Intern Scandal

Dear Reid,

I was listening to some scary music the other day…okay, I’ll admit I was listening to Alanis Morrissette. In this frightening piece of tunage, the lyrics spoke of “friends with benefits,” or something of the like. Now, knowing that Alanis is a true genius, and is obviously an expert in the field of romance judging from the subject matter of her musical poetry, I’ve been considering this idea.

Ms. Morrissette’s literary eloquence has inspired in me a yearning, a burning to try something new. I have an incredibly hot friend, and I think he’s willing. Should I pursue this love-lust which has flamed up inside me? Is it possible that my friend and I could have a relationship like that of Jerry and Elaine in early episodes of “Seinfeld”? And we cannot forget the immortal words of Michael Bolton, “How can we be lovers if we can’t be friends?” Giving in to my urges would really just be an extension of that notion, would it not? What should I do?

Sincerely,
Burning for a Buddy

I know how you feel. I believe that I can offer some insight into this dilemma, especially considering that this (or some variation on the theme) seems to be a rather popular issue with readers of this column. The old standby, a friends-to-more-than-friends-and-back-to-being-friends-like-in-”When Harry Met Sally”-except-without-the-getting-married-and-not-taking-twelve-years-before-we-get-to-sleep-together question. I am not quite as comfortable in discussing this as I am such issues as vampirism, devil worship and leftist politics, as it is not an issue with which I have personal experience. But what the hell.

I believe your problem can be related to the current political scandal that has shaken the Morris Campus Student Association in recent weeks. Indeed, last week’s special Friday edition of The University Register sported a splash headline on the front page which read “VP of Academic (and Sexual) Affairs caught in the act,” complete with irrefutable photo illustrations by UR graphic artists. For anonymity’s sake in this column, we’ll call the official who is currently under scrutiny Sarah N.—or wait, maybe S. Nylander would be more appropriate. It seems from the testimony of an anonymous Student Activities worker that Vice President Nylander spent 47 seconds alone with a certain Morris Academic Intern in the third cubicle on the left last Thursday afternoon. What occurred during those 47 seconds we can only speculate.

And speculating is what the campus has been doing over the past week. The University Register has gained access to taped telephone conversations between a friend of a friend of a friend of the intern’s second cousin’s ex-roommate’s lawyer’s next door neighbor’s business partner’s late uncle’s colleague from work’s grandson’s current roommate, and his best friend Steve. And in these conversations, there is a very obvious and glaring lack of any reference to what might have happened during the 47 seconds in question. Based on these taped conversations, and their obviously careful omission of such references, it can only be concluded that something very dirty and illicit occurred in Student Activities that day.

Without any further information, I feel the need to put my name on the line and say that I predict that because of this filthy scandal involving the Vice President and her big-haired intern, approval ratings for the managment of The Oracle will drop dramatically, and inevitably the Secretary of KUMM will resign within the week. Mark my words.

Now, Burning, you may be wondering how exactly all this relates to your predicament. It doesn’t. If you actually believed that your piddly whining possibly could have some correlation to such a large-scale calumny, you’re suffering from delusions of grandeur. The similarity is not between the problems; the relationship is drawn with a common solution. Two completely disparate situations which meet at a common end. Both you and the Vice President for Academic Affairs are on a road to disgrace, heartache, and misery; though the physical pleasures may arguably be enough to offset the costs. The answer to your quandary is simple: don’t do it.

Venus diMilo and her Sheep

Dear Reid,

Hi. I have a problem. There’s this guy, I’ll call him Raphael. I used to date this Raphael guy. He was really devoted to his art, and at first it was kinda cool, but as our relationship went on, I was getting fed up with it. He was always drawing or sculpting, and one time I caught him “studying” a naked woman in the HFA drawing lab. He told me it was just for a class, but I don’t believe him. Anyway, I felt pretty upset.

We tried to work things out, but when I saw his sketches of those West Central Experiment Station sheep and the sensitivity in which he rendered their fuzzy wool, I knew it was time to be done with Raphael. My heart shattered like the tennis ball a high school physics teacher drops in liquid nitrogen to demonstrate the awesome powers of love, er, I mean extreme cold.

The problem is, now he’s in my Human Sexuality class. He sits only a few feet away from me, drawing away like a little Renaissance master. It drives me nuts. His quill pen… scribbling, scribbling, scribbling… it’s driving me nuts! Short of wearing earplugs—or sitting in a different seat—how can I mask that incessant noise? What will help me get through this class? Is it that bad to love sheep? I mean really love sheep? Do you know how I feel?

Sincerely,
Venus di Milo

I know how you feel. It is most non-heinous that this guy continues to plague your thoughts and classes. I mean, how bogus is it that he sits near you in that class—what is it, Porno for Poets? What this guy needs is a good Melvin. And it would be really cool if you could go back in time and set up some boobytraps like a falling trash can to drop on him when he was drawing that naked woman or something. It couldn’t hurt to pick up some famous figures from history along the way, just to teach him a really good lesson. And to top it off, you could hire some dead alien dudes to build a big robot you that could beat him up. That would be excellent.

But seriously, all “Bill & Ted” references aside, violence is the answer to all of your problems. I mean, haven’t you been watching children’s television programming lately? The Power Rangers only started the phenomenon, and with each week, it seems, we get a new show from Saban Studios. The common theme in every series: don’t try to deal with your problems in any sort of rational manner, just beat the crap out of your enemies and everything will be peachy-keen.

And have you seen the new “Sesame Street” characters? Those motorcycle-riding ninja Muppets™ whose sole purpose it is to rid the block of alien invaders (in the world of “Sesame Street”, human children are the aliens) in frequent bouts of rampaging bloodshed and dismemberment. No longer is the show devoted to teaching viewers a new letter of the alphabet, or to introducing a word in Spanish each episode. This season’s theme is detailed instruction on a brand new way to kill and torture human beings according to ancient medieval methods.

And finally, there’s “Mr. Rogers.” The show lost all credibility when old Fred, King Friday, and that woman who lived in the spinning museum all became fighter pilots on a mission of death and destruction, raining terror on the last remaining communist states in the Land of Make-Believe. We’re talking speedy delivery of thermonuclear smart-bombs right down the chimney of those tyrannical bastards’ homes. The episode where they joined up with the Hamas Palestinian terrorist organization and went to the Hokah Canning Plant was pretty touching, though.