Net: Eerie, pungent…

Net: Eerie, pungent winds a-blow through Networkia this morn. Lo, a brave new world is nigh.
Parliament, it seems, has fallen prey to a coup of unprecedented proportions, leaving the lot of cheeky Networkians to wonder: To whom shall we look?
Will it be a megalomaniacal chieftain with a questionable coiffure and a generally irritable manner, or shall the reigns of the Almighty’s hearty band of draft horses fall in the hands of a soul with a gentle touch — a soul worthy of a trip home to meet Mom?
It matters not. Networkia is strong. Networkia shall live, and live well. For our Network — nay, your Network — is fueled not by its overseers but by its inhabitants.
The challenge is clear. Write on, Networkians, for much gaiety lies ahead.
THE MAN IN THE YELLOW HAT WOULD NOT LIKE THAT
From Phlegm of Discontent: Did you know that monkeys will shatter if you put them in liquid nitrogen? Net: Actually, yeah. Look it up in “Liquid Nitrogen is Your Friend,” page 84, third paragraph. It’s right there under “Fun With Monkeys.” Yesterday, as I was setting up an experiment, one of the liquid nitrogen containers exploded, spraying liquid nitrogen everywhere. I was in another room at the time, but Curious George wasn’t. Net: That damn monkey. By the time I got there in my enviro-suit, it was too late. And then, I accidentally hit him with a hammer. Net: He had it coming, the little bastard. Poor George went to pieces. Devastated, I swept up the little chunklets of George and sent them to Aramark, figuring that good meat shouldn’t go to waste. Net: Big mistake. Good meat goes to waste every day when placed in the hands of Aramark. Bobo was pissed, as he had been hitting on Curious George for the past month and a half, hoping to get George into bed, or the monkey equivalent thereof. Net: That would be a tree. He’s always blaming me for his lack of a love life, but the sexual escapades of my monkeys are no business of mine. Net: On the other hand, we love to hear about it. Look to Net for the latest in monkey-humping. Now that makes two lab monkeys I’ve lost this year. Maybe I should be more careful in the future. If I had known world domination was going to be this difficult, I would have left it to my lab mice.
UNREQUITED CHEESE
From Inspector Cheeseburger: Hello Network and Minister. Net: Ol’ Min has, well, he’s left the building. But … ah, well, we’ll let him know you stopped by. I heard WeePeePee responded to my little shot at him the other day. I just want to let everybody know that I was not offended, but that I just hate frat boys. Net: Now, why would anyone hate a frat boy? Oops. Was that our outside voice? That’s it, end of story. Secondly, I just wanted to tell you about a woman I just met. She has the most melodious voice the world has ever heard. I just wish I knew who she was! Net: Ten bucks says she has a great personality. Oh yeah, and a huge ass. I needed the number to the Wilson Library so I called 5-5000 and there she was. She said, “University of Minnesota information … .” Net: Try calling 411 once. We just giggle like schoolchildren in health class when she purrs, “For what city?” She went on to say her name, but I was so enthralled by her voice that I missed it. I almost forgot what I called for. All too soon she transferred me to the library, and I was talking to somebody over there instead. Net: Who, of course, sounded more like Bea Arthur in a cigar bar, right? How I would love to meet to this woman, take her out to a nice dinner and talk for hours over iced tea in some comfortable coffeehouse. Net: Make that a very, very dark coffeehouse. Or maybe a confessional. I keep trying to call her again, but I never get the right person, so I just make up questions about IT or Carlson, etc. If there is anything you can do, I would be most grateful. Net: Whaddya say, Networkians? Any suggestions? Or do we let the lovelorn Mr. Cheese‘s fresh infatuation founder?
STEP UP TO THE SOAP BOX
From MayQueen: I’m writing in response to Kidd-O‘s uneducated rant about the horrors of living alone. Living alone is so great, I will be returning to my single cell in Centennial Hall for the second year in a row. (Make fun of me for being a sophomore in the dorms if you will, but it just rolls off my back because I’m technically still a freshman. So there.) Net: You might’ve had us if not for the technicality. Fifth-year seniors, sure. Second-year freshmen? Nuh-uh.
I love living alone, it’s great to rule supreme over the television, stereo and microwave. Net: Indeed, solo joys abound. Unrestricted use of “The Clapper!” No one eats the leftover Ramen! Wanton self-pleasuring! Sexual encounters are not awkward because I’m not getting it while someone sleeps in a bed six feet away. Net: And the problem with that would be … ? But, by far, the best perk of non-roommateness has to be “Naked Time” — sitting around without clothes on just because no one else is around. It’s fun, gives me an excuse not to answer the door and greatly reduces my laundry load. Net: Don’t forget the significant enhancement of your social skills.
STEP UP TO THE SOAP BOX
From Psycho: Net, a lot of people write their complaints in to you, and Phlegm‘s Aug. 7 entry got me complaining to myself. Net: What else have the voices said? A lot of people seem to like to write in and attempt to slay sacred cows in an attempt to get a rise out of people (who I don’t know). I have a feeling that these writers write in these letters because they think the topics are socially taboo and they want a “normal” person to say to themselves, “Oh my goodness, how could that tortured soul say such a thing.” Net: Who you callin’ tortured? Let it be known that it’s not shocking, it’s not funny and you’re not going to impress anyone with your shock-drivel. Net: Are you listening, Tom Barnard? If people are going to complain, at least complain about something worthwhile, not something that you would never say in an actual conversation. We want to hear about dumpster-diving royalty, psychedelic drug experiences and tales of sexual deviance. Net, you know what America wants, so give it to us. Net: Your bitch is at my command. Or something like that.