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!
Editor’s Note: Next week, this strip will be replaced by something wholesome like “Beetle Bailey.” We promise.
We here at The Collegian pride ourselves on being responsive to our readers. And we’d like to thank all six of you for reading us this year.
This column is the final installment in the “Over-the-Cliff Notes” series. This issue marks the end of this column’s tireless crusade against crime, injustice, the vile forces of International Communism, and people who drive too slow. It has been a kooky year, but good writers know when it’s time to call it quits. And then they pass this information along to bad writers like me.
You may ask yourself, “But why? What has led this man to abandon the vast, sprawling comic empire he has created?” You may say to yourself, “This is not my beautiful house!” You may say to yourself, “My God! What have I done?”
You may also stop quoting Talking Heads songs and seriously wonder why this is the end of the line. A sign from the heavens came to me: earlier this week, I played in a softball game against the Law School team. And they kicked our asses. Now, it’s one thing to have your softball team get crushed like a chihuahua in a sheet-metal press. It’s another thing entirely to get your butt kicked by people who you recommended in the newspaper to be executed by fumigation. This was like a sign from God, except it was smaller and it didn’t appear on flaming stone tablets.
Furthermore, I’m getting old and cranky. I’m just not the zany youngster I used to be. I’m watching “Matlock,” playing shuffleboard, and showing people pictures of my grandchildren. And I don’t even have grandchildren. I just show people these blank little pieces of paper, and tell them my grandchildren are albinos.
So I have decided to leave this business to the youngsters. As a parting salvo, I thought I’d include some simple directions on how to write a column yourself. Go ahead: it’s fun, it’s easy, and it will keep the Op/Ed section editor from tearing his hair out and drinking rubbing alcohol like he does whenever I turn in a column.
The supplies for column-writing are simple:
1. Notepad and pencils
2. Small Macintosh computer
3. Pent-up angst or other mental disorder
4. Two or three bottles of Old Crow or Wild Turkey
Perhaps you’re asking, “But do I have what it takes to be a writer?” Well, let me tell you a little story that had a lot to do with my deciding to become a columnist.
I was working at my summer job as an intern for the People’s Revolutionary Marxist Army of Angola, answering the phone, taking dictation, and organizing massive air strikes against reactionary government outposts in the mountains. I was in the office one morning when we were attacked by a government tank battallion and overwhelmed. I barely managed to escape into the jungle, with only a rifle, several food rations, a staple gun, and a bottle of Scotch which I had been using as a paperweight.
Fortunately, I had received survival training during my days on “American Gladiators”: I knew 50 ways to kill a man with a straw, and another three or four with the wrapper. I lived off the fat of the land: killing lions with my bare hands, bathing in waterfalls, and flossing with the staples. But at last I realized that I was going to be late for my racquetball game with the Pope that Thursday and I was running low on Scotch, so I was forced to try to make a break for civilization.
I made my way through the outback to a small roadside café near Zimbabwe with attractive decor and reasonable prices. I was going to ask if I could use the phone when I saw her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and when our eyes met I knew that it was meant to happen. Her lithe, gorgeous figure sashayed over to me from across the room while my heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in a Pop-O-Matic bubble in the board game “Trouble.” She stood in front me there and whispered softly the three words that would change my life: “Don’t touch me.” Then she walked away.
I became inconsolably depressed and decided to commit suicide. I grabbed a gun, put it in my mouth, and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, it was a BB gun and I only gave myself horribly bruised tonsils. I turned wildly and grabbed another gun and repeated the process, but it was a water gun and I nearly drowned myself. Two tries later, after a suction-dart gun and a lighter shaped like a revolver, I decided it was no use. I would just have to pick up the pieces of my life and go on.
Hmm … I guess that actually really didn’t have anything to do with writing columns. Oops.
Anyway, the point is that you don’t have to have writing skill, talent, an opinion, or even a point to write columns. And look – somebody’s gotta do it. So why not you? To get you started, here’s some sample topics:
• “Sex: it’s not just for breakfast anymore”
• “‘Spider Web’ and Satan-worshipping: the hidden link,” or “Pray for Registration”
• “Boy, are my bowels acting up lately”
• “Shouldn’t we have a third side of campus for transvestites?”
• “We should have a Hitler Studies program”
• “Campus ducks: the hidden heroes of UR”
• “We should have a Fabio Studies program”
• “Terrorism: frankly, it’s just tacky”
• “I have a grudge against the Greek system so I take it even more seriously than Greeks do”
Oops. Sorry. That’s been taken already.
• “Montel Williams: he’s one damn fine American and I want him to bear my children”
• “Have you had your prostate examined recently?”
• “We should have a Gilligan Studies program here.”
• “Earthquakes: what’s up with that?”
• “Beer: I like it.”
Well, that’s all the time we have for this week. Write some columns of your own and make this world a better place, or at least a stranger one. Good night, and good riddance.