e hear your pain and for some reason your
pain says, “Well, whoop-dee-ding-dong-doo.”
Alan Butterfield of the National Enquirer spoke before a class at
the vaunted bastion of journalism that is the University of Utah.
Butterfield distinguished himself in the field with such breaking,
hard-hitting, socially significant news stories as the Smart family’s
sexy sex scandal, JFK Jr. doing rails of cocaine off his wife’s
ass prior to his plane crash off of Martha’s Vineyard and
the Olsen twins’ incestuous monkey-love with an aforementioned
Bukowski and his 'friend' backstage before appearing at a U's
women studies department event.
revealed to U students the process of writing these stories and
how to blackmail those Hollywood types during a public relations
class. “Make sure you come on their face,” he said with
Now calm down, you little peckers with nary a sex life.
Before you cancel Christmas and pull the plug on Grandmama—hear
The U enjoys a long tradition of inopportune honorees and unfortunate
guest speakers in its storied past.
Ugandan President Idi Amin Dada Oumee shared his wisdom with the
graduating class of 1972.
“For every door that closes, at least two windows open,”
Amin said, “and remember that foreigners are demons that deserve
to be eaten.”
Graduates tossed their mortarboards skyward in a seemingly mindless
celebration. Maybe a few in the crowd longed for the giddy days
of noshing on the valedictorians and rejoicing knee-deep in a landscape
of innards. Others contemplated on what a generation of distracting
haircuts they had become.
But perhaps Amin’s legacy lives on in the anti-foreigner levity
of Ute Klan rallies and in the special “A Vegan can go fuck-his-or-herself”
specials dished out by Chartwell’s food imposers on a daily
“Have you tried this Vegan-Ultra-Veggie-Wraps they started
serving?” a smartly bobbed sophomore, with absolutely no fucking
“Do you know?”
Well, perhaps we do.
So when The Chronicle featured a glowing example of the ultimate
Ute, no one dared question it.
They presented a chatty and sincere man with a big red sweater and
with generations of U of U graduates in his bloodline.
He attended every football game and was more than happy to exterminate
errant squirrels that happened onto campus.
“Blood,” he joked, while waving the Ute colors, “football!”
Less was made of the fact that Nat Fritters managed to butcher every
cat in his neighborhood over three decades and arrange them into
an obscene cloak of murderous rage that he often wore while taking
“just a lil’ ol’ peep” at the nursery school’s
We’re sure Mrs. Fritters would help us better understand the
plight of her beloved Nat—that is, if we could find her head.
But, enough about Fritters.
The women’s studies department once brought writer Charles
Bukowski on campus to discuss how to take advantage of admiring
female fans. He then added that he “liked the bony ivory that
led to a drunk woman’s cunt” and the only good shit
to smell was “mine and that of a dog.”
“My liver can stop you dead in a dark alley. It has a polished
blade and a story to tell,” an inebriated Charles Bukowski
barked to a symposium of tenured professors .
He punctuated the debate with barf.
But let’s forget about the annual Pol Pot Festival, the honorary
statue to Josef Stalin in the library courtyard. “It’s
all about diversity,” groaned Propaganda Minister Sheena McFarland.
“Your papers please,” she added.
It’s not important who speaks at the U or what their backgrounds
are. They should only be judged based on what they say and do on
campus and how the students react. And on that note, the U’s
record is flawless.