Net: Someone told us the semester is almost over … does that mean we get to stop feeling guilty about not going to class?
ODDJOB, AT YOUR SERVICE
From Screech: As an alumnus cymbal guy for the hockey band, Net: We imagine post-cymbal life must be a lot like coming home from war, what with all the flashbacks and tinitis and such. I can say that the ultimate goal for all the cymbal guys (and gals) is to get attention. Net: Same goes for 3-year-olds, and when they get wise we give ’em a lickin’. The current basketball cymbal guy certainly has done his job well. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a level of commotion like this.
On another note, I will concede that nobody can replace Shooter, the basketball band cymbal guy from ’94-’95 through ’96-’97. He had talent, he had charisma Net: He had issues and he had the testicular fortitude to do “the worm” on the Williams Arena court. As the saying goes, “Often imitated, never duplicated.” Net: Except by any self-respecting breakdancer.
One more thing to Pretty Boy: so you don’t like the current cymbal guy at the b-ball games, huh? Well, you get a break. Since winter vacation is coming up, the alumni band will be playing at a couple of the games. What this means is that you get to put up with me instead. Don’t be letting me see your sorry face at the game. Net: Beware — it’s a little known fact they sharpen the edges of those things so they can chuck ’em like a frisbee of death.
STILL ANGRY
From Angry Gopher: Net: As you’ll see, he’s truly living up to his lame name. To Pretty Boy: In response to your assumption that I’m a “bando or a homo,” I am neither. I’m a diehard Gophers hoops fan who happens to enjoy the cymbal guy’s antics. Net: Then you are either a bando or homo at heart. I might be in the minority in this opinion but I’m definitely not alone. What really pisses me off is your lack of respect toward others and your intolerance of other lifestyles. Net: Who cares what you think? If you can talk s##!t about people in a forum like Network, you should be able to say the same thing to their faces. Net: That rule only applies if you have Tourette’s and zero sense of self-preservation. So if you want to call me a fag, why don’t you meet me in the last row of Section 112 at halftime of the Furman State game. If I don’t see you then, I’ll just assume that you don’t have a sac. Net: What really pisses us off is your lack of respect toward people who don’t have a sac! You would also be doing me a favor by saving me the $40 I’ll have to pay Happy Gopher. I look forward to seeing what you have to say face to face. Net: In elementary school, this is were the crowd of gap-toothed onlookers would say, “Oooooooh.”
To Happy Gopher: If you want your $40, meet me at the top of Sec. 112 at the Furman State game. Net: Whoa, whoa. Steady. We thought we were going to serve as the … intermediary … for said cash. Hand it over! If you can give me a specific person and not just an area, I’ll more be more than willing to turn over the cash. But there has to be no question that the person you have given to me is Pretty Boy. I would never want to do what I plan on doing to an innocent bystander.
PARKING PERMITTED
Net: Don’t worry, Angry. Everyone likes hugs.
From Loosey: Dear Net, do you know what today is? Net: Weak In The Knees Wednesday, as in, we’re gonna be so weak in the knees by closing time that a bouncer is gonna have to wheel us out the door. Thank Yudof for “study day.” Today is parking permit day! The one glorious day when people line up like vultures to get the unclaimed parking permits. In efforts to fully ensconce myself in this wonderful day, I’ve been eating, reading and sleeping in a corner on the floor in Sanford Hall. But all those 10 hours sitting on the floor were worth it — I have emerged victorious! Net: Indeed, you are a hero to all. You fought valiantly for the right to be financially fisted in exchange for a parking spot! I plopped myself and the unread magazines that have been accumulating in my room down around 10:30 p.m. Monday night. I laughed at the fools who came in at 7 a.m. Tuesday and thought they’d get a permit — HA! Net: A womanly laugh for womanly women such as thee. They might have gotten more sleep than me, but I have a parking permit! Well, I am tired and sore, and I don’t have class until 2 p.m. … GOOD NIGHT! Net:
WINE, DINE AND …
We hope you slept well, juicy Loosey, while visions of hangtags danced in your head.
From Cabbage: So here is another tale. I’m sitting in one of the fine pizzerias in Stadium Village when a couple waltzes into the booth near me. Net: That’s kind of formal, don’t you think? Perhaps a jig would have been more appropriate. A conversation among them ensues, and all at once I come to a basic conclusion: THIS GUY IS S##!T. Not only is he playing her like a fiddle for his own demented pleasure, he weaves a web of manipulation so tight around her that all she can do is say, “I’m sorry for getting upset. That’s just the way I am.” Net: Sounds like a real uptight bitch to us. What she really means is, “I don’t have enough of a Bizatch in my system to tell you to grow up! You are, in fact, S##!T!” Net: But then she wouldn’t have gotten the free pizza! So this one goes out to all the fine ladies on campus. Be patient for the true blue out there. Don’t let S##!T be the quick fix for loneliness or a broken heart. Net: Use a warm bath and vegetables instead. Learn to recognize S##!T by its distinctive odor. Net: You mean Drakkar Noir? And most importantly, stores don’t grow Chia-Bizatch, you gotta harvest your own. One more thing: Mother nature’s kindness has spared me from joining the elusive lemming society. Now that’s a lady with some Bizatch! Net: Just to clarify: Someone like, say, Oprah has the Bizatch, but Rosie O’Doesn’t?
Net: Good luck and Godspeed, fellow Networkians, for the last Network of the 1990s has passed. May the dawn of a new century give way to myriad tales of debauchery and ribaldry.
