November 2003 (v6 i3)
Doubting the moon landing since 1997
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I am the foremost authority on everything
Look at me! Iím large and in charge, writing my column for you dimwits!
by Todd Nienkerk, Editor-in-Chief

Dearest readers: Please accept my most sincere apologies. Unforeseen travels forced me to leave town unexpectedly. As a result, I was not able to prepare an adequate tract for your enjoyment. Luckily, my loyal though significantly less-talented staff intervened at the zero-hour and volunteered to ghostwrite my column out of appreciation for my unparalleled leadership and measureless talent. That said, please try to enjoy this attempt to emulate my poetic, poingant prose and razor-sharp wit. Iím sure theyíll try their very best, mediocre though it may be.
Regards, Todd N.

Hey, look at me, Iím big olí Mister Editor Man with my monocle and top hat. Tell an unfunny joke around me, and Iíll make fun of you inside my incredibly smart brain (that I use both sides of) while I bestow a pity laugh upon your delusional self! Watch me sit high in my chair and throw my arms side-to-side, swiveling back and forth like the saucy fellow I am. Three cheers for me! Hip-hip! Hoo-TODD! Bow down to Todd Ross Nienkerk, Editor-in-Chief of the Texas Travesty, the biggest college humor publication in the WORLD! Man, am I fantastic or am I fantastic? If you answered the latter, you are one sharp fellow, but youíre still not as sharp and perfect as I am. Sorry, day tripper! Oh, that reminds meĖĖIím an expert on the Beatles, so donít even attempt to thinkĖĖnevermind, Iíll just leave it at that.

I spend a lot of time on the computer, editing and stuff, and I love reading for pleasure. I always have to do important stuff, being editor and all. But what I really like to do is look through thesauruses and make long-winded rants about genetically modified organisms and how awesome the latest over-intellectualized best seller is. Did I mention how freaking witty I am? No, really.

Anyway, six years ago, two brothers began a legacy. Not unlike a pair of starry-eyed siblings ninety-six years earlier, the Butlers shared a dream. They crafted their humor, light and airy, into a creation that would elevate man for all time. They sharpened their wit into incisive blades that cut into societal hypocrisy Ė much in the same way the blades of a propeller make mince of the obscuring haze. In short, Brad and Kevin Butler, the founding fathers of our fluttering magazine, gave us the means to soar the skies, to tiptoe on the stratosphere, and to touch the face of God.

As their successor twice-removed, I stand atop the perch that they have let us reach Ė and I see all. From this aerial view, I witness with total clarity the absurdities of our society: the false ambitions of the average college graduate, the hardship of inter-phylum marriage in the Balkans, and the counter-productivity of Internet discourse. And do you know what I do when I see these things? I laugh. I laugh, and I send my little carrier pigeonsómy staff of writersóback to the earth so that they may impart to the barely-literate masses my Word. For I want you, my masses, to see what I see. To feel the horrible joy that I feel. To realize that touching the face of God means discovering that he suffers from an extreme case of adult acne.

And so I have assigned this column to my staff to impart one more hilarious truth: If the Butlers were the Wright brothers of UT humor, then Iím a TWA pilot who, drunk on omniscience and faaabulous Smirnoffs, has passed out at the yoke. Enjoy the plane wreck that is this column, hapless passengers!

Iíd like to entertain you by telling a quick anecdote about the sand impaction suffered by my sphincters during my adventures in Maui. It began with my curious encounter with a rambling Scottish Terrier of the highest quality breed in the wonderfully decadent hotel lobby. We soon found ourselves in my fifteenth floor penthouse, and the sensational and toothy canine began exploring my porcelain bodice, licking its expeditious way from the nape of my glistening neck to my musky underparts. After my detailed debriefing of tantric knowledge, our pleasure surged and we basked in the intense light of the hounds of heaven! Of heaven, my friend!

So, in conclusion, I am Godís gift to the human race. If you see me walking around campus, be sure to kick me in the face and steal my wallet. Iíd love it, seriously.
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