Net: What is this, …

Net: What is this, some sorta family reunion?
First the Minister of Concurrence is banished, then welcomed back. And now it seems as though another oldie-but-goodie has seen fit to trample upon our hallowed grounds once more.
By the way: Tautological, our ass.
From Citizen: Hail, my mercurial Network! It is Citizen — he who is most privy to thine immaterial countenance! Net: Uhh … duh? We not so smart as Citizen. Huh? Be you surprised at my return or not, I am here!
Nearly a season has passed since the demise of King T, but it seems we have forgotten our good fortune. Your insouciance Net: Hey … leave their health problems outta this. will not protect you, Networkians! Have you forgotten the faces of your fathers? Your collective disdain for our poor, cold and lonely Minister of Concurrence troubles me, Net: That’s BS, folks. You should see the MOC’s significant other. Poor? Perhaps. Cold and lonely? Nuh-uh. and all members of the now-decommissioned NITWIT team that spared your yellow hides from certain calamity! Would you so desecrate the Commodore 64?
And if not for the benevolent (albeit tautological) Network, Net: OK, we admit it. We had to look it up. Citizen always had a flair for prose and reveled in scattering obscurities throughout, but we’re comfortable with our vocabularic subservience to the Lord of the Lexicon. Or something like that. He’s a mere words you would have him banished?! Prithee Net: Wasn’t she the cute little button on “Family Affair”? — indemnify our loyal Minister, obsequious though he may be! He sits atop the frigid North Ridge, weeping into trembling hands and swearing never to return to Networkia — NETWORK’S CLEMENCY BE DAMNED! Net: He’ll be back. Since when did the MOC say no?
Forgive them, Network, for they know not what they do. Net: They are forgiven. One more reference to tautology out of you, and it might be a different story. I am off again to comfort our saturnine Minister; for once, glorious servitude was his. Now he merely chokes on your bitter rebuke, ye vile ingrates! ONWARD!
From Pixee: Most illustrious Network, I fear to stray from the common subject of MOC, but frankly, I don’t give a damn, and I have other, more personal issues to discuss. (For those of you who remember my rampage last year, I can hear the “uh-oh”s now. Shut up.)
I would like to remind my audience that in no way should I be deemed a “freshman-hater” Net: And what would be so bad about that? Hating freshpeople is as natural as George Clinton is funky. when I make my complaints, but I have a few words from the almighty and ever-knowing Pixee that I care to share with the likes of the freshman public.
1) Shut up in class. Even if you got your stupid-ass freeloaded to this University on a football scholarship, there are other people in lectures who are *gasp* actually paying a $##!tload to attend. Net: The best part of that deal is that we get to pay a, well, $##!tload so they don’t have to. Oh, and they finish 3-8 every year. So to the freshman piece of $##!t in my astronomy class who wears the T-shirt with a cartoon of Limp Bizkit Net: Highly underrated, much like showering despite the fact you’re trying to grow dreds. (ugh) on it, shut up or don’t show.
2) On that note, sit your ass down for the last five minutes of class. Net: Consider it a treat for standing the first 45.
In no way is the lecture material in those last minutes any less important or less considered for an exam. Net: So if you’re going to stand up and leave at all, freshpeople, make sure you do so during the first five minutes. So stop it. Unless you’ve got a place to go Net: Yes, napping at Coffman does count. which, in that case, pack up fast and get your ass outta there, sit your ass down and LISTEN.
3) Ignore Rollerdiva. Net: Unless you’re looking for a cheap date. Interpret at will. Despite the claims that I have a jealousy complex, I know best. She only wants attention — to be the wet dream of a 12-year-old boy. Truth: she’s a beast with back hair. Girls can recognize these things. Net: Familiarity breeds contempt. So, freshman boys, don’t get too delusional.
The truth is out there, and boy, it looks scary.
The almighty Pixee has spoken. Ze end-uh.
From Shasta McNasty (formerly rock=w=music): Attention Joel Pryzibilla (I’m pretty sure that’s spelled wrong). Net: You were right. It’s actually Przybilla. Or if you’re the coach from St. John’s that came through town last season, it’s “Prezzy-billy.” Are you sick of taking a dump while using the little toilets that us common folk use and having your legs get all cramped up? Well, if you are, I know where you can go to get your extra leg room — the Classroom-Office Building on St. Paul campus. Now, I know that you’re saying to yourself, “Man, why would I, ‘The Pryz’ go and take a sh*t all the way in St. Paul?” Net: An intelligent question, indeed, worthy of an intelligent answer. Well, the answer to that my tall, fair-skinned Net: And newly-tattooed friend, is that when I (an average-height male) sit down to make a baby brown boy after plant biology lecture, my friggin’ feet are danglin’!! Net: A unique experience in Shastas life, wethinks. I have flashbacks to the early 80s when I just started using the toilet and to when I had my Superman undies Net: We believe you speak of Underoos. If only they came in adult sizes. wrapped around my airborne feet and not having a care in the world. Net: Our 80s flashbacks generally revolve around “99 Luftballoons” and the sticky little octopi that would crawl down windows. But that’s just us. So Joel, m’boy, hopefully these super high-up thrones will be just what the doctor ordered, because with less leg cramps occurring because of low crappers, maybe you will be able to become the next Michael Jordan, uhhh … or somethin’. See ya, bye.