From SassAppeal: My patience has been worn thin, good Net, by years of academic and work-related stress compounded by myriad daily annoyances. Net: Welcome to our world. Today I am at my wit’s end, and suddenly hanging from a rope’s end seems like a fine way to wrap up this most lousy day of days. OK, maybe it’s not that bad. Net: What did you do, run over a kitty cat in plain sight of a gaggle of cookie-selling Girl Scouts? Some background: I pulled up to the meters behind Norris Hall this morning — 9:24 a.m., to be exact — only to find I had but a dollar bill. No change. So, I ventured into said hall posthaste to trade four bits for my single. Having been blessed with the assistance of a kindly passerby, I returned to my car only to find a familiar white envelope emblazoned with that stop-mocking-me red stripe. A ticket. Net: Indeed, there’s something about that stripe that makes you crave the blood of its messenger. The time said 9:26 a.m. Two f&@king minutes. I shook with the furious intensity of a thousand burning suns for nearly a half hour, and in the meantime came perilously close to hurling my fist through the window.
I’ve never understood how the city can justifiably charge $20 for parking tickets of this sort. Net: Pick your poison: Absurdly high taxes or absurdly high parking penalties. Oh wait … we have both. Well, love it or leave it, we guess. Double parked? Sure. Blocking a driveway? Sure. But sitting at a meter that costs $1.25 an hour (that $0.25 for 12 minutes is a nice touch, by the way), this ticket implies a penalty of 16 hours worth of parking. All for going a measly two bloody minutes without plugging the damn thing. Net: You think we got it bad now? We envision a future in which meters will print tickets automatically when a built-in infrared sensor determines that a car has parked without paying. Say hello to Big Brother, baby.
Is there any way out of this? Is there any justice? Fellow Networkians, I seek not your sympathy but rather your advice. Do I simply pony up the $20 — which is not to say I have a stack of Andy Jacksons laying around — and call it good, or do I fight the good fight? Has anyone out there ever challenged a parking ticket and won? Net: Some advice, by way of the Farrelly Bros.: The chances are between Slim and None, and Slim just left the building. Shall I elicit the services of a personal injury lawyer, claiming emotional distress and that my highly charged mental state could, in fact, lead to my causing harm to other
individuals — namely, that gaddamn meter-prick? Again, I ask you: Is there any justice? Net: Speak now or forever hold your piece!
From Good Ol’ Vex: I speak on behalf of all true football fans out there when I say that I cannot WAIT until Saturday. I mean, think about this. You’re gonna have Billy Cockerham tossing the rock to Luke Leverson while the rest of the offense drops the Hamner on the Buckeyes. Sure, we’re gonna win, and it’ll be fun, but you wanna know what the best part of Saturday will be? IT’S ALL GONNA BE INDOORS!!! That’s right, Indoor College Football. How schone is that? Net: What do English pastries have to do with anything? We’re talking about taking a bus over to this “Metrodome,” as they call it, and IN WE GO! From Astroturf to Teflon roofs, this “Metrodome” place has it all. Net: Don’t forget the long lines at the bathrooms, half-cooked bratwurst and blue plastic as far as the eye can see. The atmosphere is unreal! I mean, you’ve heard the PA announcer. We’re the best student section in the Big Ten, hello? I can hardly wait for it. I’ll be doing my standard 30-second kegstands three hours before they kick off the rock, making good and sure that I’ll be drunk and ready to get the full experience of smash-mouth, indoor Astroturf football. Net: When an on-campus stadium is built — as soon as snowball fights are scheduled in Hell or the Gophers run the table for 10 years straight (whichever comes first) — we’d like to see it named after ol’ Gutey. Coach crummy, people good.
Football was meant to be played indoors. Jim Wacker would be rolling in his grave if he saw all these college teams playing outdoors. Net: Just to clarify, Wacker is still alive, kicking and tossing around clichÇs like Cory Sauter threw interceptions. It’s just his coaching career that’s in the crapper. Let’s all get up, stand up, come on, throw

your hands up for Saturday, as it looks like it will be perfect weather for indoor football.
Rah, rah, rah for the Golden Ski-U-Mah Field Rodents!

From Upset Frosh: Apparently I’m supposed to be impressed by Spacely‘s deep and all-knowing wisdom about our proud University. Before I go on Net: And before we throw up, are there any other traditions or vital information I should know about? Like the official fruit? Net: Pomegranates. The square footage of Northrup Plaza? Net: There isn’t a “Northrup” anything. You bought the wrong vowel. Sheesh … freshmen. The number of screws on a Campus Connector? Net: Lots. In short, I am not impressed by some irrevelevant Net: “Irrevelevant?” Good word choice. Sheesh … freshmen facts you probably picked up when you went to the wrong lecture on a Monday morning. I was actually referring to the real traditions: loyalty to the maroon and gold, a deep-seated hatred of Wisconsin, and yes, knowing the Minnesota Rouser. I can recite it sober, can you? Net: We’ve never tried. So, Spacely, go back to your own dark corner of Wilson Library and cuddle with your obscure University information packet. It’s safer back there, anyway. Oh, and about Homecoming morning: I’ll see you on University Avenue. Go Gophers! Net: Here’s something for you to think about, slugger: Remember your orientation leader? She thought you were funny looking.
P.S. The phrase Ski-U-Mah actually was made up to rhyme with rah-rah-rah. It was a cheer for the University rugby team in 1884. Net: One outta four ain’t bad. Sheesh … freshmen.