Letters to the Editor

Come get your trophy

The other night, while I was cleaning up the gymnasium here in St. Joseph, Missouri, I came across something very odd.

I believe you have left your championship trophy here in St. Joseph. Please come take it because my apartment is small and it blocks my view of the television.

Don’t get me wrong! I like to pretend I’m the Division II women’s basketball champion for 2003, but eventually the lies wear thin and I cry myself to sleep for I will never be the women’s champion for I am a man.

This is remarkably similar to the time when Miss America was crowned here in our fair city and she left her crown on the stage and I found it while sweeping up.

I took the crown home and wore it a few times with some of my prettier dresses, but eventually I realized that I was not Miss America, nor would I ever be Miss America.

That’s why this trophy mistake weighs so heavily on my soul. You’re just rubbing it in, South Dakota! You’re making me feel like crap!

So why don’t you come get your trophy? If you don’t take it, I’ll be forced to melt it down and mold it into a pair of golden slippers, which I will wear out on the town.

Quite frankly, this trophy is far too large for my small apartment. I have nowhere to put it but on my coffee table and no use for it whatsoever.

I tried hanging it over my dog’s doggie bed, but he had a hard time buying that he was the champion as well and he peed on it.

I’m sorry for this, but what can you do? When a dog has to go, he has to go. If there’s one thing I learned in my life, it’s that. Well that and the fact that the world will never accept a man in a halter top and a miniskirt.

I reiterate, South Dakota State.

Come down here.

Get your trophy.

Remove it from my possession.

I will be a happy man if these events transpire in an organized manner.

Barry MeldrumJanitorSt. Joseph, Missouri

Collegian leads to love

I’ve read the letters to the editor in the Collegian with interest every week, but I never thought they were true. Until now.

I never thought this would happen to me, Collegian, but it did.

The other day, I was sitting in the lobby of Biostress, minding my own business and reading the Collegian quietly to myself when I heard someone come up behind me.

“I see you like to read the letters in the Collegian,” a beautiful feminine voice said. “So do I.”

I turned to see who it was. Why, it was none other than my freshman composition teacher Jenny Salchmus! And she was talking to me! In a sexy voice!

We spoke briefly of the ongoing debates over the war in Iraq, the role of sex in society and the existence of God.

Then she pulled me from my seat. “But I have class,” I objected.

“Who cares about class?” she said. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

We retreated to an empty maintenance closet. Her long blonde hair hung about her shoulders like a waterfall of gold. Her blue eyes pierced the darkness of my soul. Her laugh was as the music of angels. Her breasts rode about her frame like high melons.

I am not a man to kiss and tell, Collegian. I believe a man and a woman should have privacy to cover their sinful and sensual acts.

But let me assure you that Miss Jenny Salchmus was every bit the woman her exterior promised to me. She was a tiger, a lion, a demon and a sheep in the sack all rolled into one.

At first, I just thought that Jenny Salchmus would be the woman who taught me about gerund phrases and the proper placement of commas. But she turned out to be so much more.

Jenny Salchmus taught me about love and about being a man, Collegian. And I thank you and her for that.

So never again will I jeer with my friends that “those letters in the newspaper can’t be real!”

I will tell each and every one of them that the Collegian can and will lead to passionate love-making and even more passionate love.

For now, when I am in freshman composition class, I’m not the only one with stars in my eyes.

All the other guys in the class are looking at my Jenny with those stars too. As it turns out, she gets around.

Who’d've thunk it?

Jeff Neblund Electrical EngineeringHoven

Corsica rules

My hometown of Corsica rules. It makes all other small towns look stupid by comparison.

Mary Carey Journalism Corsica

No it doesn’t

No it doesn’t.