Net: Ahh, yes … we can almost smell the turkey (or is that tofurkey?) and fixings now. Only three more days (or two, considering most of you will probably skip class Wednesday, being the rapscallions you are) until we give thanks to drunk relatives, dry stuffing and blocked field goals. And we are mere hours away from the beginning of the shopping season, during which you will no doubt struggle to find a gift that doesn’t cost too much, but just enough to keep this month’s boy/girlfriend happy enough to keep sleeping with you.
Indeed, the holiday spirit is in the air. Rejoice ….
KATASTROPHIK
From The Farmer’s Son: OK, boys and girls, I think we’re all aware that Network is in danger of becoming stale. Net: Well, then, put us in the damn fridge! Or throw one of those Chip Clips on our head! But don’t just sit there! To do my part in fighting this trend, I’ve assembled some of my patented Klassic Komedy for your reading enjoyment (By the way, everyone knows that spelling comedy with a capital K is pure komedy gold):
ù Lecture attendance improves dramatically following a series of classroom visits by Morganna, the Kissing Bandit. Net: Whenever we encounter blonde hair and a big rack, we think about chewing tobacco — not sitting in class.
ù Angry citizens of the world banish soulful crooners Jewel and Alanis Morrissette to a sparsely populated island in the South Pacific. Working together, they compose more than 100 songs about ironic hands that are, curiously, not at all ironic. Net: One yodels, one yelps. A match made in eternally burning hell.
ù University researchers perfect a robot with a high-pitched voice, attractive legs and a propensity for spouting inane chatter at the most inappropriate times. It will promptly replace Gophers hockey cheerleaders. Net: Here’s hoping you can program them to say something other than the utterly ricockulous refrain, “Let’s go, ‘Sota.”
ù Board of Regents begins to lose faith in the administration after University president unveils his new Mark Yudof routine. Net: Like a 747 piloted by someone who is not suicidal, that one was over our head. But then, “Komedy” is sink or swim like that.
ù University Marching Band will finally dispense with its usual lineup of super-lame halftime shows, like “A Salute to Motown” and “Lez Hear it for Les Miz.” They will finally have the gumption to play what people really want to hear: cool circus marches, such as “Barnum and Bailey’s Favorite” and “Robinson’s Grand Entree.” Net: How about “A Salute to Luther Vandross and Barry White: Let Me Massage Your Back”? The alumni would love that one.
Coming up next time: an impassioned, albeit somewhat incoherent, diatribe against the French and those bastards at Cargill.
WIFE-BEATERS ONLY, PLEASE
From Megalomaniac: Hello, Net. I never thought anything would make me want to actually write to you, because as of lately, it doesn’t seem to be much of an honor to get published in your fine square. Net: We take all comers, especially those who compliment us with such … panache. However, I have some not-very-deep thoughts on Thursday’s insert about the Playboy bunnies contest. Are females allowed to enter? Net: No … the Playboy honeys would much prefer to spend time with Buford from Mississippi, who enjoys cockfighting in his time away from over-the-road trucking. And does a person who doesn’t actually chew Rooster tobacco have a chance of winning? Net: No … Playboy chicks would much prefer to spend time with men whose teeth and gums are more maroon and gold than Goldy Gopher. I think it would be a lot more fun for everyone if some ladies won this tour of the Playboy mansion with their favorite bunny. We could talk about makeup, Hugh, implants … like a more naughty version of a sleepover! Net: Suddenly we’re intrigued. The mere mention of naughtiness tends to pique our attention. And what girl wouldn’t want a free year’s subscription? Why does everyone assume that girls aren’t into “that kind of thing?” I like to keep up on the latest breast trends, just to know what guys these days are whacking off to. Net: Try Popular Mechanics. Gadgets, baby. Gadgets. Plus, hint for the women reading this: Guys think you are so cool if you “admit” to looking at these kinds of magazines, and if you also “admit” to masturbating, they will forever be in awe of you. But I am adamant about filling out the survey on the entry card. How many pouches do I chew per week? Net: That sounds rather perverse, actually. Uh, does my chance of petting the bunnies decrease if I say none? Probably. But why does Hugh Hefner want four scrawny nerds with stained Billy Bob teeth and monster truck T-shirts on his premises? Net: Because the Backstreet Boys can’t make it that week. Beats the heck out of me. I’m gonna go fill out my entry right now, and if they ask for “sex,” I’ll just put “yes, please” like Austin Powers would. Then they will figure I am “their kind of guy.”
FRATERNAL DISORDER
From Fitch Bitch: Network, you are a god. I wish to reply to Queer Bait‘s frat-house fantasy from Friday. I am a gay man, who for a short time was in a fraternity. I have to admit that the concept of a fraternity is very attractive, if not homoerotic, to any crazy young college boy who thinks or knows they have feelings for other men. Net: Just like gang showers and fashion shows.
But in my time in my house, I never once saw anything overtly going on. Queer Bait‘s little locker-room frat-house fantasy was ill-served. Sure there are gay men in the University’s fraternities. Net: Wha … ? NO! For the love of Judy Yudof, NO!! I know several. Most of them are not out. I seriously doubt you know any! But for you to launch into your overt generalizations and mocking of the greek system was silly at best, idiotic at worst. I’m sorry that your boyfriend is out of the country and you have to vent your sexual frustration on Network, but you should really save it for the bedroom and Rosie Palm. Net: Such a good listener, Rosie.
