Humor – Page 6 – Jeff Carl.com

The Gospels According to Richmond (Condensed)

By The Dead Editors’ Society (Jeffrey Carl, Paul Caputo and Scott Shepard)

University of Richmond Collegian, December 1 1994

As our Christmas 1994 gift to the students, we decided to piss off everyone on campus who was even vaguely religious. I think we also broke the world record for number of “inside jokes” per column inch of text. That was also a lot of fun. In the original version, we had spent an inordinate amount of time in Quark XPress 3.2 futzing around with the typography to do ostensibly funny things with the superscript verse numbers appearing at the end of each line of text to give it the appearance of being King James Bible verse citations. I have declined to invest the effort to recreate these typographical flourishes here because 1.) WordPress can’t; 2.) it’s time consuming and 3.) I doubt anyone but the original authors will ever end up reading this again and frankly I’m not sure about Shepard. So all those numbers and symbols at the end of lines that look like typos? Just assume they were funny once.

Mr. Shepard starring as John Calvin

Mr. Carl as Cardinal Richlieu

Mr. Caputo appearing as St. Hubbins

Editor’s Note: To all those who were going to write in to inform the writers that they’re going to Hell, don’t bother. We’ve all got front-row seats waiting, and we’ll be saving a deck chair for you. Happy holidays!

Genesis 1:1 – 3:30 p.m.

In the beginning, God created the Commons and X-Lot.1 And it was good. And then the Lord said, “Let there be Lite Beer,” and there was, and God thought it was kinda okay but mainly just for chicks to drink.2 And then, marginally dissatisfied, He said “Let there be Light.”3

And there was still really nothing, but at least now you could see it.4 And then He created the beasts of the field the fish of the waters and the mutant duck of the Lake. And, lo, they were also pretty good, I guess.8 Eventually God was sorry for having created the little black duck that walkedeth about the lake, so he killed it, which is why you don’t see it walking around anymore.5 Anyway, you can’t win ’em all.9

And then the Lord created Man in His own image, for, verily, Image is Everything, as sayeth the Lambda Chis.12

And then eventually Man noticed that he had an extra part that didn’t seem to have any use but made him feel all tingly when he climbdeth up the rope in gym class, and he complained unto God and thus did the Lord say unto him:

“Let there be Westhampsters.”69

And suddenly Man had one less rib, but another bone to replace it because directly before him stood Woman. And the Lord sayeth, “Well this should at least be interesting.”843

Man and Westhampster wenteth to The Row, for lack of anything better to do, for the movie in the Pier suckethed llama balls, again.63

For the Westhampster was tempted by the Devil, who assumed the pleasant form of Pebbles (who turned out to be the evil leaper, whom only Sam could see), Lord’s note: Know thee that his blasphemer Caputo watcheth too much “Quantum Leap” on the USA Network and convinced her to eat of the forbidden fruit of the “lite” salad bar in the D-Hall.2

Westhampster ate of the salad bar, but only bits of celery and carrots, steering far clear of fattening Bac-O’bits.12.5

Exodus 4:12 – 6:11 ratio

And Moses Mateer descended from the mountain, bearing a stone tablet , with the following inscription:”All right, everybody out of the pool!” And yea, the people were confused, so he returned to the mountain for further instruction. He came back with the Ten Commandments for the people. And the laws were:

1. Thou shalt not believe anything thou readeth in The Col-le’gian.1

2. Thou shalt not covet either thy neighbour’s keg or his girlfriend, unless thou shalt have drank thine own keg and be beer-goggling.2

3. Thou shalt have no other gods before me, for I am a jealous God and I have self-esteem problems that I’m going to CAPS for plus that bulimia thing, and you never call me anymore and I think you’re breaking up with me and do these shorts make me look like I have a fat butt?3

4. Honor thy father and mother and thy brothers and sisters but don’t worry about the pledges. They deserve everything that’s comin’ to ‘em, verily.4

5. Verily, verily, verily, verily, life is but a dream!5

6. Anyone caught who maketh fun of the Bible (for they thinketh that they are funny) will be fined and given a stern talking-to.6

7. Thou shalt not toast cheese in the Holy Dining Hall toasters, for the cheese drippeth much and is disgusting, sayeth the Lord.7

8. Thou shalt not covet a second entree. Nor shalt thou get one entree and then put thine tray down by the salad bar and get back in line. People starveth in Rho’de Is-land’, who would be happy to have that Senate Bean soup, you little whippersnappers.8

9. Thou shalt not treat yield signs like stop signs. If you stop at a yield sign when no car is coming the other direction, people will crash into you and you will dieth, so cometh not crying to me about your little problems. And don’t think I won’t send you straight to Hell, just like if you were run over by a Yugo.9

And the number ten reason not to disobey God is — Paul, drum roll please…

10. Thou shalt use the Force, Luke.

The Book of Freddie Mercury

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me.79

For meeeeeee! (the guitar soloeth here)

Job, 7:29 (Lap time)

And the Lord said unto Satan, “whence comest thou?”11

The Ticket Lady said unto the Lord, from going to and fro in the Earth, and walking up and down in it like a big ol’ game of “Chutes and Ladders.”44

And the Lord said unto the Ticket Beast, “Hast thou considered my servant Todd Flora? Ha ha ha, nay, just kidding. Imean, hast thou considered my servant Job? A perfect and upright man, that feareth God and escheweth up and espitteth out Evil (“Thumbs Up,” page 9)?”Ã3

Yea, and the Lord did shine the light of Heaven down upon a small freshman — who was temporarily blinded by the light and promptly wrecked his car, driving wildly even into the Lake of Westhampton, which has since become holy because of it — and the freshman was named Job.5% apr “He is in thine hand, o Ticket Wench,” the Lord sayeth, “and still shall he love me and dwell in the Golden Spider Web.”

The Beast beateth not about the bush.55 mph Verily he made the freshman decide to major in accounting and biology on the pre-med track.3 Then moved he to give the Freshman an English professor for IDCC.2 Job wept, and called to God for relief, but the Lord respondeth not, for the Lord checkedeth not his Au-dix’ very often.83 Then the Beast did make Mononucleosis grow within the body of Job, and Job could drink no beer.6 The Beast scheduled Rush for the whole month of No-vem’ber, when Job’s — and everyone else’s — workload was heaviest, but Job did strive and Rush and work and sleepeth he did not.9

“Damn,” sayeth the Beast. And the Beast went to the Lord and said “O Lord, he cannot be destroyed. I surrender unto you the men of this valley. And bite me.” And the Lord did rejoice, and he called to Job, and explained that it had been a joke — you know, funny ha-ha, and removed the mono, and made Job a sociology major and returned Rush to the first ten days of November, where it had worked so well before.1st day of Christmas my true love gave to me And Job did glare at the Lord and did raise unto him the sacred finger of middle position, and did raise it, and flippedeth he Him the bird, and transferredeth Job unto Sou-thern’ Me’tho-dist U-ni-ver’si-ty, in the land of the people of the Red-necks’.

The Gospel of Luke Skywalker 3:9 – 3:42, mountain time zone

And the Angel of the IFC spoke to them, saying “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all men. For unto you is born this day, in the City of David a Savior, which is Alison Bartel the Lord.”3,487 And verily did the people thereupon stone the Angel and dump their beers on him.™

The Revelations of St. Liz the Phair 36:24:36

And the signs of the Apocalypse were seven of number, whereupon the scroll would be opened and much ass would be whipped.99 And the signs of the coming of the Beast were:

The Beast would be only $7.99 per case at Standard …

Whoops, wrong Beast. Never thou mindeth. Ahem. The signs were:

First: The wussy one, of the many nose jobs, (Mi-chael’ Jack-son) and the daughter of the King (we meaneth Lisa Marie Presley) would smoocheth in public on the MTV Video Music Awards, and verily it would be disgusting.6

Second: There would be MTV at all, and it would play ‘round the clock videos of he who sucketh completely (Tom’ Jo-nes) and occasionally They That Sucketh Not, which would be cool, huh-huh, huh-huh, verily.66

Third: The great rains would pour from the Heavens, then clear up in the afternoon, with a high of 65, and partly cloudy skies forecast for tomorrow with a 35 percent chance of raining, flaming death falling from the skies.666

Fourth: Thy anointed leader, though his name soundeth verily like some sort of fungal infection of the naughty bits (Newt Gin-grich’), would become Speaker of the House.23 Also, he would get pizza for his dinner, yum-yum.

Fifth: The shining palace on the hill where lives the harlot of Babylon, the Evil Lord who selleth Fried Chicken and nice fresh vegetables (U-krop’), shall beckon unto ye and ye shall go and get the Potato Wedges and some Cole Slaw.$1.25

Sixth: When Richmond wins a basketball game, checketh thou the Weather Channel because thou then knowest that Hell hath frozen over.0

Seventh: And the rulers shall convene and so shall they join to erect amongst ye a place of festival and mirth, and so shall they act even as to name it after the loam in which dwells amongst the icky creatures and the dirty laundry: The Cel-lar’ but it shall be misnamed, for it shall rise above the ground.#9 And lo, it shall open and the nectar shall be sold for $21 per bottle and the managers shall deny the nectar to the young and infirm and so shall this new place suck.1.21 gigawatts

And so was loosed upon the world the Four Norsemen of the Apocalypse. The first horseman was Famine, and he smote the chicken sandwich and bacon and thus made them separate entrées so that the people did starve.007 The second horseman was Pestilence, he that giveth head colds and just general icky feelings on rainy days. The third horseman was War, and he immediately smoteth all the ROTCstudents so that everyone might actually sleep in in the morning undisturbed.76 (trombones led the big parade)

And then was loosed the Fourth Rider, in a pale uniform: and he was Flagboy.867-5309 He turned to the fans and screamethed something that soundedeth an awful lot like a moose in heat.

AAAAAAoooooGAH!13

The horsemen spread disease and destruction throughout the land, and still could not getteth their picture in the yearbook.55 Eventually, they halted their mayhem, and tooketh up the more evil practice of University administration.

… And from the fire there rose the Anti-Roop, the destroyer of all things good, who smiteth all things cute and furry. And the Beast laid waste to the lands of Ash-ke’toth, and Mog’da-zur and Kel-ler Hall’, and the Beast did ride about in a little electric cart and give out tickets.8

But the Ticket Beast did take a nasty bump on the noggin,42 and go to the Health Center where it was diagnosed by the old nurse of great crankiness that it was, verily, syphillis, consumption and the Clap.?

So the Beast was cast down into the fiery pits of Ko-do-gorm’ and boy did it sucketh greatly.3

Thus did it endeth happily and such.2 And at last sayeth the Lord, “Look out for the return of Roop, the Anointed One.1 Watch the skies! For surely he is coming soon.”the end

Coming Soon:

The U of R Good News Bible, available in finer overpriced bookstores.

At the Movies

By Jeffrey Carl and Paul Caputo

This was a “Siskel & Ebert” column. I think we both wrote each other’s part, although I remember Paul came up with “Awww puddin'” bit and I wrote that “Raising Arizona” was the greatest movie ever. Not that this likely makes things any funnier, but the “Ticket Lady” was the University of Richmond’s none too beloved parking enforcement cop, Corrie Spiegel was our boss at the newspaper and “Freedom Betrayed” was a serious and dogmatically libertarian Collegian column written by our colleague Mike Nimchek. I’m sure this is totally hilarious now that you know that.

with Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert

Gene and I have had some time on our hands, if you know what I mean, and we’ve gotten to reviewing everything we can get our hands on, if you catch my drift. Instead of presenting you with the list of new euphemisms for sex we’ve been working on (thumbs up to “Quarter Pounder at the Golden Arches” and “Shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln”), we’ve decided to give you our most recent observations about movies, the universe and everything.

Gene Siskel & Roger Ebert — Jeff and Paul

“STAR TREK: GENERATIONS”:

EBERT: I’m the fat guy, right?

SISKEL: Fatter than Roseanne in a bikini.

EBERT: Gene, I fear change. I like knowing that I can go to the movie theater and see the same plot that I have come to know and love from the past six movies. I enjoyed the way the Star Trek geniuses took new characters and still did not change the plot at all.

SISKEL: But if you look at all this in a neo-deconstructivist way, you can see that all the things blowing up are cool. And anytime William Shatner dies — I was always secretly hoping it would happen on “T. J. Hooker” — it’s cool with me. I give it a “Thumb Up.”

EBERT: I give it a “Thumb at About 70 Degrees Clockwise.”

“SPEED”:

EBERT: OK, look. If a bus drives off the edge of a cliff, it’s not going to go UP in the air.

SISKEL: Right. When Keanu “What was my line again” Reeves drove that bus off the edge of an unfinished bridge, it should have crashed into the other side where the road picked up again and everybody should have died.

EBERT: Movie over.

SISKEL: Bus go bye-bye.

“THE JERK”:

EBERT: Easily the best movie ever. Hands down. Anyone says otherwise, I’ll kick his ever-loving ass.

SISKEL: Kick away, Non-Fat-Free Pretzel Boy. “Raising Arizona” was the finest film ever created, and anyone who says otherwise, well — when the Revolution comes, THEY WILL NOT BE SPARED. But I still give it a big ‘ol “Thumbs Up.”

EBERT: I give it a “Thumbs Up and Sucking on It.”

JIM CARREY:

EBERT: If you look at his work from a purely cinematic and technical point, he’s not exactly the greatest. But if you look at it from just a gut-level, fun-loving reaction … Well, he can just pretty much still lick my ass. I say “Thumbs Down and Pressing the Button of an Atomic Rocket Launcher to Kill Him.”

SISKEL: Oh, sure, fat-ass, you can say that because you’ve never been in a movie. I’d like to see Jim Carrey do a review of you. THAT would be funny. He’d put on one of little faces and he’d imitate you. He’d jump up and down and wiggle his fake fat butt and I’d laugh and laugh and laugh, until I couldn’t breathe, just thinking of Jim Carrey making fun of you. And maybe he’d put on a bikini, like he was making fun of Roseanne and you AT THE SAME TIME. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I give Jim Carrey the “Cool, Suave Peace Sign.”

EDITOR/SUPERMODEL CORRIE SPIEGEL:

EBERT: I understand that evil WDCE General Manager James O. Bryant won a no-expenses paid dream date with Corrie by being the only person to enter his name in a Collegian contest. I also understand that she refuses to go on it. I give Corrie a “Thumbs Up,” but only if she’s in a little French maid outfit.

SISKEL: Have you ever seen her in The Collegian swimsuit calendar? My goodness! I give her a “Wink and a Nudge.”

THE TICKET LADY AND HER NEW PARTNER TICKET BOY:

SISKEL: I think they’re cute together.

EBERT: What if they started a family of ticket people.

SISKEL: Awww puddin’.

EBERT: Anyway, we hate the both of them.

SISKEL: Yup. I say we follow them around and mark their tires with chalk whenever they stop to give other people tickets.

EBERT: We give the lovely ticket couple “The Finger” and $10 fines for spending too much time in our column.

RAIN:

SISKEL: OK, look. I have a serious problem with all this rain. The University of Richmond has somehow figured out a way to funnel all of the water that comes near campus directly to enormous puddles on either side of the commons. For its dealings with the rain, I give the University a “Hard Boot to the Head.”

EBERT: I like the rain. I think it’s romantic. I like the way the flower petals glisten in the moonlight after a daylong drizzle. It’s like God is tinkling on everybody. To think He cares. I give the rain a “Girly Wistful Sigh.”

EVIL:

SISKEL: I like evil. It’s got moxie! It’s got a funky beat, and I can really bug out to it.

EBERT: Gene, you couldn’t be dumber. I mean, I’ve seen dumb before – my dog, he was dumb, you could throw his squeegy toy onto the newly-waxed kitchen floor and he would go running after it, four legs flailing helplessly as he skidded on his nose and crashed into the stove. That was dumb, and funny. But you, Gene, you really take the cake. Obviously, evil is bad. That’s why it’s called EVIL, dumbass. I give evil the old “Thumbs Down.”

SISKEL: Roger, when my people come from the stars to enslave this puny planet, you will serve as food for the Giant Slave Worms of Kodos. So I give Evil a “Thumbs Up.”

“FREEDOM BETRAYED”:

EBERT: Umm …

SISKEL: Uh, yeah. Well, I … thought the … intellectual … renoberization … of Descartes’ second theorem was … it has a cool logo, though.

EBERT: Yeah, the logo …

SISKEL: Let’s be honest, Roger. Damned if I’ve ever finished it. At least with Scott Shepard you could just hate him without having to read it. This Num-Chuks guy … I dunno. “Thumbs Down” all around.

EBERT: Where have you gone, Mike Sampogna, the paper turns its lonely eyes to you.

SISKEL: Woo woo woo.

THE YEARBOOK:

EBERT: I give the yearbook a big fat thumb up your…

SISKEL: OK, moving right along!

JASON ROOP:

SISKEL: No two ways about it, “Roop, There It Is” — in German, “Roop Macht Frei” — will go down as one of the all-time great RCSGA election battle cries. I give Jason a cheesy A-OK sign.

EBERT: I agree. He’s so pudgy and cute. I give Jason a fat, wet lick on the cheek.

ROOP: Oh, you guys are so wacky!

Ha ha ha, that we are. Happy holidays from the whole gang, all both of us. And don’t try this at home. You never know where your thumb’s been.

I’m Cranky and I Hate Everybody

By Jeffrey Carl

Jeffrey Carl UR Column — University of Richmond Collegian, November 3 1994

Thanks to a bare modicum of writing skill and a more obvious fondness for bourbon which aligned with that of my journalism professors, my putative career advanced rapidly through my undergraduate years. I went from a practicum story writer for the University of Richmond Collegian student newspaper in my freshman year to Assistant News Editor in my sophomore year, then on to Greek Life Editor and IT Manager (I read MacWorld magazine!) in my junior year, and ultimately to Opinion Editor in my senior year.

For some reason that escapes me now, I acquired a humor column during this process at the beginning of my junior year. This column, titled “Over the Cliff Notes,” eventually ran for 22 installments and was over the course of two years was read by literally dozens of actual humans, only most of which where KA pledges I forced to do so. Its literary influence was quite literally incalculable, and I’m just going to leave it at that.

It occurs to me now that topical humor from college campuses nearly 30 years ago does not age well. I’m sure it was absolutely hilarious at the time, though. Enjoy!

We here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers. Unfortunately, we also think we’re funny, which pretty much cancels out any chance we just had of doing something useful. Besides, I have the flu and I’m in a bad mood, but I’ll try to suck it up and get on with this column. So I guess it’s time to open that fruity-licious mailbag and pull out some piping-hot, hearty chunk-style letters.

Remember: all these letters are real, because if we made them up, it wouldn’t be funny.

Q: My apartment-mate keeps running around in only Spider-Man underoos, eating dirt and claiming to see this “Mr. Snuffallupagus” that none of the rest of us can see. What should I do?

Oh, okay, okay. That one was made up. But the rest are really real. I’m not kidding. Back to the mailbag…

Q: Does anybody actually understand girls?

A: No.

In fact, it is well-established that even actual real-life girls don’t understand girls. In a recent survey, over 65 percent of girls that were asked, “Like, what’s up with chicks, you know?” responded with either “Huh?” or “I dunno.”

Indeed, my own research into the subject has been somewhat hindered by the fact that whenever I ask a girl out, they don’t actually respond, but rather drop to the floor, laughing hysterically and occasionally wetting themselves. This has made further research difficult.

However, medical science has made enormous advances in the past 20 years and some important discoveries have been made. Scientists have only recently discovered that:

• Girls have not been found to cause cancer in laboratory rats.

• Girls are much less likely to include “ESPN 2” as one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

• One-third of guys were rated as “really messy;” the other 75 percent were declared “just totally disgusting slobs.”

• Girls do not actually have – as was previously believed – long, spiny wings or small vestigial tails.

• Research was found to cause cancer in laboratory rats.

What is the final conclusion that we may draw from this? Well, the conclusion I drew is that instead of facing an entire lifetime of rejection and ignominious failure being turned down by girls, I could just forget the whole thing and go to the vet’s and get “fixed” for about what I would have otherwise spent on one formal date. Next question?

Q: Are you really as grumpy and bitter in real life as you sound in your columns?

A: Yes.

It’s not because I hate anybody in specific, I just hate people in general. It’s not that I hate you, I hate your whole family and your little dog, too, Dorothy. If any of you are freshmen men and you happen to meet someone during Rush (I won’t say where because I promised never to mention KA again in the newspaper) wearing a tie who seems to be mumbling Shakespeare and biting people who try to talk to him, it’s me.

The technical term for my sort of attitude is “curmudgeonly.” Most people just refer to it as, “boy is that guy an ass” or something similar.

Did you notice how this turned from an innocuous little “fake questions” column into a rambling tirade about how cranky I am? Well, tough noogies, Pretzel Boy. I’m grumpy and I have the flu and I have no compunctions about trying to make everybody else feel as rotten as me.

Where was I? Let’s see … my life … parade of shame and wasted lives … biting freshmen … the vet’s office … Biosphere II … small dogs dipped in crunchy batter and lightly fried … oh, yeah. I have the flu.

Influenza (or Influential Snifflus Vomitorium) is a virus carried by mosquitoes that live in the deserts of Morocco. It can only be cured by a series of extremely painful shots and is sometimes known to cause death, paralysis and minor stomach discomfort.

Consequently, I am forced to be miserable and skip classes when I otherwise would have been skipping classes and doing something fun. It is just no fun to skip classes when you have really have an excuse. Half the fun of skipping classes is inventing lame excuses like:

• “I had to go to the Dagobah system to seek the Jedi Master Yoda who would teach me the ways of the Force.”

• “I was playing racquetball with the Pope.”

• “I was dead on Wednesday, but I’m all better now.”

• “But I was here last class. You didn’t see me? Then it means … my invisibility serum works! It works! HA HA HA HA HA They said I was mad! Mad, I tell you! But I’ll show them all now! HA HA HA HA” and so on and such forth, the point still being that I’m sick and cranky and I hate everybody.

Next question?

Q: Who do I call if I have problems registering?

A: Oh, and another thing. On top of all that, my mom got behind sending checks to everybody to get them to hang out with me, so all my “friends” stopped talking to me until their November checks clear. So I’m completely miserable and I’ll probably die of pneumonia and halitosis and stuff and nobody likes me and I’ll have to take my mom to our next formal and I hate everybody.

So why doesn’t everybody cheer me up? Huh? Well? Why don’t we have a special holiday just like Christmas, except everybody just gives presents to me? When am I going to be named WCGA Senator of the Month? Since when did the world stop revolving around me?

(Sigh.)

So what have we learned?

a) Don’t write newspaper columns when you’re sick.

b) Don’t stick a fork in an electrical socket.

c) Stop, drop, and roll.

d) If you ever run into me when I’m sick and I am this cranky to you, you have the right to slap me.

Achtung! Der Dining Hall Putsch ist in der Haus

By The Dead Editors’ Society (Jeffrey Carl, Paul Caputo and Scott Shepard)

University of Richmond Collegian, October 20 1994

An elite strike team formed of current and former Collegian Op-Ed section editors, the “Dead Editors’ Society” columns were my favorite things to write in college. Under the cover of multiple authorship, it also gave us cover to express all of the most maliciously funny snide comments that we had, since we could always blame each other if someone cornered us about the nasty things we’d said. I’d also like to note up front that all of the lines referencing Nazis were by Scott Shepard. If you didn’t go to the University of Richmond during that time frame, most of the jokes will seem riotously unfunny to you. Actually, they’ll probably seem riotously unfunny even if you did go there. Anyway, these were a lot of fun to do.

Mr. Carl — Minister of Propaganda

Mr. Caputo — Grand Poobah

Mr. Shepard — Chancellor

You may have noticed that it is cold outside. We here at The Collegian blame the administration for this travesty entirely. Consequently, the elite Columnist Commando Strike Team has now seized control of this old school and placed it in the Iron Grasp of the Old School columnists.

That’s right, we staged a coup (pronounced coop, like Roop).

As a further consequence, the administration of this University now lies in the hands of the First Triumvirate: Chancellor Scott Shepard, Grand Poobah Paul Caputo and Minister of Propaganda Jeffrey Carl. Suck it up.

Do not attempt to adjust your newspaper. We are in control.

This is not to say that our new administration will not be a benevolent, fair and happy one after we are finished killing everyone we don’t like. But there are going to be a few changes around here. So listen up, Pretzel Boy.

We are The Man, and we are putting you down.

• You know what the old saying: “Good fences make good neighbors.” But that has nothing to do with this. The saying we were talking about is “You have to raze it to the ground before you can build it up again.” We think that’s a horrible expression. Nonetheless, in that spirit, let the razing begin.

The following people will report to The Collegian office by 8 a.m. Friday morning to turn in all of their keys, official papers, copy cards and organ donation specifications: The Ticket Lady, who will be available for flaying, for a small fee; Flagboy, who will carry a Guatemalan flag so no one will identify him with UR; Len Goldberg, enough said; Jim Marshall, who has called for his last run up the middle; all sorority spirit chairs for a massive program of adrenalin suppression and Ritalin dependency.

The Pep Band, if we still have one, will report to The Collegian office with a new school song based on the tune of “Suck It,” by Buttsteak.

The following activities have been forbidden on pain of death by jogging: Using the word “Psych” for any reason other than naming your major; applying to the Jepson School; sheltering Max Vest from the execution committees; writing up a good party; running up the middle; and being in “9 Divine.”

All University ties to the Baptists will be severed. The new campus religion to which everyone will adhere is The Force, as in, “Use The Force, Flagboy.”

• Never fear that our new administration will ignore the pressing need for a new social space and the even more pressing need for a name for that social space. Here is the NEW list of choices for the social space’s name:

• Jepson’s Place

• That Phunky Phat Crib

• The Chuck Wagon

• Awful Alison’s (no happy hours allowed)

• Curly, Moe and Beer Shemp

• The Scraggly Old Campus Dog Memorial Social Space

• The Social Space That Doesn’t Have a Name

• But the NEW administration realizes that there is a need for more than one social space. So we have decided to turn the basement of Jepson Hall, which will be renamed the Caputo School of Followership Studies, into a food court. The food court will include Taco Bell, Denny’s, one of those frilly bagel places, a Waffle House or two and the Tobacco Company, which will be complimentary to all members of the new adminstration and their dates.

• The Dining Hall, which will be renamed as the Sieg Heil-man Pebbles Dining Center, will undergo serious changes, and we’re not just talking about spiking the Garden Burgers with lard. All students will be issued a new ID, stamped with either a “J,” for Jock, an “F/SC,” for Fratboy/Sorority Chick or a “L,” for independent. Upon entering the dining area, which will still be called the dining area, students will be required to present their IDs to the official DHKGB, the Dining Hall Police. You will sit in the appropriate section, and you know what we mean, or be eliminated.

Watch your ass, Compton.

Also, Pebbles will be named as the Secretary for Fried or Baked Chicken under the new administration. And there will be no more of this “Stir Fry” garbage. Ever.

• The shake-ups will not, however, end at the D-Hall door. Oh, no no no no. Campus organizations should prepare for imminent transformation.

ROTC and the Lambda Coalition shall be merged. Forget “don’t ask don’t tell”; the new policy is “you don’t even need to ask.” The uniforms will be changed from deciduous-forest camouflage to night-at-the-ballet camouflage.

VAC and Virginia Cool members shall be shipped off to Namibia, where they can do all of the “community service” that they could ever have wished for, and where they will be too far away to nag the rest of us.

Bacchus will purchase six kegs of “Night Train” a week to support campus-wide vomit-fests and “English Nite” parties (all the fun is driving on the wrong side of the road) on the intramural fields.

Community Through Diversity will still do nothing but sell T-shirts.

All of the various and sundry honor societies across campus will be merged into one, will hold one group meeting (which no one will attend), and will vote to dissolve themselves permanently. As a special evil dissolution clause for science people, the members of Beta Beta Beta will either be forced to join Delta Delta Delta or be dissolved in vats of their own acids.

• Because all of the members of the new ruling Journalism Junta (pronounced Hoornaleesm Hoonta) are liberal arts majors and suffer from serious inferiority complexes about their utter inability to get jobs after graduation that include paychecks, some changes will be made to ensure that misery has company.

Henceforth, all accounting and finance classes will be taught only in Senegalese. What? No business students know any foreign languages? Tough, Pretzel Boy. You’ll just have to get by as best you can. Moreover, all science students will be required to answer all test questions and write all lab reports in iambic pentameter. All work not perfectly following that aesthetic form — and managing to draw wistful allusions to Shakespeare’s drinking problem in later life — will receive a grade of “F.” Students who continue to attend the business school — which will be renamed the Dalcon Shield School of Business Management — will be required to wear green eyeshades. Students who continue to take more than one class per semester in the Gottlieb Science Building will have pocket protector tatoos imprinted on their chests. Computer science majors — yes, both of them — will be forced to fix my computer every time it gives one of those cryptic error messages like “Sorry! Mac not feeling like it today! [-0376].” Looters and Law School students will be shot.

• To redress some of the most fundamental grievances about University of Richmond, some new mandatory classes will be added to the curriculum. IDCC has been changed to IDGC — the Interdisciplinary Golf Course. All students will be required to take at least two semesters and will be graded on their handicaps. All current IDCC professors will serve as caddies.

• The University of Richmond will, as befits its new ambitions, pursue not only new internal policies but will develop foreign policies as well. As of now, the University of Richmond has declared war on Croatia. Also, while the United States as a whole has generally maintained good relations with the secluded island nation of Rhode Island, their ambassadors will be expelled. Lichtenstein is next on our hit list.

• Against the objections of one of the Triumvirate members, we have decided on a plan to further demoralize independent students, The Collegian will now refer to each student mentioned in any of its articles by name, then Greek organization. For example:

The column was written by Jeffrey Carl (KA); Scott Shepard (KA); and Paul Caputo (Nothing).

• There will definitely be changes in the way sporting events happen around here.

First, the football team will, from here on out, be replaced on a weekly basis with the intramural team that has the best record in Hardyball. During the games, the Pep Band will play songs it thinks are funny, such as “Glory, Glory Hallelujah,” when UR gets a first down, or “Wipeout,” when the team tries to run the ball up the middle and gets tackled for a loss.

Every frat guy who shows up at the game wearing a tie will be taken into custody and forced to eat it.

As far as basketball goes, Kass Weaver will become the team’s player/manager and Bill Dooley will serve as his waterboy.

At basketball games, the cheerleaders, especially Flagboy, will sit down during free throws so that the fans can actually see what’s going on. Also, for the last 10 minutes of each game, a different Spiderette will be selected to point guard the team. Adam Ward will choose the Spiderette.

• The University of Richmond, like any other sovereign body, needs the trappings of officiality to preserve its integrity and make it seem cool. Accordingly, all of the school’s official symbols are being changed except for the “Purina Dog Chow” logo, which will be used exclusively in connection with the Dining Hall.

• Official Alma Mater: “We Will Rock You,” by Queen

• Official Sports Mascot: that little wiener dog that walks around the lake

• State Bird: the dead mutant duck that used to live here

• Official Motto: Roop: Nolo Es, or, loosely translated, “Time to make the donuts.”

• Admissions standards are going to be a bit different now, thank you. First and foremost will be the Aerosmith Girl Scholarship Endowment (if you know what I mean) fund to pay for really hot girls to come here. All guys admitted to the college must be uglier than Messrs. Caputo, Carl or Shepard, which will narrow down the field quite a bit and allow for a Richmond College class of between eight and ten students per year. This will free the Richmond-side dormitories for use as enormous Laser Tag arenas and harem space.

Also, all prospective students must sign a new honor code whereby they pledge never to say “Buh-bye” unless they plan to get pummeled.

All newcomers must also have seen the entire Star Wars trilogy (see “religions” in column one).

Watch the skies! Beware! Our reign of terror and stuff like that has only begun. For years now we have bitched and bitched about stuff on campus and now, Pretzel Boy, we’re actually gonna do it.

Do not think, however, that you, John or Jane Q. Public, do not have an important say in the new regime: simply send in a letter with your suggestions to The Collegian office and we will take a good hard look at your ideas and laugh at them and laugh at you and then probably try to come and kill you anyway. That’s because we here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers.

Beware Greeks Bearing Columns

by Jeffrey Carl

It occurs to me now that topical humor from college campuses nearly 30 years ago does not age well. I’m sure it was absolutely hilarious at the time, though. Enjoy!

We here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers. Blah blah blah blah blah. There has been great controversy in these pages lately over Greek life, the IFC, the BBC, Rush rules, Rush is okay but they haven’t had a good album in years, etc. That is why we have seen fit to address the issue of the campus social Greek system once and for all. Or my name ain’t Nathan Arizona.

THE OVER-THE-CLIFFNOTES OFFICIAL GUIDE TO THE GREEK SYSTEM™

• General rules: Many gross overgeneralizations about the Greek system tend to be made by foolish people who lump others into silly categories: that certain sororities are all like such and so forth, but this is just a load of hooey. The only down-to-earth, realistic generalization that actually applies to everybody is that all Greeks drink too much beer and all independents are losers.

• Men’s Rush: Fraternity Rush is an unparallelled chance for young men to meet each other, discuss intellectual concerns of the day, and vomit on each other repeatedly. It consists of three main segments:

a. get liquored up at pre-party

b. drive drunk to lodge for stupid theme night (usually “El Soft Taco Supreme Fiesta” night or “Breaking Stuff is Cool” night); avoid vomiting on rushees

c. drag more rushees back to post-party; avoid them vomiting on you

• Bid Extension: Fraternities extend bids to rushees after deciding through a complex, scientific process that includes infrared scanners, mainframe computers, throwing Lawn Jarts at rushees’ pictures and lots of “Crazy Horse” malt liquor. A chapter as a whole will vote on each individual rushee; if a member feels particularly strongly about any rushee who was denied a bid, he may challenge this and play a game of chess with Death for the rushee’s soul.

The next morning, rushees are given an envelope which contains either engraved fancy official bid(s) or an engraved fancy notice of their official status now as losers and the phone number for CAPS, in case they decide to kill themselves. Oh well.

• Pledging: Why should I spoil the surprise?

• Fraternity Life: Fraternity life may seem to be all wine and roses and chitlins and gravy, but there are numerous problems that fraternities frequently face. Sometimes there are simply not enough community service projects to fill up the members’ charitable spare time. Sometimes, young women will attend lodge social gatherings in a previously intoxicated state and make lewd suggestions of physical gratification inappropriate for a young gentleman’s tender ears. Sometimes it turns out that Brian C. Jones is in your fraternity. Any of these situations can be difficult to deal with at times.

• Women’s Rush: HA HA HA HA hee hee hee HO HO HA HA HA HA HA hee hee HA HA HA HA

• Sorority Life: This revolves primarily around Rush retreats (see HA HA HA above) and scrambling for formal dates. Sorority formals, as previously mentioned, are just like bar mitzvahs but with sex in the elevators.

• The Greek Review: This was a study commissioned several years ago to divine the true nature of the Greek system on campus. It took five years to complete because only one of the panel members had a clue and they had to spend most of their time sharing it back and forth. The panel members were split over the final review:

“I loved it. It was much better than ‘Cats.’”

“It crashed and burned and tore a gaping hole in the earth.”

“Great fun … entertaining … Robert Downey, Jr., has never been better.”

“It bit my ass.”

• The IFC (Interfraternity Council): Many people mistakenly believe that the IFC is a rather bumbling collection of incompetent administrators making pointless rules for a system that they really have little control over. This could not be further from the truth. The IFC is actually a tightly-knit secret organization with bold plans for world domination, beginning with secretly buying up stock in the left side of the D-Hall until they control 51 percent, then closing it to independents so that they all starve to death, thereby assuring Greek domination of the University. I’m not kidding.

• The Panhellenic Council (or “Pan-Hell”): See IFC above, add some of HA HA HA

Benefits and disadvantages to the Greek system:

Advantages:

• Improves gas mileage

• Gives fresher, mintier breath

• Spending money on dues prevents you from engaging in some more frivolous use of money

• If Apocalypse comes and Angel of Death is an old fraternity brother of yours and sees the letters or crest on your door, you are spared

• Can tell Vietnam-like stories that begin, “When I was a pledge…”

• Is often quite fun

Disadvantages:

• Now with 33 percent less frosting

• Dreadful problem of having too much beer to drink

• James O. Bryant may be your roommate

• Door decs may pose fire hazard

• Is sometimes quite not fun

Please keep your cards and letters coming to:

OVER-THE-CLIFFNOTES

P.O. Box 666

Battle Creek, MI 867-5309

And beware Greeks bearing columns.

“WDCE? At least WKRP had Venus Flytrap …”

by Jeffrey Carl

It occurs to me now that topical humor from college campuses nearly 30 years ago does not age well. I’m sure it was absolutely hilarious at the time, though. Enjoy!

We here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers. Aw, who the hell are we kidding? You know and I know and Erik Estrada knows that we really don’t give a dead rat’s ass. But at least we make an effort, you know? So, anyway, here’s a letter from The Collegian Piping-Hot-Full-of-Letters Mailbag:

Q: I’ve been hearing a lot about the new social space. Now, what’s up with that?

A: I don’t know what’s up with the campus radio station. Damned if I can figure it out. The only time I ever really listened to WDCE 90.1 FM was freshman year when my friends and I would drink cheap wine and call up Allan Young and Todd Flora on “College Talks” and yell “eat me” on the air. But many people are perplexed about what it does and why and if anyone listens to it besides weird people at VCU with day-glo purple hair and rings in their winkies and tattoos of Martha Graham and Gertrude Stein doing hits off a six-foot bong and dancing the “Achy Breaky dance.”

I decided to do some investigative work and actually listen to the radio station for a while. The results were irritating. Not only did all of the music sound like exploding cats with feedback, but there wasn’t even anything wholesome or positive or Roop-esque on the station. The whole thing just sucked. It was like a musical version of eating masking tape.

WDCE’s motto is that it is “the alternative.” The term “alternative” implies that it isn’t your first choice, anyway. But the radio station’s mission is to play all this ultra-cool, hip stuff that nobody has ever heard of and allows you to claim that you’re that band’s biggest fan because you’re their only fan. I mean, if you tell somebody that you’re dating the sister of the lead singer for “Buttsteak[note: actual band],” nobody’s gonna argue with you.

I also assembled a few facts about the radio station from my listening. How much do you know about your campus radio station? A little WDCE quiz: (answers at end of column)

1. Pick the song that wasn’t played on WDCE in the last 72 hours:

a) “Rhapsody in goo” by The Pickle Tickle

b) “Pus” by Schnitzel

c) “Ass masters” by 1910 Fruitgum Company

d) “Peeing in the pool” by Dickweed

e) “Pus (the frothy remix)” by Schnitzel

f) “Suck it” by Buttsteak

g) “The ‘College Talk with your host Brian C. Jones’ theme song” by The Brian C. Jones Soul Explosion

2. Demographics show that the average WDCE listener is:

a) 12 – 18

b) 18 – 25

c) on serious drugs

d) whichever DJ is doing the show at the time

3. As a mass medium, WDCE’s audience size is equal to that of:

a) “MTV”

b) “The New York Times”

c) “Ishtar”

d) “The Collegian”

e) “The Collegian” when half of its readers are sick and only the other guy gets a chance to pick it up

4. Which of the following has not been an actual, official motto of WDCE:

a) “Judas Priest, are we weird”

b)“The Richmond area’s only authorized ‘Buttsteak’ dealer”

c) “Twice as much dead air time as the next leading radio station”

d) “At VCU we’re really cool and our album just broke in Belgium”

Who is responsible for this drivel? I called the general manager of WDCE, James O. Bryant, and when I identified myself as a member of the Collegian staff, he simply refused to return my calls. A couple of days later, I called back and identified myself as the Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, from “Spin” magazine. This time he agreed to talk to me about WDCE and its role in the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

“Well,” Bryant said, “we’re basically just here to annoy people. I don’t usually tell people that, but we are also actually all Communists.”

Aha! I had begun to unravel this sinister scheme, a purported “radio station” that actually was an engine of Fifth Column Radicalism promoting Communist revolution and tooth decay. The only conclusion I can come to is that the radio station should be filled in with cement immediately and all of the DJs should be burned at the stake and the whole thing should be cleaned up or else stronger measures will be advocated. Thank you and good night.

Mythology Corner Presents: “The Ten Thousand Faces of the Ticket Lady”

By Jeffrey Carl and Paul Caputo

University of Richmond Collegian, September 24 1994

Paul Caputo and I began writing humor columns together for the University of Richmond Collegian at the beginning of my Junior year. Paul had started his term as The Collegian’s opinion section editor that year, or maybe he hadn’t. I don’t really remember. Maybe it was me, or possibly Scott Shepard. I know it happened sometime during college. At any rate, Paul and I started writing together and later with Shepard as well. It was the start of a writing partnership that would last years and ultimately result in no tangible lasting value except for some free baseball tickets. I originally had something much more positive in mind when I started writing this introduction.

by Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers

Moyers: Why do we need Good? So that we can have Evil? In every culture, religion and the myths it creates serve to control society and, ultimately, culture. The myth of the mysterious character of The Ticket Lady is a legend that occurs in nearly every culture ever studied. Is this an inherent need every society possesses for a black sheep, or is she just a weasel?

Campbell: No. Actually, every society has a need for collecting obscene amounts of money for miniscule traffic violations. The Babylonians, who, though they did not possess automobiles, foresaw the need for extra parking spaces, called this figure “Gilgamesh.”

Moyers: Really?

Campbell: No. That was just a myth created because the far-sighted Babylonians saw the need for Core Courses one day and became determined to develop the most boring myth possible. Actually, they called this figure “Ur-Golgothis.”

Moyers: The Core Course. Now, I remember taking that course. I recall thinking, “This is interesting, but shouldn’t we be learning something more Western?” I feared the PC police were taking over my college curriculum. I suspected that this had something to do with the imposing figure of the Ticket Lady, or possibly Scott Shepard. Was there a connection?

Campbell: No. The “Shepard Figure” of most early cultures reflected their primal need to have weird Southern accents and be crypto-fascists. The Ticket Lady myth goes deeper.

Moyers: Like the myth of the Light-Bringer of the Aztecs?

Campbell: No. You are on crack. What I was talking about was the primal need for a figure of supreme evil, which would ride around in a little electric cart.

Moyers: One time this enormous football player with a band-aid on his forehead driving a little electric cart crashed into me while I was walking to class. I stayed crumpled in a heap near the Gottwald Taco Bell, whilst stupid people on mountain bikes and skateboards ran over me. It wasn’t until three days later that the Ticket Lady rescued me on her cart. I remember being in awe of her prowess as she pressed those little buttons on that little deally thingy she has. Is it possible that the Ticket Lady could also serve as a force of compassion and love, and not just spite and cold-heartedness?

Campbell: Yes.

Moyers: Really?

Campbell: No. But there are two faces to the myth. Animus and anima. Venus and Cupid. Ticket Lady and Ticket Boy.

Moyers: Does that have anything to do with Flagboy? Is there a Flaggirl?

Campbell: No. The Flagboy myth is a separate myth which deals with each society’s need for seriously annoying people. The Mesopotamians called this “Kwisatz-Haderach.” The early Sumerians called this “Irritating Boy.” But the separate entities of Ticket Lady and Ticket Boy go back to something deeper. The two faces of the Ticket Lady reflect the thousand faces of the Home Shopping Network. It also reflects every culture’s need for being drunk and going to Getty Mart. The Chinook Indians called this “Getty-Mart.”

Moyers: Flagboy was pretty cool. I don’t know that I have ever actually been drunk, but one time I drank 13 32-ounce Mountain Dews at the Getty Mart free refill soda fountain. I went to a fraternity party and they wouldn’t let me in, so I just ran straight through the wall. I was pretty hopped up. Is there a connection?

Campbell: No. By the way, nobody likes you. The myth of the Mountain Dew-buzz, which the ancient Gauls called “WHOOOOOOOOOO-DOGGGEEEEEEEEZ!” is part of the subconscious need for drugs when you don’t have anything else, like free Ny-Quil from the Student Health Center.

Moyers: I went to the Student Health Center once. I thought I had a headache. Turns out I was just pregnant. Cool, huh?

Campbell: No. But as I was saying, the Running-Through-Walls myth relates back to each society’s primal need to be stupid. And yet the Ticket Lady shows us how the power of mythology can recreate us, can redefine our relationship to the world, and can give us tickets.

Moyers: Ah. So the Ticket Lady serves a useful function?

Campbell: No. But the myth remains. There is what is known, there is what is unknown, and in between is the Ticket Lady. Mythology remains a powerful force for enforcing the aforementioned minor traffic violations. The ancient Hebrews called this “Yahweh.” The ancient Phoenicians called this “Not Graduating Until You Pay Your Ticket Fines.” I call it “Herbert.” But the power of the myth remains the same. The myth of pointless tickets remains powerful, intriguing and irritating.

Moyers: I ate too many Buffalo wings at Friday’s a couple days ago and I booted all over the parking lot. At any rate, I had really vivid dreams that night, and I remember that in one of them, I was walking alone through the puddles outside the Commons and the Ticket Lady came to me. She drove up to me and her little mobile deally looked as if it was floating, and she said, in a really deep voice, “Richmond is #1 because Wake Forest got moved up to the ‘Real College’ category.” I was so happy, yet at the same time so empty. Does this relate to the eternal myth?

Campbell: No. But the significance of the dream remains unchanged, in that it is pointless, like…

Moyers: A degree in Leadership? The coordinate system? The Greek system?

Campbell: No. Bite me. And, as aforementioned, everybody hates you. As I was saying, the dream is lame, like Pauly Shore movies or small dogs attempting to eat you. Incidentally, the myth of the Scary Old Guy Walking Around The Lake With The Irritating Little Dog is shared in many cultures.

Moyers: Really?

Campbell: Yes.

Moyers: You’re serious?

Campbell: No. The mythological significance of the Ticket-Boy-as-Tragic-Hero is deeper than the myth of the Chicken-Sandwich-and-Bacon-as-Separate-Entrées. There is a feeling of loneliness in each culture that needs an expression — a feeling of despair, a feeling of nausea, a feeling up of the girl sitting next to you at a party when everybody’s drunk anyway. The myth also expresses a culture’s search for a figure who is kind of minty-flavored and improves gas mileage.

Moyers: Like Fla-Vor Ices, or the show “Newhart.” I know what you mean. But what about her role as arbiter of divine intervention? Can we draw a parallel to the myth of Pebbles From the D-Hall, Bringer of Divine Guidance and Fried Or Baked Chicken?

Campbell: No. Bite me.

Moyers: I see. How does that relate to you kissing my — as the ancient Incas called it — big white ass, you queer-as-a-three-legged-picnic-basket, dumb-as-a-small-dog-sniffing-glue, ornery-as-a-snake-with-hemorrhoids, more-evil-than-Megatron-leader-of-the-Decepticons-from-Transformers son-of-a-six-legged-Nazi-motorcycle-gang?

Campbell: No. Bite me.

Moyers: That concludes our interview. Good night and God bless. By the way, I am an atheist. So leave me the Hell alone.

Campbell: And bite me.

You … Yes, You … You’re Not Paying Attention

by Jeffrey Carl

It occurs to me now that topical humor from college campuses nearly 30 years ago does not age well. I’m sure it was absolutely hilarious at the time, though. Enjoy!

We here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers.

We also have a bridge to sell you.

We even-more-also have a whole new bagful of thoughtful questions sent in by curious readers like yourself.

Q: When does housing registration and room selection for next year begin?

A: You know, the biggest problem facing America today is not drugs or crime or non-alcoholic beer or even people who say “acrost.”

It is, in fact, our national short attention span. Every day folks like you or me are hindered in their daily activities by their inability to pay attention to anything for any lengthy amount of time.

Like you, for example. Yes, you. You weren’t even paying attention to that last bit, were you? Nooo, you just see a word over two syllables and you just throw it out the door and go back to snorking Cheez-Doodles™ from your roommate’s desk and thinking about that Baywatch® episode where the kid almost drowns and the woman blames David Hasselhoff (in some of his finest work since Knight Rider©) and he goes through this enormous period of angst that shows his depth as an actor which I haven’t seen the likes of since Laurence Olivier starred in Hamlet™ and it ends up that the kid survives and the woman realizes she was wrong and David Hasselhoff gets cheered up by whoserbody, the brunette one which reminds me that somebody said that Baywatch™2 is really high-budget but from the looks of it I guess they spent it all on cleavage.

So if you don’t pay attention in life, you’re going to end up in the gutter, drinking Mad Dog® and eating moldy apples and talking to yourself about Baywatch, which, interestingly enough, would in Latin be spelled “Bæwatch.” Pretty cool, huh?

So, anyway, it’s really important that you pay attention in life. I, myself, am continually being embarrassed by the fact that on an average day, at least 10 people will stroll past me and say “hi, Jeff,” or a similar acknowledgement of recognition, and I have no clue whatsoever as to who these people are.

This is perhaps simply to be explained as being one of the many areas of life that I have “no clue whatsoever” about (viz. Calculus™ and girls), but it still causes me a flurry of consternation every time this happens.

This is not to say that I don’t fully recognize a full 95 percent or even perhaps as high as 50 percent of the people I meet each day. But every time one of these phantom encounters occurs, my brain goes down like Boba Fett© into the Great Pit of Carkoon™, home of the great Sarlacc (Matthew 12:7) and I go crazy attempting to figure out what this person’s name is, where I know them from, and why the Hell they’re after me. A typical exchange:

PERSON X: Hey there, Jeff.

ME: Oh … hi-de-li-ho! [Jack? Bob? Jorge? Torvald? Yoda? … aw, Hell, better play it safe …] How have you been, guy?

PERSON X: Pretty good … those were some crazy times last weekend, eh?

ME: Yeeeeeeeeeaaaahhhhhh … [Does he work at Taco Bell? Is this my brother-in-law? Is he with the Canadian Border Police? I didn’t meet this guy in prison, did I?] Yup, they suuuure as heck were. Look, I hafta run, but say “hi” to, uh …

PERSON X: Helga and Frothgar?

ME: Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhh … say “hi” to Helga and Frothgar for me. [This guy can’t be with the Feds … and I’m sure I paid my bookie last week … I think that Totally Hidden Video™ got canceled a few seasons ago … well, I’ll never see him again anyway.] Bye!

PERSON X: Buh -bye!

This is the last time I ever see Person X again until he adds in to my Tuesday-Thursday 11:15 class. So you should really learn to pay attention.

Q: Well, what is the best way to improve your memory or your attention span?

A: The worst thing is the parking situation in the apartments. How ’bout that Ticket Lady? I think she’s Hitler-riffic. But the one time in my life I want to see some heavy parking fines being doled out (to people who don’t have A-Lot stickers parking in front of my apartment so there’s no room and I have to park somewhere like Æ Lot, which is actually parking in left field of the Diamond, when the Richmond Braves aren’t playing), she’s nowhere to be found.

I mean, do they overbook parking lots like airline flights? Or is there a deeper, more sinister force at work here? I don’t know.

Anyway, you should pay attention more.

Wilkommen ze die Kollegiann! Guten Frau!

By Jeffrey Carl

It occurs to me now that topical humor from college campuses nearly 30 years ago does not age well. I’m sure it was absolutely hilarious at the time, though. Enjoy!

Or, for those of you who don’t speak German, like I don’t, welcome to The Collegian, student newspaper of the University of Richmond, which I assume you are already familiar with.

My name is Danny “Dan-O” Noonan, and I am the Opinion section editor. This means, roughly, that I am paid a teensy amount of money “every so often” for editing other columns and occasionally recycling jokes from other places I have read them. I also carefully read all of the reader mail sent to us, considering its suggestions (most of which are “die in flames, you maggot”) and then respond to our concerned readers in a curteous, appropriate fashion (usually short letters that say, “Yeah, well, you suck too.”)

This is because we here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers. And, for those of you who are New Readers, we wish to present a brief introduction to our fine college – in fact, sort of an “Everything You Wanted to Know about the University of Richmond but Were Afraid of the People Who Could Answer Those Questions Because They’re Scary.” So let’s dip into the reader mailbag here – for those of you who have read this column before, just follow along with the gag – and pull out some of those Most Oftenly Asked Questions. By the way, for those New Readers out there, since you don’t know any better – everything in any of these columns is absolutely 100 percent true.

Q: What is the easiest way to remember my long-distance access code?

A: Well, I’m glad that you asked about social life here at college. If you’re asking yourself the normal freshman question, “will I meet nice people here?” then you can relax. The answer is no, and you’re not going to have any friends unless your mother sends everybody checks like she did for you in high school.

For those of you who are international students or just not familiar with English, try the following hip American greetings to get you noticed at parties:

“Greetings, Senator. I am the Arch-villain ‘Frogface.’”

“I am glad to meet you [insert person’s name here] and I sincerely hope that the gelatin is no longer in your hovercraft.”

“Will you dance with Mr. Wiggly, Sir?”

“Take my wife – please!”

Ha, ha. Just kidding. I didn’t really mean that. That stuff is actually as crazy as a football bat. But why print it, then?

That’s because we here at The Collegian pride ourselves on thinking that we’re funny. But (sigh) down to business. Now we’ll actually answer a letter sent in by a student at the end of last year.

Q: Whom do I get in touch with if I have a medical emergency?

A: I’m happy you asked about dormitory cable services. All of the dorms apparently have cable now. This improves the quality of life, and leaves you with a few new options for your leisure time and several hundred bitter seniors who had to wait until they got out to the apartments to get cable and feel that this little turn of events really just bites ass.

Of course, I meant “really bites ass” in the strict biblical sense.

But the point remains that back when I was a youngster, the dorms came equipped with exactly two amenities: cold and colder running water in the showers, and large or larger scurrying rodents in the halls. We had to walk to class in snow that was eight feet deep, even if we had both legs broken and it was a Saturday. And did we have “Skinemax” to look forward to when we got home (Channel 2)? Hell, no! So just put that in your hat and smoke it.

Now, for those of you that have gotten this far or even read the other columns in this section, both of you will be happy to note that there is a roughly 15% overall decrease in bitching about the lake and the coordinate system from the same time last year.

This means that our columnists are not up to par and we will be searching for new ones. If you are interested in writing for the Collegian, go to hell. Ha ha. Just kidding. If you are indeed interested, please call and let us know.

By the way – enjoy your year. It’s actually pretty fun here.



Horrorscope of the Stars

By the Mysterious Professor Zoltar

Working at the Westmoreland News in 1994 was the best summer job I ever had. I worked for peanuts and had a two hour drive each way from Richmond, but I got to do it all at a small county newspaper where I was a reporter, feature writer, copy editor, layout editor and photographer (because there was nobody else to do those things). Best of all the paper’s editor, Lynn Norris, gave me the freedom to write whatever I wanted – way more journalistic and comedic freedom than anyone should rightly give a know-it-all 21-year-old writing for a weekly in the deeply rural Northern Neck of Virginia.

Astrologer’s Note: Remember what I said about quitting last week? Well, I lied. Partly, anyway. This week’s horoscope section is actually a “Do-it-yourself” kit to allow you, the reader, to interpret the puzzling signs of the inexorable motions of the stars and stuff like that. Then, having a guide to all of life’s little omens and portents, you can forecast your future yourself and you won’t have to shell out all 35 cents for a newspaper.

OMENS AND THEIR PROPER INTERPRETATION

Comet colliding with planet in your astrological constellation: Stay home in bed. But don’t panic yet; this is only the sixth sign of the seven to signal that the Revelations of St. John the Divine are coming to pass.

Comet colliding with planet in your neighborhood: This means you should have moved out six months ago.

Solar eclipse in your constellation: A time of great change. Nickles, dimes, and quarters will eerily appear throughout your room, as if by magic.

Lunar eclipse in your constellation: Time to change favorite radio stations.

Strangely reddish sunset: A time of reversal, with great chaos to come: gravity will fail, Hulk Hogan will be dethroned as World Wrestling Federation champion, Russian President Boris Yeltsin will appear as a character called “Spanky” on Seinfeld, and Westmoreland News horoscopes will become funny.

Strangely reddish sunrise: You’re either getting up too early or going to bed too late.

Black cat walks in front of your car: Time to rotate your tires.

Wild turkey walks in front of your car: Time to change bourbons.

Moose walks in front of your car: Time to hit the brakes.

On the eve of the Ides of March, meteor showers are seen, statues weep, and lions and flaming apparitions walk the streets: You will be asassinated the next day on your way to the Senate by Lucius Brutus and Caius Cassius. Your adopted son Octavian will eventually rule the Empire as Augustus, and you will be deified. Rome will encompass most of the known world within 150 years, but in time, internal decadence and external military pressures will force the splitting of the Empire. The city of Rome will be sacked by Alaric the Vandal in 410 A.D. and the last Western Roman Emperor will be deposed by Visigoths in 476. So you should probably stay home.

Your clothes are stinky: Wash them.

You take stuff that is supposed to be a joke in the newspaper too seriously: Don’t read it.

Ed McMahon appears in your constellation: This is the seventh sign. It’s all over.