Category Archives: University of Arizona
When I graduated from college, I was, like, a very confused person. They told me that since I was, like, educated in the Humanities now, I had ‘the broad picture of life.’ Their theory was that, among all those practical, near-sighted automatons who’d, like, opted to attend technical school, I alone possessed ‘sufficient vision’ to, like, define the true parameters of man’s social, moral, and ecological condition. And I can still recall, like, vividly the commencement ceremonies when the dean waxed eloquent on the great, like, challenges which faced us as we went out into the world with our parchments and our purple cardboard hats. It was like the same night they found Edgar Fishbein, a credit-laden senior, curled up in his dorm closet with one thumb in his mouth and, like, a blue Bullwinkle blanket wrapped tightly around his neck.
Understandably even more distressed by the prospect of the competitive unknown, I soon became, like, sullen, morose, and saddened to learn that my Alma Mater had, like, betrayed me by not telling us about the injustice which allowed someone who could recite Shakespeare, Byron, and Yeats to lose out to some, like, YUTZ who happened to know his way around certain bathroom plumbing fixtures. Here was I, able to grasp the really juicy essentials of, like, stellar fusion, transactional analysis, and gastro-intestinal malfunction, reduced to, like, trudging the city in search of beer cans, taking in laundry, and investing my hard-earned assets in a diversified portfolio of, like, lottery tickets and food coupons. Would I MAKE it? I wondered anxiously. Would I be forced to take up residence in a dumpster and start eating refried beans? Would the student loan officers from my Alma Mater, like, attend my funeral and hold a pocket mirror to my nose? In the throes of my disillusionment, it all seemed, like, highly probable.
Luckily, that was when I, like, got lost while searching for a restroom at the US Tennis Open. Evoking some bizarre set of circumstances, then, I was immediately mistaken for a tennis player due to my, like, resemblance to a man ranked 97th on the ATP computer. Evidently the man hadn’t shown and was, like, presumed withdrawn. The official I addressed in the hallway as “Bud–hey, like, Bud!” responded before I could complete my question by laughing and, like, wringing my hand. The upshot is that he ushered me into this room where the pros were, like, sitting around sipping Gatorade and discussing their investments. Now, not only did I have a job, but, like, one or two friends as well.
I wouldn’t say it was, like, sheer LUCK which enabled me to reach the second round. Even though my opponent made more unforced errors than, like, GM has commercials, I WAS pretty high on adrenalin. For instance, we were already, like, three games into the match before I realized that, like, the warmups were over. And then some of my service returns had this, like, knack for hitting the tape and rolling over on his side like a prophetic yo-yo too. Toward the end there’d be, like, sparks spurting up all over the forecourt as he tried to scoop the dead balls back. The topper, though, was, like, when I mis-hit match point into a lob which caught, like, the back of the baseline and placed my luckless opponent within, like, slapping radius of our resigning chair umpire.
Back in the locker room afterward, I was, like, accosted by several autograph-seekers of the racket-manufacturing ilk. They wanted to know why I’d changed playing hands in mid-career, and, like, if this meant I’d be changing rackets too. Muttering something under my breath about my, like, new go-for-broke strategy, I managed to con several commentators into spouting one-liners about my revolutionary style eventually, like, “doing to Federer what McEnroe’s serve-and-volley once did to Borg.” This was, like, pretty satisfying in that before then I wouldn’t have been able to, like, get a passing shot past a ball machine.
Here was, like, poetic justice at last, I reasoned. Too bad the outcome of my second round established the record as being the only, like, love MATCH in history when I was ousted by the 98th seed–a defrocked ex-priest who nonetheless kneeled in supplication before, like, serving four consecutive aces. I think it was at the 6–0, 5–0 point that I, like, began to suspect that my opponent had the psychological edge, much like Freud had over Skinner. When the linesmen and ballgirls began heckling me, I was, like, sure of it. Regretfully, there’d been little time for me to, like, brush up on the paperback I’d found in my locker room, INTERMEDIATE TENNIS: RELIEF FOR THE FRUSTRATED BEGINNER. Now I’d either have to, like, fill out an application as a bagboy at the nearest Piggly Wiggly, or try entering the Papua New Guinea Open, hoping I’d, like, get into the finals because no one else, like, knew how to get there. Since I had no money for, like, plane fare, I decided on the former.
It wasn’t long before I began to, like, realize that although being a jack-of-all-trades has its perks (one can always brag about, like, being a ‘master-of-none’), I was somehow, like, missing out on obtaining fulfilling employment and its subsequent burnout, and that if only I’d, like, majored in Engineering or International Trade, I wouldn’t be sitting around evenings watching reruns of congressional Budget Debates with, like, Pan Pizza on my breath. Instead I’d be, like, talking private condos in Big Sur, and maybe going on monthly junkets to the Caymans to launder my petty cash, kinda like Lloyd Blankfein or Jay-Z.
To make a long story short, I eventually began attending night school, taking, like, Entrepreneurial Stratagems, and before long I was, like, feeling much better about my future. That is, until several dishwashers told me about another course at the school titled Poetic Devices And Their Application In Government And Industry. The course instructor was Dr. Percy Snodgrass, former English teacher at my, like, Alma Mater.
That’s right, al Qaeda now has new targets, since they’ve already destabilized American banks and killed our capacity to produce products other than bullets, coffin nails, and diabetes water for world markets. Their reasoning is that they need to attack us where it hurts most, and that is our religious institutions—the NFL and NBA Dioceses, along with our national church run by His Holiness, the Supreme High Commissioner of Baseball. “It’s an all-out religious war,” reports Ryback Solomon, “with fatwas shooting back and forth like bobsleds over thin ice.” Several stadiums have already been hit by SCUD missiles, like the University of Arizona’s McHale Center, and Soldier Field. In the meantime, acolytes are being urged to worship at home, consuming their ritual sacrifices of lamb, steer, and chicken in front of video shrines. “You can still paint your faces and rock back and forth as you pray,” says Ryback, “just send your offering directly by mail to Directv Prime Ticket or ESPN.”
The University of Arizona will be funding a manned mission to Mars, not with the help of NASA or the Space Sciences division, but through the Athletics Department. Explains provost Gilbert Hylander, “NASA is facing cutbacks, along with most science and engineering programs in America. We don’t make things anymore in America, we just push paper toward a big black hole. So this our way of pushing back–with the Jets singing backup–in keeping with the spirit of what Clint Eastwood said in his SuperBowl ad. After all, the NFL has the money and power, along with college athletic departments, to restore American greatness instead of relying on taxpayer bailouts and debt funding. So we are going to Mars, people! Go Wildcats!” The pilot (ie. quarterback) will be going for the long bomb in Redskin territory. Taking up the challenge, the University of Texas will be funding SETI with the largest radio telescope ever, the Long Horn. The Tennessee Titans will be sponsoring a manned mission to Titan, co-sponsored by Saturn. The Penn State Lions and the Auburn Tigers will team with the Bengals, Panthers, Bears, Rams, Colts, and Jaguars to fund National Parks and Zoos, and to prevent all these animals from going extinct by creating solutions to pollution and global warming. The Steelers and Chargers will fix our roads and bridges, with the Bills picking up the tab on alternative fuels. The Patriots, Giants, and Saints will rush in to clean up Washington, tackling that offensive line of lobbyists and career guards. Then the Packers will send them packing, and the Eagles will restore oversight for the Chiefs until the Raiders can stop Wall Street at the line of scrimmage (ie. DC’s city limits.)
Going undercover as an Arizona Daily Wildcat reporter, Ryback Solomon has confirmed that the administration at the University of Arizona is about to issue a decree banning use of the word “like” over fifty times daily. Students doing so will be fined a dime per “like” over that quota. The engineering department has set up video and audio monitors around campus to track students using this word excessively, with facial recognition software identifying the culprits to be issued the new COLLEGE TACTICAL HELMET which Steve Jobs was working on just prior to his death. (The “oh wow” referred to this helmet.) Explains provost Gilbert Hylander, “We’ve done studies on students, and discovered they use cell phones between classes an astonishing sixty-nine percent of the time, and use the word ‘like’ an average of eighteen times per minute. They also hit ‘like’ buttons on products and websites an average of nine times per day. This is unacceptable. We are running a school of higher learning here, and it’s, like, just not, like, right that exposure to such lazy and inefficient communication wastes time and muddies thought processes. Do you, like, understand me, or, like, what??” The Apple CTH will incorporate Job’s designs to aid the education of students with visual displays, feedback monitors, and correctional inputs. Anyone saying “like” over fifty times per 24 hour period will also be buzzed with a high pitch police whistle, and a video of the entire conversation (up to and including the buzz) will be posted on YouTube. Wearers taking the helmet off for anything other than sleep will be expelled. A special neck bracelet that cannot be removed will have a proximity sensor alerting administration if a distance of more than four feet is ever made, and the Like monitor will run 24/7. On the plus side, the helmet will include voice activated iPhone 5 operation, stereo speakers, internet access, lecture playback, and Avatar-worthy expression capture capabilities. Add internal environment control, enhanced external sensors with interpretative feedback (date lie detection), along with instant access to police, fire, or teaching assistants, and what you have is a very, very cool alternative to reality, which everyone will want. Unfortunately, students won’t be able to just start liking things excessively to get the CTH, since monitors already in place have already cataloged and targeted the offenders. New external offenses (and those offenders not yet cataloged) will be monitored in dorms and elsewhere by those wearing the helmets, (for which the new offenses to be added later won’t apply.)
An astonishing discovery was made by University of Arizona science undergrad Ron Donaldson while examining the meteorite which has been displayed in front of the Flandrau Science Center on campus for years. Ron was examining how the iron meteorite was attached to its pedestal when he happened to notice what looked like a fossil on the underside. “I was in shock,” Donaldson told our reporter Ryback Solomon, “not only because I knew this meteorite was real and fell from space decades ago, but because whoever had welded it in place had apparently chipped and uncovered the fossil but failed to notice it!” What did Ron do then? “Well, I ran into the Flandrau to report it, but I was told the director was off, and would I like to speak to a teaching assistant, who turned out to be at lunch. I hurriedly explained what I’d seen, but the astronomy store clerk just wouldn’t believe it, and instead asked me if I wanted to buy a ticket to see their other meteorites. When I started shouting he threatened to call campus security. Next I went to the Administration building, but it was locked. A guy in front of the student center told me the staff were meeting with a Wildcat coach scouting this transfer senior who was six eleven or something. Then I saw this girl Teresa I’d been meaning to ask for a date, and told her about it. She goes, ‘no way,’ and ‘no way.’ After that I. . . well, I guess I got pretty depressed. So I did what I usually do when I’m depressed. I went for a pizza. There were a bunch of jocks in the joint, you know, talking sports and sex. . .same thing to them, right? Anyway, when no one would listen to me there either, after a few beers I got to thinking maybe I should go chisel the thing off and sell it on Ebay or something. I mean, it’s got to be worth a lot, right, being proof of life on other planets and all? So that night, that’s what I did. Oh yeah. I hope to pay off my student loans early, and maybe get me a better microscope. Also a telescope so I can see which jock Teresa is dating this month.” As an update, Ron is still waiting for someone from NASA to call him back, while the Ebay bidding has now reached two hundred sixty-four thousand dollars.
In other news, Frontline reports that Japan and Germany are moving rapidly away from utilizing nuclear power out of fear that another meltdown like the one in Japan a year ago may reoccur. Over two hundred nuclear power plants will shut down in those countries during the next two years, at a cost measured in the trillions. Reports Goldman Sachs, “This coming decade will be the last golden age to invest in Exxon and Haliburton, since alternative energies simply won’t be able to power all the wide-screen surround-sound television sets and 8000 BTU air conditioners needed for couch potatoes to keep up with the Kardashians. We predict oil will spike to over $220 a barrel, and new wars over oil will ignite, needing thousands of private contractors to rebuild the infrastructure of carpet-bombed countries. As for air quality, it’s screwed. Invest in high quality gas masks.”
Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.