The Man at the End

Dear Reid,

There is this pressing question I have, which only you can answer. I have been secretly spending time in the office of The University Register of late. When everyone leaves and the lights are turned out, I look at the archived issues. Before you try to find out who wrote this letter, and call the authorities, there is something you must know. I have figured you out.

After some analysis of writing styles, consultation with experts in the field, and the application of a boolean search and matching program created by the CIA for exposing forgery and fraud, I have come to the infallible conclusion that there are no real letters in the Dear Reid column. They are all part of a great hoax, perpetrated by a master of trickery who preys on an eager reading public desperate for helpful bits of wisdom and advice.

Your lies have been exposed, Dear Reid; your treachery has been uncovered. The web of deceit you have woven over these past three years extends far beyond the poor, misguided minds which you have duped and swindeled. Your influence has penetrated all levels of society, has infiltrated our very being. It is time to end your reign of terror. It is time to begin a new era, free from this scandal, free from lies, free to live, free from my ex-girlfriend who dumped me for a man with a red kool-aid uni-brow.

With love,
The Man

I… I… I kno… I have no idea what the hell you are talking about! Years of service, of caring, of listening and sympathizing—that’s what I have given all of you. And what have I gotten? Respect? Gratitude? Adventure? Excitement? A Jedi craves not these things. No, I have heard nothing from you people except incessant whining, tears about your trivial problems, and blubbering over your insignificant worries. And now, to top it all off, I am accused of making it all up. Well, thank you very much.

But wait, a moment’s reflection has given me insight. I have long suspected a secret plot, masterminded by an unknown character in the shadows, to suppress the truth and to keep the masses in the dark over a vast, underground, paramilitary conspiracy whose reaches cannot be measured. The Man has planted evidence, has forged documents, and has left an obscure trail of misinformation which I have quietly followed over the years. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I have not been dissuaded. This is because of one simple truth: all of the evidence to the contrary is not entirely dissuasive. I believe it is The Man with his hidden conglomerate of spies and underlords, and not I, who has weaved a web of deceit.

I have conducted my own studies, my own investigation, and have come to a similar conclusion as you. Many of the seemingly innocent letters which have come my way, seemingly honest souls searching for a caring shoulder to cry on, looking for a few answers in this crazy, mixed up world, do indeed seem to reflect a similar style of writing.

In looking back at these letters, it is apparent that many of the questions for which answers are sought only scratch the surface of their true dilemmas. Through seeking advice on seemingly superficial issues, with questions carefully designed so that I would read into the deeper meaning, I have been given numerous clues into both the inner workings of human consciousness and the greater mission of this subversive organization.

Yes, it is all becoming very clear to me now. I must apologize to my readers for my initial defensiveness. Over the past three years, I have been led on a winding, twisting trail. I have been deceived with stories of unrequited love, of missing hats, of uni-brows and of exhibitionist kool-aid men. I have been hoodwinked by tales of friends who want to be more than friends, of ego maniacs and of the self-depracating, of foreign-language students and of nearly-naked triathlon runners.

I have sorted through ever so many romantic misunderstandings… I remember a guy they called “Dana” and girl they called “Jen,” a couple who had trouble solidifying Magic Shell chocolate syrup on their bodies, and a dream involving some mysterious glamour-gal called “E.S.” I have been bamboozled by blondes, beguiled by vegetarians, rejected by employers, and offered credit cards. I have been wooed by adoring fans, and I have been betrayed by those whom I have trusted.

The most important clue, while intended to be taken for a red herring, was the mysterious Man with the Can of Spam, a.k.a. Abe Welle, a.k.a. Gabe Willard, a.k.a. Fidel, a.k.a. Tipper Gore (though I am uncertain of this last alias), and his obvious Marxist tendencies. They thought they could throw me off their trail with such a blatant reappearing character, assuming that I would take his existence as nothing more than a decoy, while he was actually the key to everything.

You thought you had won, and you almost had. Your mendacity and deception nearly turned me against my loyal readers. I was actually deluded into believing—if only for a few moments—that my readers had turned against me. But I have seen through your little charade, and now the truth, the real truth, will be known. The truth is XXXX XXXX XX XXX XXXXXX XXX XX XXX.

The only people capable of suppressing that truth now are the newly elected editorial staff of The University Register—hopefully you don’t have any of them on your side. So you see, Mr. The Man, I have finally triumphed. I have beaten you. It is your reign of terror which is over, freeing society from your shrouded tyranny. I’m sorry about your girlfriend by the way, but really, how can you compete with a uni-brow?

It is with this final column, this ultimate accomplishment of my goals and realization of my dreams, that I bid the loyal readers of UMM good voyage. I know it is time for me to go; the stars are fading, but I linger on, dear. It has been a long, wonderful trip, and I hope my bumbling advice has not ruined the lives of too many of you. While this may seem like goodbye, I assure you, you have not heard the last of Dear Reid. You have shared with me your stories, your concerns, your regrets, and your hopes, although most of them were fake. The point is, UMM, I appreciate you, and I know how you feel.

The Stevens County Earthquake of 1975

Dear Reid,

Recently I have been reading a lot on the subject of earthquakes and earthquake prediction. These concepts, or so I thought, seemed entirely unreal. That is, until I heard of the great Morris earthquake of 1975. I never thought earthquakes were possible in Minnesota, only freaky places like California and Missouri. However, I heard it was really true—earthquakes can affect Minnesota.

Well, upon hearing this, my intrest in earthquakes increased. Now everywhere I look I see warning signs of upcoming earthquakes. I realize that you probably think that I am crazy, but really, they are out there. For instance, have you noticed the unusual size and behavior of the squirrels in this area? In China pandas have been known to scream with the onset of an earthquake. I think these squrriels may just be the key to realizing the fault line Morris is on!

Additionally, I was walking by Behmler and noticed that an incredibly sturdy staircase had given out. Is it possible that the epicenter would be located right under the Chancellor’s office? Is there a fault line somewhere under Highway 28? Please, grant me your infinite wisdom in this area before I start bottling water and start staring at my Richter scale!

Truly,
Trembling in Terror

I know how you feel. As so often occurs in this column, however, I can’t help but think that your fear of earthquakes is quite obviously rooted in some deeper problem. It seems to me that, actually, I am the source of all of your problems. Your blatant use of flattery, complimenting my “infinite wisdom,” is a certain clue to your obvious issues with me.

This complex is nothing new to me, dear reader. However, while I realize that most of my readers probably have intense romantic feelings toward me, there is a problem of ethics involved here. Professional counselors are bound by rules which prevent them from acting on or taking advantage of those vulnerable souls who come to them seeking help. Because I am not a professional counselor, but, admittedly, a complete and utter crank, I am bound by no such rules.

The ethics which relate to my problem are really more a form of logistics. I am in a rather unique position, what with having several hundred fans constantly pining and slobbering over me, to carry on a number of scandalous affairs at any time. However, as evidenced by earlier letters from readers (Three Timed in the P.E. Annex), women do not like it when men choose to seduce and manipulate them, especially when the man is doing it to several women at a time. But what are you going to do?

This confusion reminds me of a letter from very early in the year, when a certain reader (Befuddled About Boys) wrote asking about this guy who mysteriously flirted so blatantly that she could only interpret it as joking. Recall the secret revealed in this case which actually got me beaten up—twice. I broke the code of maledom in the hopes of making an easier life for all humanity, and leaked the secret that all men are complete idiots, incapable of the complex thought processes necessary to perpetrate a mysterious hoax such as this.

The same reader (I beleive, though the pseudonym was different: Groping for Agreement) had a problem involving roommates and a dirty hat. This case has no connection here. Another reader hinted at a conspiracy involving the leaders of several student organizations, all caught in the studio of KUMM together conspiring to control all of the information released to students on the campus. One of these leaders was later caught in a cubicle with an MCSA intern.

This conspiracy may have something to do with your problem, but probably not as much as does the boy who bathed in Kool Aid until his entire body turned red, then had sex in front of an audience of innocent dorm-dwellers. The two letters which relate most closely to your case, however are the one about elaphantitis and Wisconsinite nazi stormtroopers and the one about the kid two years ago who was afaid to ask out the girl in his French class. I think I solved those quite nicely, though some feedback would be nice.

As for the earthquakes, your fear related to the fault beneath Behmler is quite valid. The Man and his dark henchmen, those behind the paramilitary, anticapitalist, extra-terrestrial-influenced conspiracy which has infiltrated even the most remote of campus organizations, slowly rotting the campus from the inside out, has been long rumored to have constructed an underground complex for the testing of ultra-secret hybrid technology, and is hell-bent on taking over the world. Of course, none of this can be proven.

Tipper Gore on a Hardwood Plaque

Dear Reid,

I read with interest your response a few weeks ago to “Ignorant about Clip Art,” and could not help but think that you could shed some light upon my current dilemma. You see, I’ve been hearing voices over the past week or so. I don’t think they’re coming from inside my head, but no one else seems to hear them.

They don’t even sound like me, so I just don’t see how they could be inside my head. I mean, you’d think it’d be pretty hard not to hear these loud voices screaming about how I need to kill President Clinton and how Tipper Gore would look nice mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above my fireplace.

I mean, these voices, whoever they belong to, are just constantly shrieking this sort of stuff, so loudly that when I’m talking to my friends or something I can’t even hear what they’re saying because the voices are so loud, and I just start shrieking myself, yelling “Why are you still talking to me? Can’t you hear? Isn’t it obvious that they want me to assassinate the entire executive branch of the federal government?” But no, they just keep talking about how much they’re attracted to their latest crushes.

And I think I heard, what with all the screaming and whatnot, that they were very seriously physically attracted to these men and women with what they called uni-brows. I could only assume that they meant individuals with a single long eyebrow, rather than the standard detached set of eyebrows. Perhaps you’ve also heard of this known as the mono-brow syndrome (not to be confused with the mono-bra). What I guess my question is about is, are these friends of mine sick and twisted wackos or what?

Sincerely,
Stumped in Stevens County

I know how you feel. You’ve been listening to a lot of Suicidal Tendencies’ albums lately, haven’t you? Sometimes when I listen to too much Suicidal Tendencies, I will actually wish that I had a uni-brow. But, while the source of your troubles seems quite obvious to me, simply cutting your dosage of hardcore, angry-white-boy music will not offer a cure.

You see, Suicidal Tendencies’ music has been proven to contain a hidden frequency which when induced into the brains of laboratory animals, caused them to rant unceasingly about the need to kill President Clinton and how Tipper Gore would look nice mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above a fireplace. Quite odd behavior for laboratory animals, that.

Stranger still, these laboratory animals—mostly white mice, but some tests included chimpanzees—exhibited an undeniable tendency to masturbate around certain members of the laboratory staff. An immediate investigation was launched into what these staff members might have in common.

The major breakthrough was made when, as a last ditch effort, the animals were placed in front of a television for hours at a time. The abnormal behavior surfaced during two distinct time periods: during “The Incredible Hulk” reruns on the Sci-Fi channel and during Bert and Ernie sketches on “Sesame Street.” Believe it or not, every staff member which elicited the strange response from the animals had very thick eyebrows, and in two cases, uni-brows.

A second group of animals was fed Olestra, the new fat-free fat substitute found in a wide variety of products in your local grocery store. These animals, surprisingly, showed no abnormal response to staff members with uni-brows. When interviewed later, however, four in five laboratory mice said they would prefer to see Tipper Gore mounted on a polished hardwood plaque above a fireplace, rather than eat any more Olestra potato chips.

That’s all well and good, you say, for the white mice. But what of the chimpanzees? Actually, the chimpanzees quite enjoyed the Olestra potato chips. In fact, when this separate group of chimpanzees was set down in front of reruns of “The Incredible Hulk,” they only reacted with about 70 percent of the enthusiasm of the Suicidal Tendencies group (of chimpanzees—the band itself was not studied).

But back to your problem. In order to beat down your affliction, you will not only have to sever all connections with your former life—especially listening to Suicidal Tendencies—and move to a remote island in the South Pacific, but you will have to completely forget what your problem even was. With you it will be necessary to bring a large supply of Olestra potato chips, and a rechargeable razor with which to shave off your eyebrows every day. Only this combination of sun, Olestra and a bald forehead can possibly cure your desire to wear corduroy pants.

The cure for Elephantitis

Dear Reid,

I have just returned to UMM after a few months of traveling around the world. Since my return I have noticed weird things have been happening to my body. For example, my legs have begun to look puffy, no not just puffy, but really really huge. They have become shapeless and chunky and they look like a block of mozzarella cheese.

I am not exactly sure of the cause of the changes, but health service told me that I have Elephantitis. I am not sure of the cause, but I’ve been told it’s due to the combination of water and ethanol. I know my immune system is not used to the potency of the milky-yellowish substance some townies call water, but I never would have guessed it would have such harmful consequences.

Out of sheer fear, I have refrained from drinking water of all sorts, but that has caused subsequent problems I can’t even mention. I only have 4 weeks left of school, but until then I don’t want to look like the new UMM mascot. HELP!

Dearest,
Dumbo

I know how you feel. My crack-whore cousin is having a baby. She is nineteen and still in diapers. The father is a 52-year-old electrician. The only people I know who are that old are my uncles and aunts, and maybe a professor or two.

Speaking of professors, I saw a picture of a certain Psychology professor from UMM on the cover of a CD-ROM lying on the desk in the UR office. The cover says “Norton Utilities,” and this guy’s name is obviously not Norton, so I can only infer that he must be moonlighting as a fashion model for computer software companies. Strange, that.

Almost as strange as a certain section editor choosing to purchase five double-CD sets on her recent trip to Alexandria, shortly after complaining about a shortage of money to pay for her tuition. The state of Minnesota pays a large percentage of your tuition each quarter, through tax revenue. It would be an outrage if Tommy Thompson, the fascist governor of Wisconsin, were allowed to use tax revenue to send his storm troopers across the Minnesota border for an invasion. Good thing he doesn’t have any—storm troopers, I mean, not tax revenue.

As long as we’re on the subject of Canada, the debate on starvation in Somalia has been raging for decades. Farm subsidies in the United States, an incentive for farmers not to grow crops, seems wasteful on an international scale. Imagine if all the farms in the country produced at their capacity, instead of underproducing to avoid flooding the market. Instead of being stored or thrown away, the surplus could be granted to countries with starving populations. Of course, we’d never do this, because why do we care if people are starving in other countries?

Country singer, “Can of Spam” guru and UR columnist Abe Welle had much to say on the subject of circus animals at a joint press conference held by him and Microsoft Chairman Bill Gates last week. During the presentation, Abe tried to attach a scanner to the computer Gates was demonstrating, causing the soon-to-be-released-or-not Windows 98 operating system to crash dramatically, showing definitively that Microsoft is hell-bent on taking over the world, most notably Somalia. Tommy Thompson had no comment on the issue.

The latest issue of Vibe magazine featured an “Illuminati Watch” covering Tony Robbins and his band of merry men, who, in conjunction with the Walt Disney Corporation, are vying for control of the market for pyramid schemes. Since pyramid schemes are illegal, the Department of Justice will have no recourse against their illegal domination of the market.

Of particular interest to the Department of Justice is the commercial segments shown before the trailers at the Alexandria movie theater. One is for a place called Pete’s County Market, which dominates the local markets for meat and cellular phones. Air Touch Cellular has been conspiring with the Tony Robbins-Walt Disney conglomorate in recent months to wage a hostile takeover of Microsoft. They hope to gain from this acquisition valuable information contained on a CD-ROM secretly, and unwittingly, stolen from highly-placed fashion models in the Somalian government by Wisconsinite storm troopers on a reconnaisance mission. This CD-ROM is said to hold the formula—reportedly a combination of country music, canned meat, crack, and corn by-products—which will cure elephantitis.

What is Elephantitis?

The word is actually elephantiasis. Sadly, the Google search term driving the most traffic to my Web site is actually a misspelling.

In complicated terms, the disease is characterized by chronic, often extreme enlargement and hardening of cutaneous and subcutaneous tissue, especially of the legs and external genitals, resulting from lymphatic obstruction and usually caused by infestation of the lymph glands and vessels with a filarial worm.

To you and me, that means it’s a disease of the skin, in which it become enormously thickened, and is rough, hard, and cracked, like an elephant’s hide.

Helpful Links

• Dictionary Definitions
• Encyclopedia Entry
• Ohio State Research
• Elephantiasis Scroti Photo

Important Disclaimer

Dear Reid is not a licensed therapist, nor should he be. The advice granted in this column is rarely sound, and often inappropriate. The contents of this page are for entertainment purposes only.