When the Daily tipline rang late Thursday night, its ominous jingle sent chills down the spines of reporters and editors alike.
The gruff, hushed voice on the other end said two words: “Alonzo Newby,” and disconnected — disappearing like a shadow in the night.
The staff knew what had to be done.
And so, after ceremonial shots of whiskey, Managing Editor Joe Carlson hobbled to his computer and sent an e-mail to the cerebral entity known only as Network.
When Net received the encoded message, which read, “The pumpkin ball has landed; the bear is dead,” they reached for the special red phone. Net: Yeah, we called Commissioner Gordon to find out what the hell pumpkin balls and dead bears have to do with anything.
As an electrical current buzzed across the direct line, somewhere far beneath the tunnels known as “The Gopher Way,” a discarded computer began to hum. Net: Meanwhile, a nubile sorority girl did the same.
That was when the shit hit the fan.
Net summoned its last and most powerful weapon, Net: Excuse us while we whip this out … the dreaded Commodore 64, to battle the legions of Satan and attempt to right all wrong in the universe.
As the computer rose up from the center of Northrop Mall, the Weisman Art Museum was blown to pieces. Net: Watch out for that shrapnel! The resulting debris crashed into Coffman Union, destroying it.
University officials say the building could be closed up to two years for renovations.
As firefighters arrived on the scene, Net: Bowm-chicka-bowm-bowm … they were perplexed by yet another interesting phenomenon.
When hoses were linked to University fire hydrants, spectators were astonished to see not water spewing forth, but an amber liquid some claim was beer. Net: All this talk of hoses and spewing and such has us all atwitter.
“It was f**kin’ crazy,” Carlson said. “This school can bite my hairy ass. And it is kinda hairy.”
The Mall-area was soon flooded with students and passers-by — armed with glasses, mugs and, in one case, a Volkswagen — with which to collect the alcohol.
As word spread to the Superblock, the mall was overrun with freshmen, many convinced that “some killer house party was happening near Coffman.”
Buck Samuelson, Net: Who the hell is this Buck punk, anywho? a freshman alcohol-studies major, was asked if he knew what kind of beer was running through University pipes.
“It’s beer,” he replied. “That’s what matters. I can never find anyone to buy for me.”
With the crowd near Coffman growing to epic proportions, teaching assistants realized they had few or no students in their classes. Another strange development was discovered when the teaching assistants attempted to call one another to see if other classes were as sparsely attended.
Nearly all of the University’s TAs were struck with a Tower of Babel-like syndrome, in which the affected people could no longer speak their native languages, only a completely foreign tongue.
Fortunately, most began speaking English, and translators were readily available.
Reacting to the chaos, University officials immediately called the powerful Minnesota Student Association for advice on how to deal with such a crisis. But nary a student legislator was found.
In a shocking development, all of the members of the group vanished. In fact, all records of its existence and, in fact, the very space it once occupied were completely erased from history.
University President Mark Yudof — clad only in a maroon Speedo and sporting a new tattoo that read, “It’s not a bald spot; it’s a solar panel for a Sex Machine” — issued a statement commemorating the loss of the group.
“Today is a day that will live in infamy,” it read in part. “This group certainly … umm … held meetings. They certainly talked of making minor, insignificant changes that would have no effect on students’ lives whatsoever. Hell, they were so busy bit@hing at each other, they rarely noticed when we were giving it to the students,” Yudof said, making an undulating motion with his hips.
“I’m going to miss those little pissants,” the president concluded, adjusting his Speedo, as a lone tear careened down his chubby cheek.
While Yudof fiddled with his skimpy shorts, the University burned.
Famous mall preacher Brother Jed returned to campus to view his greatest triumph. Several news affiliates reported Jed was part of a mob that castrated and crucified Pauly Shore and hung him from Moos Tower. Animal-rights activists immediately gathered to protest the “Son-In-Law” stars’ untimely demise.
Matters took another surreal turn, however, when a bonfire broke out near Oak Street and Washington Avenue Southeast in Stadium Village.
According to police reports, Jed was found near the blaze, fondling himself and humming a tune later identified as the Beatles’ “Why don’t we do it in the road.”
As widespread raping, looting and pillaging continued in the area, an aircraft identified as Luke Skywalker’s X-wing fighter flew overhead and launched air-to-ground missiles, destroying the University Gateway Center.
Reports indicate Skywalker, brought to life by the Commodore 64, mistook the new alumni center for the Imperial Death Star.
“It was really just force of habit,” Skywalker said. “That’s not even really why I’m here. I’m supposed to find this Jar-Jar Binks fool and string him up by his nuts. What the f*@k was Lucas thinking?”
As the unrest reached a fever pitch, mobs of media and pedestrians swarmed president Yudof’s Morrill Hall office, hoping for official comment. The president, however, was nowhere to be found.
In his place sat former men’s athletics director Mark Dienhart and the Dark Prince Lucifer, enjoying a cigarette and cognac from the secret stash in Yudof’s desk.
When questioned about his presence in Yudof’s office and his apparent friendship with the man of wealth and taste, Dienhart simply smirked and motioned toward Yudof’s inner office.
There, baffled reporters found former men’s basketball coach Clem Haskins laying face down across the mahogany desk — sans trousers — with a stupefied look on his face.
Dienhart entered the room. Taking one last look at Clem’s sizable caboose, he let out a long, satisfied laugh and left the building, his long shadow cast against the orange flames engulfing the University.
When questioned later, Satan said his alliance with Dienhart had been charity work of sorts.
“I have a heart, you know. And when you think about it, I am in the justice business,” Satan said. “I tried to talk old Mark out of his soul, but it turns out he already gave it to the University. Who knew?”
Satan was last seen leaving the campus area. Witnesses claim he was muttering something about having an interview with Minnesota football coach Glen Mason.

Funk S. Brother covers his bratwursts in kraut and mustard. He welcomes comments at [email protected].