The future of Lincoln now
, '
‘Hollywood’ Hogan and gladiators spell Y2K success for tired city
TODD MUNSON is 'a senior
broadcasting major and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist
. Tu w
The future is now.
Whoo hoo.
Close your eyes for a second.
Oops. Maybe I should have given
you the directions before you shut your
peepers. Now that they’re open again,
I’ll fill you in on what I wanted you to
visualize when your eyes were shut. I
want you to think,about the year 1999,
but think about it from the perspective
you had of the big ’99 back in 1985 or
so.
Back when the year 1999 was the
distant future, people knew that great
things were on the way. One quick
scan of the latest fashions had all signs
pointing to silver metallic jumpsuits
with matching rocket-boots and utili
tarian wear for the coming apocalypse.
Movies told us that New York was
going to be turned into one giant
prison, time travel was just around the
comer and robots would be both ser-.
vants and friends.
Heck, during this time, the J.C.
Penney Catalog actually sold goofy lit
tle robots that were supposed to fetch
drinks.
However, in the present, which was
the future in the past, I’ve come to the
realization that the future really sucks.
What happened to all those synthe
sized bands of the future on MTV dur
ing the 1980s? They’ve been replaced
by die latest incarnation of disco
known as swing.
Zoot suits weren’t supposed to
make a comeback. 1999 was to be the
year of fashionable radiation suits. I
went to a shoe store the other day, not
to buy fuel for my rocket boots, but to
get my Birkenstocks resoled. I didn’t
even get to dock my spaceship outside
die shoe store. Instead, I left my bicy
cle out front. And who could have
imagined that lasers wouldn’t be
known as death rays but as the toy of
choice for really annoying junior high
students.
When I think of the ripoff the
future has become, it makes me wish
that the apocalypse would just come
along and wipe everyone out. But even
in 1999, the apocalypse is lame. No
alien invasion or nuclear holocaust is
in store for this world, just a silly
computer glitch affectionately
known as the Y2K bug. G
Doomsdayers say the bug
will bring mankind to its knees. f.
I’m sorry, but Y2K paranoia is the "
biggest joke since Crystal Pepsi. ^
No worries. I have a plan.
Thanks to a break full of chromosome
damaging amounts of Robitussin and
cable TY I’d like to present my plan for
turning Lincoln into the world’s first
fully interactive apocalyptic theme
park of the future. Within
months of its completion, I
guarantee people young
and old will come from
far and wide to catch a
glimpse of how exciting the
future would have been if
Mad Max and Snake Plissken
ran the show. , _
i ne iirst step is to over
throw Mike
Johanns. The
first and only
rule of
ZorConn
(Lincoln’s new
futuristic name) is
that there are no
rules. Even though
Mikey is no longer
the mayor, he’s still
living in Lincoln and
has way too many
rules up his sleeves.
What I propose to
do is have
“Hollywood”
Hulk Hogan
and his
Wolfpac
from the
New
World
Order roll
into town and
force Mike
to become
their “soap
boy.” -
Now the
Wolfpac will be fully
responsible for running
ZorConn but just to make it seem like
there’s the guise of law and order,
they’ll ensure Don Wesely, a surly
looking dude who’d fit well into the
future, will be the town’s political pup
pet. (
A'
Next is the fun part. Lincpln is too
clean of a city. ZorConn will have to be
all-out filthy. Citizens of ZorConn,
from now on, there is no such thing as
waste management or recycling. Have
some trash? Just toss it out in the
street. Guys, gotta pee? Then
you’ll love
ZorConn,
because
here you
can just
whip it
out.
The
area of
town
.. • Matt Haney/DN
that needs the most work is the
Historic Haymarket District. This
area needs to become a the bowel of
ill repute and vile sin that makes Mardi
Gras look like Sunday school. The best
way to make this happen is to turn The
Mill into a crackhouse.
Instead of supplying customers
with a simple caffeine buzz, they’ll
now start wrecking lives and turning
the citizens into the dregs of society
that will make ZorConn famous. And
all this is before the android prostitutes
hit the streets.
Like Vegas has gambling, ZorConn
needs it’s own unique attraction to real
ly pack a punch. Without it, ZorConn
would simply turn into a knockoff of
Hoboken, N. J. In lieu of the Huskers’
demise, I propose burning the turf
- and turning Memorial Stadium
y into a gladiator pit that seats
76,000. Don’t worry, they’ll still be
student athletes. It’s just that at the
University of ZorConn, Greek func
tions mean more than Bikers and
Babes.
Being a school that honors a
good classic, tBfe sport of choice
at UZ is having frat guys battle
each other to the death. To make
sure they get motivated to actu
ally kill each other, at stake is an 5
endless supply of Busch Light
and soft pom.
h Dui aias, in z.orv_onn, mere s
■ no rest for the wicked. People
nT will get a chance to use the
H * lasers they’ve always dreamed
” about when the genetically mutated
beasts that are being concocted on East
Campus, are released on thej&eets of
__ ZorConn. How now brown cow?
tK| Think razor-sharp teeth like a
/I mako shark, a new and improved
^ I hide like a triceratops and the
\ I speed of a cheetah. And yes,
I I these cows know what man has
If done. Can you say it’s time for
Y the big payback?
f c When can all this fun start to
” happen? Right now folks. 1999 is
JT wasting away. Let’s get ZorConn’s
m first Monday started right with a
good old fashioned demolition
derby out in the remote parking lot at
3 p.m. Because if it’s really die future,
then it needs to look like the Road
Warrior has been through town. And
for Tuesday, no more threads from Old
Navy. From now on it’s parachute
pants and spikes for the boys and
mohawks, fishnets and fluorescent
make-up for die girls.
Let the future begin.
And the winning numbers are...
1999 brings career change, predictions
AX. FORKNER is a junior
news-editorial major
and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
Another new year, another 365
days to make a complete and utter
fool of myself.
Fear not, fellow
Huskeronianiteists. I am up to the
challenge.
But I’ll be honest with you, I’ve •
been slacking these first 11 days. I
haven’t really done anything too
awful stupid yet.
Time to get caught up.
I figured since this was the last
year in the millennium, now would be
a good time to launch my career as a
psychic.
Yes, you read correctly. A psy
chic. What would make a respectable
journalist turn to that career?
I don’t know. When I meet one,
I’ll ask.
Ha ha, stop, I’m killing me.
I’ll tell you why. Fundage, loot,
dinero, geld, cha-ching, moola, filthy
lucre, dead presidents, greenbacks
and that new Monopoly-looking
money. .
Did I mention the pay?
The guy who bought Eddie
Murray’s 500th home run? Runs a
psychic phone business. Dionne
Warwick? Made $3 million from the
Psychic Friends Network before they
went bankrupt.
(Note: Dollar figures come from
VH-1 ’s Pop-Up Video and may be
slightly inaccurate.)
Either way, there has to be some
serious money coming in for that
kind of cash to flow out.
So here we go. A.L.’s 1999 pre
dictions.
First, I must go into a trance.
Hmmmm, I’m getting something. It’s
very faint. Yes, I can make it out.
First, the Fox network will unveil
a new program with a cast of unreal
istically attractive people that live in
nice homes and have sex with each
other.
The American public is going to
grow tired of hearing the name
Lewinsky.
In an attempt to win back then
constituents, members of Congress
will forget about the impeachment
hearings. Instead, they will bum
Monica Lewinsky at the stake during
the highest rated pay-per-view event
in the medium’s history.
Whoa, now I’m getting messages
from spirits on the other side.
Chris C. Yes, that is what you
think it is, and no, it won’t go away
with penicillin.
Mary B. Yes, Chris has what you
think he has, and no, he didn’t get it
from you.
David B. It’s in the second drawer
under the “Big Un’s” magazines. But
it’s sprung a leak.
I’m sensing one more spirit that is
unwilling to speak up. Come, spirit
person, and share your wisdom. Use
my body as a channel if you need to.
“Whoa momma, this is some
freaky stuff. I Just want to tell every
one that Iappreciate the support.
And I love all my fans. Especially
that guy who does Johnny Bravo. He
cracks me up.
But, I’m sorry to say, the King has
left the planet. I’m dead, and there
ain’t gonna be no encore. I died in
1985 after finding out that Boy
George was really a boy. That was
some real freaky stuff. Whoa.”
Now to the world of sports. I
sense the presence of a sports legend.
It’s, it’s ... Chris Berman?! But,
you’re hot dead yet.
No, but who better than the
Swami to deliver to you 1999 s pre
dictions?
In football. Denver over Minn
esota in the Super Bowl. Randy Moss
spontaneously combusts while run
ning a deep route.
NASCAR. Jeff Gordon does not
win the Daytona 500. In a surprise
finish, Dick Trickle finally wins his
first Winston Cup race.
Most surprisingly, Trickle is inter
viewed for 20 minutes before remem
bering to list every sponsor on the car.
Basketball. Michael Jordan ret
urns, Bulls don’t make the playoffs.
Fans prepare for the apocalypse.
Dennis Rodman quits the NBA to
devote more time to his TV program,
Special Qps Force.
Husker athletics. Coach
Sanderford continues to shine, but
Cable Vision convinces him dressing
up as a flamenco dancer will help sell
tickets.
Coach Nee replaces his hair with
a more environmentally friendly vinyl
replacement.
Coach Solich will introduce a
daring new page to the playbook: ✓
“The Run Up the Middle.”
Ohhh, I’m feeling weak. I feel my
karma draining. I only have enough
strength for one more prediction.
It’s about the turn of the century. I
think it’s news about the effects of the
Y2Kbug.
No wait, that’s not it. It’s faint, I
can barely make it out. My strength is
fading. It’s coming through_
“I was (teamin’ when I wrote this
forgive me if it goes astray.
But when I woke up this momin’
coulda sworn it was judgment day.
The sky was all purple, there were
people runnin’ everywhere.
Tryin’ 2 run from the destruction,
U know I didn’t even care.
Cuz they say two thousandzero
zero party over, oops out of tWe. *
So tonight I’m gonna party like
it’s 1999.”
Uhhh, my strength is drained. I
must replenish. Only the finest barley
and hops will suffice.
Oh yeah. I almost forgot. The
winning numbers will be 4,12,23,
33,35 and the Powerball 6.
Remember, gratuities are welcome.
