beaker; R2D2 = Rowlf; Jar Jar Binks = Boober Fraggle; The Gungans = The Fraggles.

From The Mule: Ho there, Network! I may not be a first-timer, but there’s still a lot of innocence in this young lad. Net: We’ve heard, young padawan … we’ve heard. Don’t worry — we’re sure your parents will take you to “Blair Witch” if you ask nicely. Obi, you hit on a favorite subject of mine. Long have I espoused that destiny is determined not by nature nor nurture, but indeed by nomenclature. As for my nickname, well, three years ago I earned the nickname The Mule when, after reading The Foundation Series, I told other people about my fascination with the character of the same name; a guy who’s ugly nature alienated him from the universe, but whose mind enabled him to pay back the universe tenfold. So there you have my story; a dateless guy harboring ambitions of galactic conquest.

From Mic: Hello Net. I’m one of Phlegm‘s house mates, but I’m one who isn’t out to conquer the world. Phlegm has offered to make me his Minister of Truth, Net: Every aspiring öberfascist megalomaniac needs a good Minister so I am casting my lot with him until I get a better offer. Anyhow, Obi was wondering if people assign themselves nicknames. I doubt it, at least in everyday life. Net: We know of a guy who wanted everyone to call him “Daddy.” What’s worse is, everyone did. Idiot. Only people using CBs, writing in chat rooms and making Network entries give themselves nicknames. I am guilty of two of those. Net: You talk on a CB?! COOL! Have a fine day, everyone. Net: Tehn-fouwr, fer shure fer shure, we got ourselves a convoy, out.

From Kidd-O: Anyone notice how the Harvard Market is a time warp? Net: Waahhht, the clocks are fast? I swear to God it’s the truth. Going there is like a trip to hyper-inflated economy of 1979. The colors are all oranges and piss yellows, and the prices are triple what you would pay at a supermarket. Net: And the Now and Laters are like chewing shale. Oh well, not much this dorm kid can do. Gotta feed the urge … mmm mmm mmm … Combos and Clearly Canadian sure are good for supper!
From Rollerdiva: There are few things in this world finer than a chocolate blizzard from Dairy Queen with oodles of luscious chunks of Reese’s peanut butter cups and chocolate chip cookie dough all swirled inside. My suggestion to luvlygrrl is to have one of these mouthwatering morsels every day until you are sufficiently cooled down enough to watch the World Cup finals without that nasty feminist fuzz clouding your vision. Let me put things in perspective for you: If you walked into Stub and Herb’s 10 years ago for nachos and a little game time on TV, would you even have been able to watch the Women’s World Cup? Was there a professional women’s basketball league? Could you even see a televised soccer game if you didn’t own a satellite dish? Net: Yes, Roller, these are dreadful times. Women haven’t even had the right to vote a century yet in this country! If the evolution in the women’s arena of professional sports from mud wrestling and the roller derby to world cup and WNBA has been ushered in by yeast infections the world over, then I urge all you strong, sensible feminists and femme fatalÇs alike to quit wearing underwear and going to the bathroom after sex. It seems that the more MONISTAT 7 you buy, the sooner women will be able rise up and put and end to all those icky jock itch commercials that plague the Stanley Cup finals broadcast. I don’t know about you guys, but I’d much rather watch an ad for Massengill.
Speaking of which, why don’t you see advertisements for porn on TV? I mean, doesn’t it make sense? And why are there no hard-core porn options ever on pay per view? Sorry to burst your bubble Aeon, but despite the yummy tingling sensation that I experience while watching femmeporn, the kind of porn that really makes my nipples stand up and salute is male fantasia erotica. You know, where there is, like, this lust den full of extra sexy kittens and some random, average-looking peels man beds them all and they beg for more. It’s sick and twisted, and totally yummy! Net: Whoo! Heh-heh … we have to go now. See you Monday … or will we?