Happy Monday, Netwo…

Happy Monday, Networkians; remember, when this day is over, you’ll need tolerate our perky admonishment once more only! The quarter’s swiftly waning …
The Reprise to November’s “Fratboy Manifesto” courtesy of OXGuy: I am a fratboy. I don’t throw frat parties. I don’t binge drink. I don’t think I’m cooler than you. I respect women. I am easy to talk to. I don’t have an attitude. I don’t wear khakis or white hats. Net: So what DO you do, fratboy? I shop at K-Mart. If I’m lucky I might be able to afford to go to Target, or maybe Wal-Mart. My parents are middle class. I drive a piece-of-crap car. If I’m on my porch, I’ll have my ’80s boombox and a black-and-white TV, watching Pokemon. When an attractive girl walks by, I’ll nod hello. I don’t cat-call at strangers. I don’t pee in public. My living room doesn’t stink of three-week-old stale beer and vomit. I remember last Friday. I study in my fraternity house. I went to class today; I stayed awake. I used a semicolon correctly in the previous sentence. I have many friends that aren’t greek. I keep in touch with my friends that aren’t greek. I talk to my ex-girlfriends. I remember my ex-girlfriends. Net: Not only are you a fratboy, you’re a sensitive ’90s guy, too. Congratulations. I live in an alcohol-free house. I don’t break that rule. I helped start that rule. That rule was a choice, not a penalty. I am honest. I am an individual. I broke the mold. I joined Theta Chi. Net: We’re happy for ya. Next!
From -G-: OK, by now I am sure seniors and “senior wanna be’s” (i.e. juniors who have 135+ credits) all have tried to use this so called “new-and-improved,” one-stop online registration system … All I have to say is WHAT A PIECE OF CRAP! It didn’t even work on the first day! Net: It wasn’t W4U (Written for Use) compliant. The excuse was “it’s a new system, so it has to fail.” What da f##*$? Ever heard of testing a program, before using it? Or here is a new concept: PILOT the program before release to the public!!! Anyway, It took me 5 minutes to go through all the maze — popped windows, confirming this, confirming that, just to get to the main registration menu! It’s kinda like surfing for a porn site … oops, did I just say that? Net: Except you don’t need a credit card … oops, did we just say that? Oh yeah, after you get to the main windows, it makes you enable “cookies.” I don’t want to enable no damn cookies, Net: Nothing worse than co-dependent baked goods I just want to [email protected]*##ing register! And that stupid-ass message … “please don’t clicking on the stop button, it’s working …” well if those damn programmers can implement a better query algorithm, and run it on Oracle database, Net: OR properly use infinitive verbs then we won’t have to WAIT forever!! I am usually pretty understanding of crappy systems since I intern as a system-admin for a corporation — after all, nobody can be as good as me … but the University registration system??? Come on, don’t we have enough computer science and computer engineering gurus here? Hire us and let us to run the system Net: Yeah, with pornography! instead of those incompetent, “can’t make it in the real world” technical college dropouts to run our registration system. Sophomores, freshmen … oh, and our beloved GC buddies, have fun with the registration system …!
From Phlegm of Discontent: I was standing on the Mall a couple of days ago listening to Brother Jed tell me I was going to hell. This was old news to me, since I had spent half of last year claiming I was a god of some kind. Net: Actually, you’re just going to Olympus to confer with Zeus. Bored with his creationist views and rantings about the “sin” of fornication, I went to my physics class to hear the truth that is the Pauli Exclusion Principle. Afterward, I went out to go buy a black trenchcoat, not because I particularly want to kill anyone, but because it angers overly sensitive people. Net: And it makes you look like Columbo. On the way, I was ambushed by my arch-nemesis, Spank, who had been second-in-command during Mr. Crapflinger’s failed lab-monkey rebellion. Spank, named by my roommate, was torturing me with some stale rhetoric about animal rights and the virtues of vegetarianism. Fortunately, some of my chimp infiltrators found me and alerted my winged monkeys, who promptly slaughtered the last remnants of the lab-monkey rebellion. Just in time too. I almost had to eat tofu. Net: (*gnk* — the horror!) Sure, I could have taken them myself, but sometimes it’s more fun to sit back and relax. In celebration, I resurrected John Wayne, Teddy Roosevelt and a battalion of Rough Riders (read your history books, kids) and had a jolly good time spreading American imperialism overseas. Naturally, people protested, as if there was something wrong with imperialism. The moral of this story? There is none. Life’s just a bunch of weird stuff that happens. Net: You’ve nailed it again, our boy — you’ve nailed it again. On-WAAAARD!!
From Nanner: Finals, finals, finals … Net: Two weeks away, Networkians; we’re betting you’re not ready. I swear they are some tool of a f*##%3& devil to torment me. And somehow the same devil gets to my friends, who chose to go to “other” colleges, the kind that let out before the month of June, Net: It’s cruel and unusual education, we tells ya and tempts them into calling me at all hours, asking me to go out, knowing full well that I still have bull$##!+ anthropology to go to at 8 a.m.! Net: Margaret Mead was a morning person, you know.
Enough of that and on to the dorms … I am stuck here in my cell, pressing my face against the window, Net: Hard to type, webets hoping that a breeze will come in to cool me off. Because, although I pay thousands to live in a dorm that has the modern convenience of air conditioning, it is never turned on … maybe as a cost-cutting measure. But I think when poor students who are trapped here ’til June start dropping like flies, the lovely people who make the rules here may see the error in their ways. Next year we won’t be alive to pay the tuition bills! So turn on the damn AC! Net: When the rain stops … in October. Good morrow.