Net: OK, so maybe the ship has sailed as far as Packers-Vikings talk is concerned, but, well, we took a mind-soothing day trip to the north woods and had some more time to reflect. As best we can tell, so long as Packers fans continue to populate — and, God forbid, procreate — the earth, the battle must be waged.
YOU SAY BUBBLER,
WE SAY FOUNTAIN
From James Lofton to Always Angry About Something: First I’ll compliment you for having the pride to wear your colors after a tough loss (something we Packers fans did for the entire ’80s) and for not making excuses. We visit your house in December, and no Packers fan is looking forward to it.
However, I do have a bone to pick with you. I’m ashamed of folk like the ‘troll’ you described. She might hail from Mountain or Chilton, and I take no responsibility for those people. Net: We must have fallen asleep during that “Po-Dunk Towns of the Midwest” class. Are we still talking about Wisconsin? Or maybe she’s just from Madison and we need say no more. Whatever and ever, amen, but you “acted like you are five” in your paint-thinner comments. I see the Wis. vs. Minn. thing going on here, and well, shut up — I guess. If Wisconsin didn’t sell beer on Sunday, then we might drink paint thinner. Net: And thus, the folks across the border will continue to make fun of you. Thank God and a German heritage for one thing, anyway. Net: Don’t forget about bratwurst and hefty women who can carry six huge beer mugs at once. Germany has given us all so much.
Now really, Minnesota and Wisconsin are the same, my purple friend. All you do is remove Hennepin County, and there is no difference whatsoever. Net: Yeah, and we suppose the same goes for California and Nebraska, so long as you snap off everything west of the San Andreas Fault. Excluding the words “soda, pier and bubbler” of course. Green Bay a little backwoods? Been to Duluth lately? Net: Or Mountain? Or Chilton? Or Madison? So let’s forget all of this (’til AWFULNESS IS IN THE EYE
OF THE BEHOLDER
12/20/99 — the next important date after 9/9/99) and turn our attention to fans that are really annoying — those cardinal uglies from Madison who might, in fact, drink paint thinner when they lose their bad Colorado fakes mourning their beloved football team’s mounting losses.
From E. Rosewater: Greetings, Network, you are like “Saved by the Bell” — it’s indescribably awful, but yet, I just can’t stop watching those reruns. Net: Just to be in the same entertainment stratosphere as the likes of Zack Morris, Screech and Lisa Turtle is, well … it’s a real honor. Switching gears, I love this new coaches’ challenge system in the NFL, but I think it would be better if, instead of taking a timeout away, they made the coach who incorrectly challenged a call run out to the middle of the football field, APPLE PIE IN THE FACE
break dance for two minutes, and finally, in a high shrill voice, yell “Boombah! I voted for Dukakis!” Net: We’d rather see some sort of ritual ceremony — perhaps the burning of a sacrificial fan at halftime. Bye, now, my quarter acquaintances.
P.S. Scumf&@k, if you want to be a racist, then go to Lambeau Field and wear a dairy product on your head. Net: Sounds like the makings for an excellent cover of “If You’re Going to San Francisco.”
From M & M: One question has haunted me since I arrived here a few years ago: Net: Where can you get a gyro after midnight? Why do all of the restrooms on the East Bank get lovely, apple-scented soap while the West Bank restrooms have watered-down, chemical-odor soap? Net: Because the
CAGE MATCH
people who inhabit the West Bank are inherently more filthy, and thus require the souped-up cleaning power of chemical-scented soap. Or something like that. Dammit! I want apple soap on the West Bank! And besides, isn’t it bad enough that the West Bank is ugly? Why should students over here also have to put up with crappy soap? Just wondering. Net: If you want the apple soap, just walk across the damn bridge and wash your hands in the first bathroom you can find. Just avoid fondling anyone or touching doorknobs on the way.
From Phlegm of Discontent: I just got back from instigating rebellion in East Poontangia, and what do I find upon my return? Net: Someone who squeezed the Charmin? More whiny animal rights crap. This time they’ve caged themselves in front of Moos Tower. Do they not realize how vulnerable this makes them to me and my unholy minions of the night? For instance, we could throw pig’s blood and raw hamburger or organ meat on them. We could do a bike-by Super-Soakering with water, urine or ammonia. We could simply clap a U-lock on their cage and melt the key. All sorts of anti-protest activities come to mind. Net: We tend not to condone violence, but that’s something we’d love to see on a future episode of “Real TV.” If you’re going to protest, protest something worthwhile, like the rise of socialist government practices in this country or rising taxes. Net: And the lack of apple-scented soap on the West Bank! And the existence of Wisconsin! And continued reruns of “Saved By the Bell!” Go to China and protest their human rights violations, because protesting over here does nothing except maybe cause millions of Chinese to laugh at us. Net: Ha-ha! Look at the funny Americans! Showing concern for our battles against oppression! Fools. I think it would be worthwhile for animal rights protesters to spend a weekend in the Nile River valley persuading the crocodiles to respect people’s right to live. Net: And suggest that they might want to give up their hides peacefully so that we can continue unhindered to make cowboy boots. Better yet, replace animal test subjects with human test subjects. Net: We’re guessing there are a few people squatting on Washington Avenue who would be willing participants.
I’m sure millions would jump at the chance to test a new, untested surgical technique that might or might not kill them. And don’t give me that crap about using computers to test this stuff, because anyone who says that has obviously never tried to program a computer. I’d love to rant more, but I’ve gotta go sacrifice a calf to my almighty stomach.