Nobody Asked Us, But...

Post-Coital

The meeting had dragged on for five hours too long. We were tired and drawn, throats parched. Tempers flared as the proceedings came to an end. Dazed, everybody wandered away in little groups. We drifted into the dark, watching the shadows. This was not a night to throw caution to the wind; anything might happen. The bar was warm and inviting. We ordered drinks and waited. Others soon came. Not long after, we were at their table buying drinks and having them bought for us. We spoke and listened. By last call those still conscious loved us. We had been witty and our points were well made. The guys wanted to be us and the girls wanted to sleep with us. We parted company, knowing full well that if any of them remembered anything the next day, they'd remember that we weren't what they had wanted us to be. Beer: the miracle drug.

How do you spell...

What the?! Is that the strains of ABBA we hear coming from the EMU? It must be Gay Pride week on campus, judging by the cross dressers in the courtyard. Finally, some real entertainment--none of these half-ass, eco-friendly, hippie, trustafarian bands that usually stink up the courtyard. We don't care if it's Earth Day. But if some men are willing to put on dresses, tape their penises between their legs and sashay around in front of the student body, well, that's worth watching.

Dolores Hayes

We were just sitting around the office having a ribald discussion about one of our staff members who likes to the you've skirts, and gosh, we all decided that statutory rape laws are just too darn specific. They need to be more vague. We wanted to write something that expresses our views on the matter, and we butted heads. Eventually, we refined our concept of the law until it was distilled to it's very essence! If there is grass on the infield, play ball. There. That should clear up any confusion.

Second Time 'Round

It's been a rough couple of weeks: You spent all your money on campaign posters, had to organize your lackeys to heckle people at the debates and actually almost got punished for all the laws you broke. It's time to get so drunk you poop your pants.

But what do drink?

You don't want one of them wacky college micro-brews. Likewise, you don't want any of that mass-produced swill, even if it is on sale. And Mickey's is out because malt liquor gives you the runs.

No, what you need is a good old fashioned brew. The kind of beer that grows hair on your ass, the palms of your hands, even the tip of your nose. You want a Bunger Beer.

Pop the cap and Zowee! The smell of the finest barley, hops and bungers hits you in the face. Take a swig and let the golden liquid caress your tonsils. The efervescent nectar hits your stomach, curdling everything. You double over in pain. Ahhhhhh!

To learn more about the best bad beer there is check out: http://gladstone/~herz/SimASUO/">http://gladstone/~herz/SimASUO/

Enjoy, mon capitan!

Four out of five grumpy old men get shitty on Bunger Beer.

Things to do:

• Listen to Campus Talk, Sundays from 4-5 on KWVA 88.1 FM.
• Save money and earn the respect of your peers: Buy six-packs of Blitz tallboys.
• Send us mail. Try ocomment@darkwing.uoregon.edu or POB 30128 EMU Eugene, OR 97403. We love it and sometimes we even print it.