So, demure Networki…

So, demure Networkians, did we finally profess our surreptitious or spontaneous admiration yesterday? Did the objects of our fancy espouse or spurn our advances? Or did the inclement weather ruin it?
From Judge Judy: Dear Net, I’m not writing to complain about the stupid squirrels or about how asinine the parking lot attendants are, but I am writing to complain about the couple groping each other in my theatre class. Net: There’s a fella who’s been hangin’ out in Van Cleve Park who wouldn’t mind. For two and a half hours I was forced to watch them fondle each other. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen! P.D.A.s have a time and a place, and that place is definitely not in class! Net: Actually, there’s a rumor floating around about a human sexuality night class … If you want to bang each other, there is a bathroom right down the hall! Please, for others’ sanity, f##@% and get it over with! Net: Now that would make a good Foru — erm — Network entry. I don’t ever want to see any more hand massaging, ear licking, ass grabbing or making out in class again! It makes me ILL! They should die a horrible and excruciating death for that hormonal display! And here’s my little tip for “Romeo,” take your own f##@%ing notes, you lazy bastard.
From The Red-Headed Bitch: Hey Network! Why doesn’t anyone have a sense of humor anymore? Net: The end of the world is coming. Of course, there is something kind of morbidly funny about that … I was watching Dave when Jesse made the comment about us Irish, and I was on the floor laughing! My grandparents came over from Ireland in the early part of this century, so I feel extremely qualified to tell everyone to LIGHTEN UP! Net: Yeah, people. Relax. Have a beer. Hell, have 13 beers. Stereotypes are stereotypes, even if we know them to be false. Jesse meant it as a joke, so let’s take it that way! The great part about being Irish is our ability to laugh at ourselves. Net: And your food. Blech. Actually, that’s not funny. If the Irish have lost their sense of humor, then what does that say about the state of the world?
From Peewee: Since the almighty Network has assisted various students in the past, I was wondering if I might beg of you to help me. Net: Pee, we know you need help. No, we won’t let you use our bathroom. I need to ask the University population if they can aid me in finding that which I have lost. Here goes … I was typing away in the Mega Computer Lab in The Humphrey Center, trying to finish my comp paper on Tuesday. All of a sudden, just as I was about to put the finishing touches on my thesis statement, I felt a cold sting in the back of my neck and I lost my ability to give a G*D D@MN about any of this. Maybe I was still in shock over the death of Gene “the thin one” Siskel, but I just lost the desire, the passion if you will, to continue with my studies. No longer did the comparing and contrasting of ethnic stereotypes in “The Woman Warrior” thrill my soul. I used to receive near orgasmic pleasure from reading untranslated Chaucer and then having to interpret lines like “Fyre twixt the gursootyh I sawt.” Net: HEY! We liked Chaucer. A bit of a souse, but a blithesome bard. Lousy speller. But now all I want to do is sit in front of reruns of “Press Your Luck” on the Game Show Network, drink copious amounts of Goldschlager and argue with myself over the best Groundskeeper Willie quote. (I’ve narrowed it down to either “There’s nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman” or “Bonjourrrrrr ya cheese-eating, surrender monkeys”). At night my dreams are filled with horrible images of my professors taunting my from high atop Moos Tower, pelting me with incomplete research papers and pickles. Not even my “alone time” in the bathrooms of Blegen Hall gives me joy anymore. I can’t go on like this. So I ask you of the University community to help me find a reason to go on, to continue. Otherwise I may do something drastic, like talk with those weird religious guys on campus who wear those black name tags and always ask me if I “know Jesus yet.” Net: Don’t do it, Pee. Or worse, I may end up like those guys who get upset because their Ice Troll lost his +5 magical wand of invisibility during last night’s Dungeons and Dragons-athon at Middlebrook. Oh the horror, the horror!
From Mathlady: I’m writing to you in defense of a close friend of mine who happens to be an RA at Sanford and also works the desk from time to time. Now I haven’t ever lived in Sanford (or any dorm for that matter), but I must speak up and say that Sara (no “h”) is an excellent and very amiable person and I have absolute confidence that she would never treat anyone so poorly, especially over a vacuum. Net: Unless King T’s Obsequian operatives have already subjugated her. Has she recently purchased a blue Columbia jacket? I wish the Former Serfs better emotional health and would like to reassure them that there are nice RAs out there. With this said, let life go on — the quarter’s winding down and break is on its way.
From Ernie (or Big Ern): Net: Only one moniker per customer, please Dear Network, I have a question which I am unable, being a female, to find out for myself. Net: No, men can’t just “make it do that.” I could ask a male but I don’t want to so I will ask you. Here it is: Are there any mirrors in the men’s bathroom? Net: No. Posters of swimsuit models and sports pages only. Are men as vain as women and go into the bathroom just to primp, or are their restrooms sparse and utilitarian? Net: They are always full at halftime, and yes, men go in just to primp … after they pretend to pee. Also, is there any graffiti in the men’s bathroom? Net: Yes. None of it is clever, ever. Or is it only women who are petty, back-stabbing, simple-minded, and filled with tendencies toward vandalism? (excluding myself, of course). Net: Nope. All you people. If you or any of your readers could satisfy my curiosity I would appreciate it. Net: Readers? Submit the most scurrilous bathroom graffiti you’ve seen. Have a nice weekend; more haiku please!