FOR CHRISSAKES, ELVIS!
From The Three Caballeros: In our never-ending search for the truth — at the bottom of a cup of coffee — we discovered some striking similarities between two legendary people: Jesus Christ and Elvis Presley. Net: Is that sacrilege? Perhaps this discussion would be more appropriate in a highbrow publication — like Playboy, for example. Not wanting to keep these new revelations all to ourselves, we gladly share them with our fellow Networkians.
Both Jesus and Elvis died, but their followers think they are still alive. Jesus spoke Hebrew, while Elvis had a southern accent. All of Western civilization is based on Jesus’ teachings; all of western Tennessee is based on Elvis’ teachings. Net: Jesus: Love thy brother. Elvis: Love thy bottle and then hit on thy brother’s li’l filly. Jesus: immaculate conception. Elvis: probably inbred. Net: How about inebriated conception? Jesus: Followers believe bread and wine are His body and blood. Elvis: “It’s what’s for dinner.” Jesus: tempted by Satan; Elvis: tempted by ham sandwich. There are many velvet images of both Jesus and Elvis. Jesus healed the lame; most of Elvis’ songs were lame. Every hotel room has a Bible; Elvis doped up in a lot of hotel rooms. Finally, Jesus died on the cross, Elvis died on the can. Net: Don’t forget that Elvis started out singing gospel music, and Jesus preached the gospel. And people love to take vacations to their UPHOLSTERY UPRISING
homelands. Oh, and Jesus was great in “Kid Galahad.” Wait. That one doesn’t work.
Ponder this information and be well, for next time, we’ll cover the sticky subject of William Shatner.
From Fresh-Ass: Why the hell is it that whenever I step into a goddamn lecture room on this construction-torn butthole campus, I feel like I really am up someone’s bung because it smells of swampy ass? Net: Closed circuit to the director of admissions: You have our permission to use the previous statement in promotional literature. Jeez, don’t they ever clean the damn seats? You’d think that after 150-some odd people sit in a hot room — because they don’t turn the air on in the summer and have the heat on in the winter — day in and day out, year after year, everybody’s swampy-ass smell starts to combine, and the whole room starts to smell like bung, somebody would notice and clean the damn seats! I can’t help but wonder how many years of swampy ass are stuck in the cushions of 150 Physics or some other damn lecture hall. For cryin’ out loud, people! Wash yer damn asses! Net: You know why they don’t clean the seats? Because if they had to shut down a classroom for a week to do it, students like you would bitch and comLOOKING FOR LAB IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES
plain about why they chose that particular time to do all this cleaning, or why they couldn’t do it all during the summer, or why they were inconveniencing you in this way. If you’re still confused, stay tuned to Network for a seemingly endless supply of idle ramblings about construction.
From Picasso Boy, the Cubist Casanova: So, anyway, Net, I must say that I feel deeply indebted to Marky Mark Yudof. Net: We all do, really, because we’re all expecting to receive tuition rebate checks now that the University is $300 million richer. As I staggered around in a freshman-like stupor this morning, trying desperately to reach some unfamiliar place called “Middlebrook Hall,” I must admit I was momentarily disoriented by all of the ‘Screw U’ construction. Was I really still on the West Bank? Would I ever find my way? Things were dire indeed, until I happened to glimpse that reassuring sign: “West Bank Area.” As soon as I saw it, I knew I would be OK — I was in the right “area.” Net: Thank heavens the brain wizards color-coded them, too, because now we know the Gateway Area is orange and the West Bank Area is purple. Whatever that signifies.
I mean, c’mon! Do I really need a sign to tell me that I’m in the “West Bank Area”? Is our fearless leader trying to make up for that $50,000 raise with 50,000 new signs? And the names
of these areas are highly questionable: the Knoll Area? When exactly did that little green hill by Peik Hall rear up and swallow a quarter of the East Bank? Net: Ask Cass Gilbert or, rather, someone who knows who Cass Gilbert was. For the record, we’re clueless. The Gateway Area? An area named after a building that’s not even completed? Why not the Daily Area or, dare I say it, the Network Area? Net: We made our pitch, but they gave us a hard time because they said our building smelled like “swampy ass.”
To Rubber Ducky from Rabid Dawg, previously dubbed The Boy in the EE Bubble: Net: OK, we admit it. We took a little editorial license there. There was just something so pathetic and heart-rending about the Dawg’s comments that we were reminded of our favorite John Travolta movie. First of all, I have already found out personally that chemical engineering is not for me.
It is way too easy. I took both organic chemistry classes last year and, to make them more challenging, I tried to finish the tests before everyone else.
Unfortunately, I was only successful half of the time. There is no difficulty in chemical engineering. I wanted a challenge, and here in the Electrical Engineering/Computer Science building, there are many.
To make a woman with only chemistry is insane. There is no way Rubber could, if even possible, engineer his own woman. The calculations necessary to do such a task would require a COMPUTER Net: And a Barbie doll, a big-ass battery, a couple of bras to wear on your heads … , which is a device developed by electrical engineering majors. Then this computer would require PROGRAMS — what computer science majors write for a living. Without the two of these things to model Rubber’s woman, he would probably end up with a duck. Net: Which might not be all that bad. If you grew up on a farm. Most of the ChemEs are dependent on the EE/CSCIs for computers to model their reactions and experiments. Net: Hmm … kinda like lab rats!
The lack of women in my life is my own problem and fault. It is more due to my neo-Nazi demeanor and sadistic attitude, along with the multitude of weapons hanging from the walls of my apartment. I realize my situation and am striving for the American dream of being able to buy a woman instead of creating my own. Net: Just dial 1-800-MAIL-ORDER. But if anyone is interested in a boy who will one day be rich, write in.