Pleasant returns, Worried Reader. As I mentioned last week, the economic state of the world is in shambles. Many people are frightened for the future of their cash, capital, and quarters. Some people are even too scared to say the word “recession.” Well, I have a word for you that no one wants to even think about — Depression. No, not the other inhabitant of Isolation Manor. I am talking about an economic depression. No one wants to even contemplate the thought of a new Great Depression… except for me that is.

Good day, prodigal reader.

Times are tough. Money is sparse, and the economy has taken more blows than Parson Yorick. I feel the strain myself. I am a jobless scholar with limited funds. I have tried to find employment, but apparently most companies are not looking to hire hirsute misanthropes. In addition, the only remuneration I receive from Smile Politely for writing this column is weekly swift kicks to the groin, and the interest rate for swift groinal kicks is dropping every day. However, using my wondrous wittery, I have discovered a number of ways to save money that I think you will enjoy hearing about, profligate reader.

After a three week journey up my own bunghole, I have returned, O Great Gouty Reader, a mite dirtier and not a bit wiser. When I finally arrived at Isolation Manor after many hours of travel, my immediate thoughts turned to the procurement of sustenance. However, my cupboard was barren, and my manservant, Trim, had neither the energy nor the wherewithal to fetch me even a simple crust of bread. Therefore, I resolved to seek victuals from an emporium of ingesting. After no more than 27 minutes of intense consideration, I determined which establishment would be best fit to satisfy my Brobdingnagian hunger. I could not believe that it took me so long because the restaurant a chose happens to be my favorite eatery in all of Champaign-Urbana.

With my mind made up and my stomach ready for action, I made my way to “The Home of Gourmet Chinese and Thai Restaurant.” That is correct, rascally reader. “The Home of Gourmet Chinese and Thai Restaurant.” This establishment is no mere restaurant. It is the “home” of the restaurant. Whereas other eateries are places where one goes to simply sup on nosh, “The Home of Gourmet Chinese Restaurant" is a home.

We now resume with the final installment of The Campus Wit's tale of Parson Yorick and his travels through the UIUC campus town.

…. and his eloquence was unsurpassed. I will miss the venerable Parson and truly deplore his passing. However, I know that his piousness and faith will land him an all-expenses paid trip to heaven. I mean, come on. The man was a GODDAMN SAINT! He was s-s-s-s (queue breakdown into tears). Well, I am quite sorry to all gathered here. I let my emotions get the better …… WHAT!!! OH FIE!!!

Oh My! I did not see you there Noble Reader. Pardon me. Let me see. I am truly quite apologetic for my lack of preparation. I was just preparing my tax return (best to get those kind of things done early. If you know what I mean… if you catch my drift…) and did not expect you so soon. I suspect you are hungering for the continuance of my recollections of Parson Yorick’s exploits in Champaign and Urbana. Well, famished reader — you shall starve no more!

Avanti Popoli!

As I previously related, a most unfortunate amputational trip to the hospital greatly delayed our pitiable Parson’s visit to this fine borough. When I left you, I had chronicled the Parson’s visit up to and through his trip to the quadrangle. After that debacle, I hit upon the idea of taking the Parson to a class. I fancied that he would find the modern collegiate classroom to be most intriguing. As we were in the quadrangle, I picked the nearest building, which happened to be Foellinger Auditorium, and we entered into the premises. As we ambled into the great hall, the Parson was still noticeably distressed at all the cell phones on campus.

Champaign-Urbana is a place of many exciting events and affairs. Most of these notable happenings are reported on by the local fourth estate. However, to my great surprise, one of the most sensational and important occurrences of recent years has passed by with nary a news brief or report. I am talking, of course, about the visit of Parson Yorick to Champaign-Urbana last week.

The esteemed Parson chose Champaign-Urbana as the locale most suitable for his reintroduction to human society after meditating in isolation for 240 years. I was fortunate enough to be his companion on his journey through the Champaign and Urbana.

Make haste, Valiant Readers! Ready your armour and swords. Join me in my battle against the greatest foe currently facing mankind. A foe capable of making chartered accounts shit their pants right in front of their mother-in-laws. A foe with the power to make mere toddlers utter the foulest of curses and imprecations. A foe that with no real effort can turn loving, caring aunties into rabid, flesh-eating harridans. Indeed, Intrepid Readers, this foe must not be allowed to continue tormenting our lives.

One may ask, “What foe haunts our existences with such ceaseless maleficence?”

Look all around you. It flows around you. It permeates your spleen. It rushes through your vena cava. It excites your red-coral stump. Any guess yet? Precisely. We must join together and defeat that most gruesome of all nemeses — The Internet.

Happy Reunion, Devoted Readers. Despite challenges to my honor and name, I have returned and persist as your devoted Campus Wit.

After a summer filled with tarry and talk, another school year looms. Books are being bought, supplies are being sought, brains are turned on to thoughts of delight, debauchery and depression. In short order, students will return to the cracked and crusty confines of Champaign-Urbana. First stop for many of these students? Quad Day. Ah glorious Quad Day! Even the Ancients never dreamed of such wonder and spectacle.

Dearest Reader.

I am steadfast, and remain, The Campus Wit.

It's that time of year again. The season that brings joy to the hearts of humanity. From the young in age to the young at heart, no one can deny the power of Girl Scout Cookie season. From what I can gather, however, Girl Scout Cookies have no set season. I've seen them pop up during the sticky glow of summer, but I have also spotted them when the air is so cold that your feces refuses to exit the warmth and protection of your digestive tract. That is the great thing about Girl Scout Cookie season. It can be any season, and they always come when you least expect them, but need them the most.

Hello, dear friends. As always, I remain the Campus Wit.

Being somewhat of a misanthrope, I often feel the need to look back and find time periods where the state of humanity was not as dire as it is today. In my enthusiasm for history, I often belittle today’s culture by comparing it to the past. In essence, I behave like a bitter old man despite the fact that I am in college and have no direct historical perspective beyond the decrepit financial end to the second Reagan administration.

Good day, gentle reader. I remain, The Campus Wit.

As of late, many people have approached me and questioned my moniker. “Why do you call yourself The Campus Wit? In three posts, you have yet to say anything remotely witty.”

In response to their griping, I have conceded and decided to begin acknowledging to calls of “The Campus Curmudgeon" and "The Campus Prick" as well as “The Campus Wit.” So feel free to call me by any of these names if you somehow see me, but please know that I will continue to ignore you and your friends just as soon as you approach me.

Today, however, I have a fourth name: “The Campus Hypochondriac.”

Why? One word: Meningitis.

Greetings Humble Reader. I remain, The Campus Wit.

Winter is here again. All over campus, I see people grumbling about the cold, cursing the snow, and wearing dour frowns on their faces. Everybody is surly and curt. In fact, about a fortnight ago, I saw a man down on his knees outside of the Krannert Center screaming curses to the cold while shaking clenched fists at the sky. The majority of students have given up on their morning toiletries and all attempts to tart themselves up. They walk around in 14 layers of rayon, stretch-fit, cold protective gear trying to remember the last time they showered. Body odor and acrimony pervade the air. By three past high noon, Lincoln Hall smells like an eastern European brothel. The long and short of it is: No one on this campus seems to like winter. I have come to this conclusion after much observation and hours of lab work, and it confounds me. I love winter.

With the bulk of the students gone, I have been able to reflect on the some of the worst aspects of Campustown. In the course of my average day, I walk through a good portion of it here at the University of Illinois. I go to classes. I give patronage to restaurants. I often duck down alleyways and enter random buildings in order to avoid running into people. I generally cover a lot of ground, and in my perambulations, I’ve noticed something: the pedestrians on this campus are out of control.

Hello Gentle Reader. I am the Campus Wit.

I attend the University of Illinois and find absurdity around every corner. Being a wit, I feel it is my duty to satirize and bring to light many of the ridiculous and horrible facets of campus life. As I walk around campus, I actively hate every person I see. With every passing face, thoughts of derision and rancor enter into my mind. No one escapes my inner scorn. I’m not a racist. I’m an equal opportunity hater. I don’t care about your race, gender or creed.

I can find something to hate in everybody.