From Robosquirrel: Net, this is a happy little note I dropped to the Rec Center for doing such a great service to the University community: Net: Shared with one and all. At Network, we believe in openness.
I was shocked today when I went to get my tennis shoes out of my locker, to find that my lock and everything in my locker was gone. Net: Obviously, Sally Struthers was stealing gym clothes to give to starving children in Africa. For less than the price of a cup of coffee. Your staff did the best they could to help me. They tried diligently to figure out which of the two keys on the ring fit into the back of the padlock (I had to help them on that one). They desperately explained that there had been some break-ins and the thieves had just been caught last week. Net: Aided by a mysterious figure named “Raoul,” no doubt. They even helpfully accused me of not renewing my locker on time (the very thought!). Net: It’s that “blame the victim” mentality that’s making locker rooms not safe for anything.
They did apologize wonderfully and acted so helpless that I wanted to give them a hug and tell them it would be OK, but then I found out about the secret rule that Rec Center members can’t have their own locks on their lockers. I can see some reason in the rule: You don’t have to cut your own locks, like you did to mine. I can’t figure out why it was a secret, though. Net: They didn’t want Kenneth Starr to find out. I guess it wasn’t really a secret, just a case of, “Well, uh, you didn’t ask.”
I took this opportunity to peruse the locker rental agreement I had signed, thinking maybe it was my fault that I hadn’t read the small print.
The agreement says that I have read and understood the locker rental policy. Well, I hadn’t, so I figured it was my fault for not reading it.
So I asked your cashier on duty for a copy. She didn’t even know there was a locker rental policy. Net: Once again (as so often happens on this page) the written word has been ignored. Maybe if the locker rental policy were put on MTV, this generation would understand. Kids — gotta spoon-feed them everything. I asked the friendly young woman who swipes U Cards for $7 an hour and she said she didn’t know where I could get a copy, but they were posted all over.
“Oh!” I said. I went back inside to look for locker rental policy, which was posted all over in exactly one place that I could find, where it stated, most explicitly, absolutely nothing about members putting their own locks on their lockers.
So, the way I figure it, you and your zealot locker-cleaning Gestapo owe me about $3 for a new padlock and I’d like my $20 back from renewing my locker for this quarter. I changed my mind.
Thanks a heap.

From Silvamaster: I, too, have heard a similar tale from the far north of the continent. As I have heard it told, the drink was called “The Toe.” It is served in a prominent bar in downtown Dawson City of the Yukon Territory Net: An area known for its discriminating liquor consumers and consisted of a severed and pickled human toe in a triple shot of Yukon Jack.
Supposedly, it is a popular drink in this bar.
On a similar note, I have heard of one other nasty (but not as nasty as “The Toe”) drink. In a bar in Decorah, Iowa (that’s Iowa — not Ohio or Idaho for the slow city people out there), there is a special drink given to people on their 21st birthdays. It comes in a large glass and consists of one shot of everything in the bar over 80 proof (which I am told is at least 15 shots). Net: Yikes. To top it off, the bartender will wipe the bar clean with a towel and add 2 shots of bar swill to the concoction. Apparently, you don’t drink two of these things in the same night!!! Net: We would! We are strong. We are invincible. We are benevolent. We are the Kings of Beer. Bring it on, baby.

From Naughtybabyspice Looking for a Meat Puppet: To the obviously baked trio of parking services dudes who sat huddled and giggling and allowed us to pass through the gate unimpeded and without the requisite payment, I applaud your creative gestures. Not only were all of you waving me out (I was confused, yet pleased, yet aroused, yet confused again), but why can’t my work-study boss hire two other fun people to man my booth and keep me company. As for the wafting Sens clouds, I got a buzz just driving by you with my open window. Net: The contact high’s an extra 50 cents. You three cuties far exceed the crabby old man who used to inhabit that kiosk. Net: Probably a tweaker. This place is getting better every day. Must be that they need three guys because it’s nighttime, or because it’s safer for keeping the money from getting stolen, or maybe they just need to write off more work-study hours before the year ends to help you each pay off your tuition. Net: Or perhaps the Maoists took over, and we weren’t looking — cultural revolution, anyone? Just don’t be circle-jerking to pass the time, cause some of us would be shocked to see a real penis before our wedding night. Net: Hey — that’s what the public school system is for! Hang loose, and don’t bogart that joint. We got to spread the love around.


From Buoyant in the Carlson Plan: All right, I’ve had enough! I am sick of all you arrogant pedestrians on the West Bank who believe you can cross the street with a complete lack of regard for traffic signals and, increasingly, the traffic itself. Lately I’ve been in a rather jovial mood — so I have veered, and in some cases even slowed, to avoid wearing one of you idiots as a hood ornament. However, unless you delight in having two tons of chrome-laden Buick wedged up your ass, keep your savoir faire off the street on my green. Net: Can do — we’ll be sure to get the road rage classes implemented immediately. And have a nice day.