My wife and I were reading the Scroll together and we came across the article, “Dating with the legend of Johnny Lingo.” We were appalled at the attitude of this young man.

Brad states that the key to having success in finding a girl is speed, needing to move in fast so that the girls don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.

And now that “the semester has begun, the race is on to find a Cuddle Buddy.”

This type of thinking is exactly why certain types of boys have a hard time finding the right woman. They are not the right men for them.

The idea of finding someone to be a “Cuddle Buddy” is against the Honor Code’s morality standard — and is in complete contradiction to the gospel that we believe.

Are we not the “Chosen Generation”? Immorality and other worldliness have no part of Christ’s University, which this is.

Mark Beck is a man among children on this campus. It is as meaningful for the New York Yankees to win the World Series as it is for me to beat my little brother at Monopoly, starting out with $3,000 more than him. Their comparable payroll makes any achievements meaningless.

The Red Sox aren’t such a disadvantaged team themselves. The combined $58 million that Ramirez, Schilling, Damon, Renteria and Varitek make this year is more than the combined total of a third of the teams in Major League Baseball.

Part of their revenue must come from merchandise sales, such as the Boston Red Sox hats worn around BYU-Idaho.

Major League Baseball postseason seems to always be fun. It seems to always be fun for teams like the Yankees, Red Sox, and Braves. Mark Beck has exploited the greatest flaw in the world’s greatest sport.

Although the root word “side” found in sidewalk won’t be the focus of this letter, I would like to mention the word walk. I may be mistaken, but I believe that sidewalks were invented for walking. In the few weeks I’ve been on the BYU-Idaho campus this year, I’ve been hit once, and nearly killed several times by bikers riding on campus sideWALKS.

I don’t know about you, but barely escaping collisions with bikers whizzing by at 15 mph every 17.3 seconds of each trek to and from class, is not my idea of fun. So, I propose a toast: Bikers could either ride on the road/asphalt, or learn to walk like the rest of us; it’s worked for me. The only other option I can imagine is for the university to invest in some sidePEDALS.

Oh, my dear! Not again! This happens every single semester! There’s a group of people in this world who are more exasperating than all the rest. These are the people who laugh last or do not laugh at all. These are the people on whom humor is totally lost.

In other words, if you’re intellectually challenged, don’t prove it to the world by publicizing your daft opinions. That just makes good sense.

So, if you’re over the age of 16 and you don’t “get” humor or sarcasm ... well, I just feel sorry for you because it’s too late. Trying to teach you now would be like trying to teach a corndog to fix a flat. You’re out of luck. The only advice I have for you is to follow the following protocol:

The next time you’re reading something and you want to get offended, think first, “Is this sarcasm/humor?” Then, ask the person next to you (not a family member) if they know the answer.

Then, if both of you concur, consult a Magic Eight Ball. If all three of you agree to be insulted, then maybe, after a three-day incubation period, you should write in to Scroll. Otherwise, save yourself some embarrassment, please.

After reading “Dating Within the Legend of Johnny Lingo” in last week’s Scroll, I feel inclined to give the author a bit of advice.

By the criteria he gives, I am no more than a two-cow woman, if that. I drive a 1990 Pontiac Grand Am, named Rita, who has seen better days. And as far as money and clothes go, well, let’s just say I’m a college student.

However, I would like to tell the male population that not all girls see “cows” in the same light. If you ask me, that’s when you know you found the right person — when you have the kind of cows they’re looking for and vice versa. As for me, cars, money and clothes don’t really count as cows, for they lack eternal value. For you boys who feel you don’t have many cows after reading this article, I say speed is not the answer. Ask yourself what kind of characteristics, or should I say cows, you are looking for in a girl and then work to have those same characteristics.

I may only be a two-cow woman, but I tell you, any man who’s able to steal my heart will see that I am worth much, much more. Good luck finding Mahana, Mr. Jackman.

As I was driving past the John W. Hart Building last week, four female students walked out from between parked cars and right in front of me. I was going about 20 mph, so I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting them.

They looked over at me like I was an annoyance for almost hitting them.

This complaint is probably fairly common, but I honestly don’t understand what is so difficult about using a crosswalk.

I have no qualms about stopping at crosswalks to let people go, but when students dart in front of me, I nearly have a heart attack thinking I’m going to hit them.

I dread having to drive to work every morning because my nerves get all jostled, dodging in and out of pedestrians. I used to be one of those pedestrians and I understand the need to get to class on time, but it’s better to be a few seconds late than hurt because you get hit by a car while crossing a busy street.

In defense of drivers, we don’t expect you to walk in front of our cars and we can’t stop on a dime.

Please, for your safety and my sanity; use crosswalks. That’s what they’re there for!