Will Suffice, DBU Snipe Correspondent: Counter days without being labeled a heretic by DBU hyper-Calvinists!

NO MORE ROOM IN HELL; WILL'S PG-13 ESSAY

"DBU at 40"

This year marks Dallas Baptist University’s 40th birthday. DBU, in its present form, is now officially “over the hill,” and not only on top of one. For this momentous occasion, the administration is throwing a shindig to honor those who were there at the beginning. Believe it or not, some of them are still alive.

So…DBU at 40. What does that mean? Well, DBU can no longer be the cool uncle who helps you pull pranks on your dad and sneaks you out of church so you can catch an R-rated movie. DBU can no longer be the sagely, yet hip, aunt who gives you unwanted sexual advice and slips you an extra $20 when your parents tell her that she’s given you too much to begin with.

DBU is now (gulp) old. (shudder)

But perhaps, now, though DBU has reached middle age and thrown away the things of DBU’s youth, DBU may be up for a mid-life crisis. Instead of DBU promoting actions of avuncularity and passive-aggression toward your parents, maybe it’s time for us to do something in return. After all, DBU’s not that excited about getting older, either.

Let’s sneak DBU off campus in the trunk of your friend’s weed-saturated Ford Escort (believe me, no one will be the wiser), and take it out for a night on the town. Can you imagine DBU, intoxicated by the youthfulness of life and the beauty of bizarre, adolescent behavior, mooning the First Baptist Church of Waxahachie Chevy van full of impressionable youth? Or sneaking into a Black Eyed Peas concert and watching DBU run up on stage and trip carelessly over the cords, falling head-on into Fergie’s bosom, and everybody telling you, “Man, you’ve got one cool college!” Or walking into a tattoo/piercing parlor and DBU wanting some gay-ol’ Patriot tat on its ankle, but you convince DBU to be bold and go for the SpongeBob on its left posterior cheek. And our luck would be that we see a camera crew filming “Baptist Colleges Gone Wild IV: Academia Gets Nasty!”, and we sign the disclaimer, and watch when DBU gets fresh with a textbook.

That would be sweet.

Unfortunately, DBU is stationary. And I don’t know how DBU could get “fresh” with anything, anyway.

Nonetheless, Happy Birthday, DBU! We realize that you’re cold, sterile, and have this Puritanical obsession with the morality of cleanliness, but deep down inside, there’s a party animal ready to bust loose. Just let us know when you’re ready.

© by Copy This and I’ll Cut Your Nipples Off Publications. All Rights Reserved.

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(Older messages...)

"The Two Towers"

Posted February 5, 2004

Snipe sources have recently discovered that DBU has formed committees that will look into starting an Honors program at the university. It seems as though the prominent members of the administration have finally realized that, yes, there are smart people at DBU.

Granted, the undergraduate intelligentsia does not make their presence as apparent as collegiate PACs, BSUs, or the GHRC (Glowing Heart Reject Club). In fact, it would seem that the names on the various Deanˇ¦s/Presidentˇ¦s/Emperorˇ¦s Lists published every semester insist on a shroud of secrecy to cover up their existence. For instance, the English Honor Society (Sigma Tau Delta) disguises itself as a support group for Baptists with sexually transmitted diseases. Really, who would want to publicize an association with that sort of group on a campus such as this? (ˇ§Dear Mom and Dad ˇV Youˇ¦ll never guess what happened to me this weekend! [insert generic one night stand experience here] But itˇ¦s okay, because I joined the DBU chapter of STD!ˇ¨) Yeah, not likely. Thatˇ¦s the point.

Moreover, guerilla websites such as will sufficeˇ¦s host jab and ponder with wit and keen insight, yet remain camouflaged by pseudonyms and euphemisms that further fog the truth. As a result, only the privileged elitists will be able to discern fact from fiction, irony from groundless satire, objectiveness from subjectiveness. These web sites demonstrate the surreptitious nature of honors academia at the university. Sans encouragement and readily available methods of _expression from the administration, intelligent undergrads are cast into a suffocating cranny of deceit, sarcasm, and suspicion.

Thatˇ¦s why DBU needs an Honors program. We need to hear these knowledgeable voices equally as much as we need to hear a bi-weekly Glowing Heart recital, to watch a weekly Patriot baseball game, and to participate in a regular Bible study. Gifted undergrads need more than an annual Paideia Conference and a semesterly student presentation at the Friday Symposium (and not have to worry that the Q/A session after a wonderfully-written birth control paper will turn into an 8th grade health class). They need more than one Dr. Naugle; they require an Honors faculty that will provide broad support and justification for the latent ideas and potential that often hibernate in this winterish academic atmosphere. Where are DBUˇ¦s Kings Peter and Edmund, Queens Susan and Lucy, to bring summer to the zombie minds of the hilltop campus? They have a Magician with a worldview wardrobe, but where is the Lion?

The purpose here is not to accuse the administration of anti-intellectualism but of a lackadaisical ignorance of supra-intelligent students. Perhaps they have been enlightened. Perhaps the sniping methods of the Embassy and the fiendish Knights have finally captured the gaze of the wandering, blazing, all-seeing Eye of Mahler. Of course, one should reserve a concretized judgment until the actual Honors program is revealed. Will the undergraduate intelligentsia actualize extensive and challenging courses, formidable mentors, specialized scholarships, and another by-line on their resume? Or will the program merely be the hoi polloi residue of a half-a**ed attempt to construct an ivory tower? Letˇ¦s pray for the former.

But thatˇ¦s my two disembodied heads of Lincoln.

©2004 by Copy This and Iˇ¦ll Cut Your Nipples Off Publications. All Rights Reserved.

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Will's Message from a Few Weeks Ago

"A Lament for Mitchell"

A week ago, three of our esteemed English faculty presented their lists of the best novels of all time to an attentive group of young people infected with STDs. Not only were the professors?literary observations scholarly and appropriate, but the mere fact that they took time out of their schedules to spend time with the sickly and (in my case) severely malnutritioned and malcaffeinated, proves that the DBU English faculty kicks a**.

However, the masculinity of DBU’s English department was grossly under-represented at the STD event. Don’t get me wrong ?females, in general, are statistically under-represented in college/university faculty at large and we should all be grateful for every single one of them. So, it was nice to hear the lovely, feminine inclusions of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, George Eliot’s sexual ambiguity, Barbara Kingsolver’s feminist manifesto disguised as fiction, Dickens?and James?sympatico, and (someone, please loosen this noose from my neck) Jane Austen. Where would femininity be without them? I take that back ?Where would literature be without them? (Do we really want to go back to Swift’s poop-pelting Houyhnhnms? I didn’t think so.)

Suffice it to say, the estrogen was overwhelming. (My glasses fogged up a couple of times.) And the presence of Professor Mitchell was missed; the STD biblio-orgy failed to harness the masculine nuances of the English Department.

Perhaps this is a lament for Professor Philip Mitchell. Should we feel pity for the scared, lonely guppy in the torrential ocean populated by the Great White Feminine? Do we laugh or weep at Tommy Brandon’s brave attempt at impersonating the sole male member of the English faculty so the echo of Prof. Mitchell’s melodic baritone is at least heard? Why do the gastro-intestinal monarchs flutter as if on crack when an ignorant undergrad assumingly labels him a doctor, and you observe his gruff beard camouflaging the pain of professional discourtesy he sees in others?

‘Tis a grey melancholia that swells inside when one faces the lone existence of DBU’s corner-officed, siphoned-from-community masculine. We smile as he struts by, encouraging his consciousness of belonging with our formidable facade. His scratchy penmanship obligates our attention ?repelling the squints of bubbly female students, but providing a framework of scripted understanding with his brothers. His book list, the closest (btw) to fulfilling the criteria of the original STD assignment, will be classified as an opus of a Hobbit bard: insignificant to the populous, but treasured as an enchanted niche of the rare breed.

So here’s to you: o isolated academician, struggling ABD-er, classy masculine in gray-and-girth disguise. Don’t let the Woman get you down.