Net: Roll out the barrels, faithful Networkians; King T is vanquished!
Victory! Victory is ours!
Fear not the tyranny of the droning Obsequian order! Fear not the dark days of T’s ruthless reign! Fear not the Carlson School of Management!
Fierce battle did well-nigh rage as the sun set just Saturday night; as a host of Obsequian operatives — preparing for command to attack — gathered upon the North Ridge, restless but plucky NITWIT agents, under the calculations of Citizen, prepared the defilade to deflect the horde — in hopes that the Commodore 64 would spring to life anon.
Desperately outnumbered, the NITWIT team seemed cannon fodder. Echelons of NITWIT operatives, ostensibly consigned to death, were dispatched to flank and confuse the mass of bloodthirsty Obsequians. Imperturbably did they engage their aggressors! Insouciantly did they stride into the fray! Such dauntlessness did every man, woman (and Minister) display!
And then, like the stirring whine of a distant turbine, the number prime was unleashed! — Hard though did we try, Networkians, we were unable to rectify the glitch that delayed deliverance’s deliverance; nay, we did not wax heroic — ’twas the child! Just as Netstradamus had foreseen it, the child relayed the opportune coup de grace — the Commodore 64, coruscant and a-hum with the power of King T’s demise, had come through!
A new day is dawning in Networkia! Victory! Victory is ours!
BOWM-CHICKA BOWM BOWM
From The PornKing: In honor of the great Adam Russleberg, I hereby declare next week to be National Pornography Week. Net: We’re in. Weeklong party at our place? The perfect victory celebration … So, if you like your porn, I think you should quit (insert appropriate masturbation euphemism) Net: We like “Pulling the goalie” or “Shaking hands with the boss” and show the world how much your porn means to you. If you want, you could make an “I Love Porn” T-shirt — heck, just walk around naked, if you’re particularly porn-star looking. Net: How many times do we have to plead for public nudity before we get results? Show everyone who comes over to the house/apartment/closet your extensive collection of porn. Any paraphernalia lying around? Attach it to a keychain, have a nice day and, remember, enjoy your porn!
BY THE TIME WE GOT THE HELL OUT OF WOODSTOCK …
From Bufeyfey: Greetings Network! Not to be a traitor to my generation BUT what was the point of Woodstock ’99? Net: Uhh … hmm … ermmm … gee, we really don’t know. I’ll tell you — money. Net: But … but … but Rage Against the Machine was there! Where’s the social commentary? The ONE, the ONLY, the REAL Woodstock was about peace, sex, drugs and music (and more sex and more drugs etc., etc.) Net: The real Woodstock was muddy, poorly planned, unsanitary, and sounded like crap. Besides, the Dead played like hell. Yuk. This fake imitation Woodstock was a disgrace to my generation. God forgive me but I actually watched some of it on MTV. This weeklong event was nothing but a big business, big media frenzy. It was on Pay-Per-View! Net: So is professional wrestling. We’re not saying Woodstock was fake, but … it does seem suspicious. People were actually PAYING to watch this bulls##!+ from there cozy little houses! Net: Paying to watch Korn and Limp Biskit? No way … In conclusion I want to point out the many reports of violence and theft. DON’T put the name of an idealistic, almost sacred Net: See above event in U.S. history on a money-hungry, opportunistic, wannabe-but-can’t-even-compare-to-the-real-thing media circus! OK, now that I have that off my chest I think I’ll sleep better … Net: Next time, try Nyquil and a joint.
HUMOR HIM
From WeePeePee the besieged: Well it seems my Network entries of late have offended some people around here like Northernphile and Inspector Cheeseburger. Oh heaven forefend!!! I am SOOOO sorry I have besmirched your precious little school, and offended your delicate sensibilities. Net: We’re not. Offend away. Plague number six was going to be a virus which killed all University students’ sense of humor, but Inspector‘s letter showed me exactly why that would be a wasted effort. Alas, I must find a new way to insult and belittle this campus. Net: Say you’re moving to Iowa because the frats are actually taken seriously there. That’ll get ’em. ‘Sides, maybe if you people didn’t write in with so many lame entries about needing to find your lost car keys or how A&F clothing sux (Phlegm of Discontent, Mule and Roller are the exceptions to this group) then maybe I wouldn’t have to stretch for material to send. Net: You milked the self-gratification thing for awhile — what happened to that? I only got so much good stuff and I can’t cover all your asses in and out every day.
TRIUMPHANT … AH … RETURN
From Captain Pepper: Oh Network … how I’ve missed you! Net: Waaahht … for a week? Not as much as I’ve missed my cohort and better half, Net: Ohhh … you two had a thing going?! Cool! the infamous Dr. Morgan, but that’s for another therapy session. Moving on…
Kidd-o — I wholeheartedly agree with the Harvard Market time warp. I mean, $1.29 for a SoBe … come on! I can get one for a buck at Cub! However, it’s not so much a 70s vibe that I get when I walk in … it’s more like walking onto the set of “Clerks.” Net: Except the hockey game on the roof is actually played on ice for eight months out of the year. Dingy convenience store, 20 or so employees, etc. Except, fortunately, neither Harvard Market has a bathroom (if you have to ask, well, just watch the damn movie). Net: Be glad they don’t — sheesh.
While there’s no video store next door to either the East or West store, there is a Big Choice-esque Blockbuster kitty-corner from East. Every time I walk in there I feel like asking if they sell hubcaps for a ’72 Pinto hatchback. Net: Yeah, that and a fireproof flak jacket. Yeesh.
