Wherefore art thou Przy?
From Oldie: I composed a poem about how lame and immature Joel Przybilla is … Net: Good for you. We wrote one about Mike Tyson: Oh, how thou art muscled. OK, I didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is no more than a little boy who will throw a tantrum if he can’t get his own way. Net: Now thy hair has been tussled. Oh, poor Joel can’t get his grades high enough to play a game here at the UNIVERSITY, so he will pout and go play somewhere else. Net: But we think you’ve been worthless. It is easy to see that your priorities are in order, little boy. Net: Since you lost to Buster Douglas. K, that rhyme was a stretch. My question to you is this: What are you going to do when your new team doesn’t let you play as much as you want? Net: Marry Robin Givens and live the *high* life. What are you going to do when you finally figure out that there is more to life than playing a game? Net: Don’t say that. We get paid to do this (two drachmas a day!) What are you going to do when you find yourself all washed up and have no skills whatsoever other than crying to mommy? At least they love you. Net: In keeping with the negative tone created by this leap year (and the failure of the Minister of Concurrence to reappear), we present even more angst-inspired lovin’.
TV good
From The Hot One: Daily columnist Noah Dvorak is a f##cking twit! Net: And your mama is a f##cking … wait, we stopped with the rhyming. Continue. There. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. We all know that only psuedo-intellectuals don’t like to watch TV, and from that, we should learn Dvorak isn’t half as clever as he would like us to believe. Net: Down with homework! Down with homework! More asbestos! More asbestos! Anybody halfway conscious should be able to realize that “Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?” is probably the most brilliant bit of satire in recent history. Net: Apparently, you’ve never seen any of the presidential campaigning. Now that’s satire. Issues? Bah. Could a Network run be far behind? We ain’t sayin’. Spare me the moral indignation, you mall-preacher-to-be because this show is poignant. It simply points out what those of us whose childhood included watching our parents’ relationship simmer into a boiling pot of anger, hatred and court injunctions already knew. Marriage is goddamn stupid! Net: Uh, we’re not one to promote violence, but wethinks Hotty is a candidate to go postal. Thanks for listening, Net! Net: Did we have a choice?
Snow removal blues
From Nemesis Enforcer: Oh holy Network, blah, blah, blah. Net: Blah, blah, blah? BLASPHEMY! I’ve got a bone to pick with the students, staff and faculty on this campus. Net: We got a bone to pick with you buck-o. It’s called respect. As one of the few, and I do mean few, students who get up in the morning to do snow removal, I have to say that a great majority of you lack the common sense of a lizard. Net: Never underestimate the power of a gecko. When you see a person in any of the snow removal equipment, do not give us those dirty looks — we are here doing a service. Also don’t bitch to your friends when you almost get hit by one of the vehicles we use because you are walking directly behind it!!! Net: We are the countless multitudes who harbor no feelings for snow-removers. Except for that one over by Nicholson Hall last Friday night … Simple rule: if you don’t make eye contact with us, we probably can’t see you. Net: Another simple rule: Don’t make fun of Networkia, and we won’t come to your house with The Hot One, who apparently has some “issues.” Next, when we are on the road we are legally considered vehicles, so when you pass us please give us more than six inches of space. Another thing: If you see us driving down a sidewalk and you have an alternate route, please take it; don’t walk directly toward us like we are the ones who are supposed to move. Finally, for the student who, after walking through a snow bank, thought it would be funny to clean his boots off in the area by the bus that I just finished shoveling: I remember your face and I’m coming for you!! Oh yeah, say thanks to us once in a while — it really makes our day.
Poopy problem
From Post-Poop Euphoria: Dear Networkers, I need some advice. I thought about writing to that “Dr. Date” person, but then I thought, “If I’m going to get some useless advice, why not get it from good ol’ Network?” I’ll get to the point: My computer left me. We had a fight. It accused me of playing around with other hardware, I accused it of being obsolete (hell, it is six months old). I tried to get it back, but it wouldn’t take my packets. I even offered to install a nonvirus-like operating system such as Unix to no avail. Desperately I went to the local computer store looking for another computer, but none of them did it for me. So my question is this: Boxers or briefs?
Net: Post Poop: First of all, you need to evaluate if there’s room in your life for underwear at all. Do you really need to wear underwear to prevent butt-crack stainage? Let’s assume you do. There are two schools of thought on that issue. What it really comes down to is: Who are you? If you’re a Libra or Gemini, you probably do need to consider wearing a wet suit for everyday purposes.
Networkia, we invite you to respond to Post Poop. Is there a solution to the age-old choice between boxers and briefs? Is none better than some? Is there such a thing as Przybilla poetry? All this and more on the next episode of “Network — The Final Millenium.”
