An unfair myth about the death of the American teenie bopper exists within contemporary society. The teenie bopper is placed in American history as a figure of the past, existing only in the world of Nick-at-Nite nostalgia. That kind of nostalgia is debilitating and at times frightening to watch reinvigorate entire rooms of baby boomers lamenting the loss of their teenie-bopper vigor.

In order to draft a fuller, richer and more complete column regarding the teenie-bopper theme, I went to Wilson Library to gather background information. As a columnist entrusted with a public responsibility toward thorough and well-balanced writing, I determined in-depth research on the mythical teenie bopper was needed. I entered the term “teenie bopper” into a series of Internet search engines and found, much to my surprise, that many Web sites contain teenie-bopper related content.

I had no idea how popular the topic of teenie boppers, and more specifically “teenies” or “teens,” was with so many people from all around the world. Who knew millions and millions of Web sites still discuss teens and their young adult activities?

Most of the Web sites also shared a common trend toward cute names like “teacher’s pet,” “European teens,” “next door teens” and my favorite, “spicy teens.” It makes sense that instead of simply referring to teens as one cohesive group, differentiation should occur among hobbies, etc.

I wasn’t sure what a “spicy teen” was, so I decided to look at that specific Web site — it seemed like a good place to start. As I sat waiting, watching the screen change before my eyes, I viewed a most unthinkable thing — these teens weren’t eating spicy food, as I had imagined, or perhaps engaged in organic spice gardening.

These contemporary teenie boppers were all — how does one say without gasping — naked. Not only were they not outside in their spice gardens — well, actually some of them were outdoors using gardening implements in most unnatural ways — but these teens were doing things I found quite shocking. According to the Web site, “spicy teens” did things I can’t say in print, all for an easy, one-time flat rate fee payable to my credit card.

What on earth was going on, I thought to myself? That kind of isolated smut shouldn’t be allowed on the World Wide Web of ideas, cultures and communities. I quickly closed that screen and went back to my original Web search to click on another link. The mix-up on what constituted a spicy teen was a fluke, I assured myself, looking quickly over my shoulder to make sure none of the attendants in Wilson Library witnessed my error.

After a moment of calming reassurance that this research was important to complete, I decided to select another Web site — a location called “teens and pets.” It is difficult to imagine anyone getting that topic wrong or somehow disguising it as a location to download lewd photos of … I don’t think I can complete that sentence. I reserve ideas like those for the Daily Network readers Net: Wussy! We’re taking over your column. HA! All you columnists think you’re so cool. We are Net. Resistance is futile who insist on discussing lascivious and perverse topics Net: Who hired Mr. Sensitive? Raunch pays the bills, buddy. Just look at all the strip club ads in the Daily keeping your gravy-train running instead of focusing their time on studying. Net: Snoozer. Loser. We want to party! Suffice it to say, I’m sure someone from the Net section of the Daily has managed to spend many hours looking at the spicy teens Web site. Net: Blah, blah, blah. Faithful Netizens — please tell Mr.-Smarty-Pants-Can’t-Get-a-Real-Job grad student about your favorite teenie bopper Web site

After regaining my composure, I clicked on the teens and pets Web site, looking forward to the promised archive of stories and photos. Nothing is more precious than a teenager with their pet dog or cat. In my 4-H club in Wisconsin, it was a common practice to photograph a young man or woman with their pet horse, pig or sheep. Those pictures remain in family photo albums for years. Farm kids really take care of their mammalian barnyard loved ones.

The pets and teens web site was slow on the download, so I got up to use the bathroom in Wilson Library Net: Hmmmm … and asked the gentleman sitting next to me to watch my belongings. When I returned from the bathroom, I could see a group of people gathered around my research terminal. I feared the worst, thinking perhaps someone had accused me of checking my personal e-mail account on the Wilson Library computers clearly marked “Research Only”.

When I got closer to the group, I could see one of them operating the mouse in rapid, feverish motions. The remainder of the group, all male and apparently in the University Greek Language Association made apparent by the Greco-lettering on their sweatshirts and baseball caps, formed a tight-knit mass around the gentleman I had asked to watch my belongings.

After pushing though the group to reclaim my computer and finish my research on teenie boppers, I asked what was going on? One of the members of the Greek Language Association explained, “Man, how can she do that with a horse?” Net: The pet monkey is better “With a what?” I exclaimed, pushing the group out of the way to see how my research was being violated by a group of library bullies.

Oh, dearest reader, the pictures I spied nearly made me gouge my eyeballs out in complete terror. Unnatural, unthinkable acts between teens and their pets were rapidly emerging on the computer screen. “Stop,” I said Net: Sure ya did and demanded the gathered group of perverts immediately leave my research space.

To add insult to injury, one of the misanthropes requested I e-mail him the Web link so he could look at it later with his buddies. “A pox on all your houses!” I declared Net: The Bard liked naughty bits, too and settled into my computer chair with a disheartening realization.

The World Wide Web is full of teenie bopper porn.

Site after site I looked at for hours and hours and hours and hours contained nothing but the days-gone-by teenie bopper in a boat, with a goat, watched by Sam-I-am, playing with his green eggs and ham Net: Clever. They let you teach undergrads??

Let my research be a lesson for faithful readers, Net: Warning — meaningful thought — about to hurl that nostalgia for a past that never existed wreaks havoc on our contemporary age and claims yet more media hostages — the mythical teenie boppers. Net: Um …. yeah … deep Nostalgia is the name of the game, buddy-boy. Just remember — who’s your daddy? John Troyer is a Daily columnist and does not at all welcome comments to [email protected]. The editor seriously doubts whether you’ll have additional comments for the letters page.