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by Adam Jones
On Wednesday, October 29th, Oliver North spoke at our University. It's possible that in the media circus that arose to cover his arrival, other newsworthy events went unnoticed. If so, then perhaps these events should remain unnoticed: for instance, the fact that the Monty Python Society exists at Penn State exists at Penn State and meets at 7 p.m. Wednesdays in 204 Sackett Building. On the night of North's visit I attended my first and last meeting of the Society. Being a fan of the Pythons I'd volunteered for the assignment of covering the fan-group, thinking, "Well, this might be fun."
My mistake was in assuming that since Monty Python is funny, a group dedicated to Monty Python will also be funny. The problem with my assumption is that any Monty Python society is made up of people, and as people are, more often than not, worthless, they're inherently a bad thing to group together. Perhaps if I were to meet the surviving members of Monty Python I would quickly come to hate them,too (with the exception of Terry Gilliam, one of the greatest people in existence). Fortunately, mass media makes it possible to enjoy their work without being in the same room as them.
Not so with the Monty Python Society. Not only are its members unfunny, they are now guilty of one of the greatest crimes against me one can manage: wasting my time. They set about wasting it with a passion and relentlessness I thought unattainable by humans.
The best part of the meeting was when they actually shut up and showed a Rowan Atkinson clip and an episode of "Python." But then it was back to mindless drudgery as they reenacted skits and played a stupid tallying activity, which mainly involved regurgitating quotes from Python and other comedies, like "MST3K" and "South Park." Even better was when they degenerated into discussion concerning other patethic members of their group, who were, mercifully, absent. I really liked that. I wish there'd been more of that.
The members of the society might be surprised to read a review like this, and be offended, thinking, "We invited his to our meeting, and this is how he repays us? Fuck him." Well, it's a tough world, you bastards. Monty Python wasn't nice to people, and neither am I. Honestly, what do you think any of the Pythons would think if they had the misfortune of attending one of your putrid little get-togethers? They'd probably kill you all, and as they're rich and famous, could get away with it. The only way I could manage that is if one of you fuckers becomes so enraged upon reading this column that you set out after me, and I take you out in self-defense. Come on, I dare you. I dare you! Yet, there is still hpe the Monty Python Society might accomplish some good here on this earth. The next time you're walking along the commons and a grenade detonates dangerously close, a Society member might walk by, their body shielding you from the blast. Also, a few times during the meeting I was tempted to ask a member if he'd strap dynamite to his body and run over to Oliver North, grab hold of him, and reduce them both to a fine red mist. I suggested this telepathically to those around me (as well as to those with front row seats in Eisenhower), knowing my mind is overwhelmingly superior to theirs, but no one budged. I now realize my mind is so superior they couldn't even begin to receive signals from it. I may as well have tried using a remote control on an abacus.
But I will focus on the evening's good side. Had I not gone to the Monty Python Society meeting I might have been strangely tempted to go hear North speak, and after ten minutes of that I'd have flipped out and suicide bombed him myself. So, thank you, Monty Python Society, for numbing me into catatonic stupor; you saved my life. If anyone reading this thinks I'm being too harsh on them, that's probably because you're stupid (statistics support my assumption), and think I'm writing this so you can feel some paltry satisfaction due to your superiority to them. You're wrong. The next time I mentally suggest to a Society member he suicide bomb someone, it'll be you, unless you're so pathetic I don't even spend my time wishing you were dead. Which is probably the case. Especially if you're a member of the Monty Python Society.
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