GIMMESOMMADATCASH …

GIMMESOMMADATCASH
From Panthro: According to the front-page story in Monday’s Daily, the University wants $130 million for infrastructure from the state on top of the $300 million settlement they reached with the pharmaceutical company last week! How can one university spend this much money? Net: Try tracking down some of the big shots’ expense accounts sometime. According to last week’s Network, there are 66,000 fools that attend this so-called school. Net: Don’t listen to us. We have what you might call “issues.” Say we each pay on average $7,500 a year for an education. This is about $500 million that we pay the school. Add to that the money the school gets from state and federal funding, room and board, the bookstore, contracts with companies like Coke and businesses like Harvard Market that hold monopolies on their services, etc. Net: Don’t forget Aramark: big cash, stale fries. My theory is that University President Mark Yudof ran out of places to hide all this money, so he OKed all this construction so he could build the equivalent of Fort Knox throughout the campus. Net: What, you gotta problem with gilded tunnels? The penny-pinching tactics Yudof uses are reminiscent of everyone’s favorite uncle growing up, Scrooge McDuck. Net: Only Uncle Mark tends not to quack.
Being a resident of Centennial Hall, I am a firsthand witness to many of these tactics. The carpets are never cleaned, the bathrooms stink, there are missing toilet seats, the air conditioning rarely works and the TV lounge sucks. Net: President Yudof, are you listening? Although these are all travesties, the dining hall in Centennial is worse. The dishes, utensils and glasses are always dirty, the food is disgusting, and the few foods they cook well are such delicacies as french fries, grilled cheese and shrimp pops. Net: Paging President Yudof … paging President Yudof … I think it is time that Uncle Yudof stops swimming in his money pit and sends some of the money my way.
UNDIES IN A (LUNCH) BUNCH
From 6pack of MillerLite: “Hark! Who goes there?” said the fire-breathing witch who calls herself a happy and friendly worker of the SPSC cafe. There I was: poor, tired, hungry and looking for a meal to supply me with the power to conquer the day. Net: Two words: “Left” and “overs.” All I asked for was a meal, but they feel we do not deserve to be fed between 10 and 11 a.m. (so they can switch over from breakfast to lunch). I ask all who are listening to my plight, does it really take that long Net: McDonald’s does in a minute — the clock strikes 10:30 and you’re gettin’ a burger, like it or not. and must I feel degraded to the point of feeling like a little LITTLE DITTY ABOUT JACK AND ROSE …
schoolgirl who just peed in her pants. Net: Sorry, but we can’t relate. I say no. Follow me in saying no to the amazingly overpriced food court and SPSC. Now where is my brown paper bag?

From E. Rosewater: Oh, Network, here you are once again diverting my attention away from my studies. Net: Actually, it works both ways. You’re diverting our attention away from the E! channel. We have a fashion emergency! My calculus book again feels unfulfilled and lonely. Net: We got yer Copernicus right here. I told him, though he insisted on giving me the cold shoulder, that no man can resist the Networkic temptress. Net: Networkic? So now we’re Croatian? That unparalleled combination of tangential wit and rumblin’, tumblin’ idiocy! My gentle Jesus, Net: Now, now. Look what happened when John Lennon made that comparison. We’re not going there. what more could I possibly want? A girlfriend, that’s what … and 24-7 Dr. Katz … and more Kurt V. … and … oh, what’s the use. Net: Indeed, many goals and aspirations often seem well out of reach. We recommend giving up. There is nothing I can do. Is this world for real? Did “Titanic” really win best STREET LEMMINGS
picture? I am afraid it did. And what a movie it was — I never knew dialogue could be so terrifically awful. Net: Apparently you haven’t watched an episode of “Teletubbies.” That show makes us want to heave in the most profound way. These are sad, sad days. Maybe I should listen to Dan Quayle’s song of hope: “Every day is better than the next.” I am afraid he might be right. Net: Said well, brother our.
From The Only Barry: Alright, you’ve challenged me … I think I’ll try spewing a little anger here … Net: Sheesh, that’s original.
I can’t believe the absolute stupidity of some of these lemmings on this campus! Net: You’re at an institution of higher learning. What do you expect? Face it, you morons: Church Street DOESN’T HAVE SIDEWALKS right now because of some ungodly construction going on under the street! Net: We hear they’re trying to dig their way to China. So what does this mean? DON’T WALK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET! It’s this simple: There are plenty of places to walk AROUND the construction area instead FREEDOM OF SLEEP
of walking in the middle of street. But if y’all want to be lazy, that’s fine with me. I can’t wait for the first car to run one of you lemmings down when it comes screeching out of the Church Street ramp. Net: It’s kind of like what your uncle used to say after he gave you a snuggie and hung you on the door knob: “Go play in the traffic.” Unfortunately, some of you are taking it literally. And when you die, that’s one last STUPID MORON that won’t breed! I feel better now.
From Urbanwaste to Frank Padilla: It would seem from your entry that you spend “half your life” in Coffman Union just to waste it sleeping. Net: We’d suggest shooting for a good three-fourths, Frankie. This doesn’t mean it’s your home, either. The atheist groups have a right to be loud just like you have a right to sleep: It’s a public space. If it’s too noisy there, find another lounge. Net: And, of course, there’s always the gutter. You’ll have to anyway in a month, and now is a good time to start the search.
At least the members of the atheist group are having a good time while you nap on B.O.-soaked couches, afraid to go over to them in person and ask them to quiet down. Net: Did it ever occur to you he might be stuck to the couch, Mr. Smarty-Pants?