Who’s The Man?
By the wise and woolly, Jason Wilder Konschak

Since I don’t live in a sugar-mod yet, I was talking to one of my hall-mates the 
other day. Let’s call her Bippo. 
Bippo was saying, “I was talking to Oogie, and Oogie thinks the world’s gonna 
end on New Year 2000, from the millennium bug. All the nuclear missiles are 
plugged into retarded computers, and they’re gonna have a seizure and launch 
when the calendar flips the double zero. …You don’t think that, do you, Dr. 
Wilder?”
“Not exactly.”
True, the world will end next New Year. True, the place to avoid when the big 
ball drops is Times Square. But it’s not because of the government or the Disney 
Corporation. Oh no – they can’t promote or delay the destruction one iota. When 
it all comes down, The Man will cause the end of the world, suckah - just like he’s 
caused everything else all along.
“But I thought The Man was Uncle Sam, or Mickey Mouse, or Ronald 
McDonald, or Bill Gates, or at least the master of mass-media, Howard Stern.”
Howard Stern may be da-man, but he’s not The Man. He’s not the wily force 
that’s been repressing progress, and hasslin’ good people. To show who The 
Man is, I present an original Dr. Wilder parable. 
One day, Thurgood Wadders came home with a new idea. “Muffy,” he said in 
a tight-jawed, snob accent. “I was speaking with the butler the other day, when I 
had a sort of epiphany. I realized: Damn The Man, Muffy. I say, Damn The Man!”
“But Thurgood, Darling,” she said. “You are the man.”
“Well then…” he replied. “Damn you.”
 “Yes, jolly good,” said she. “And Thurgood dear, what would you like to have 
for suppah?”
“Muffy,” Thurgood said to his wife of 50 years. “I do believe I’ll have some of 
that exquisite lobster.”
“But Thurgood, Darling,” she said. “You are the lobster.”
“Well then…” he replied. “Bite Me!”
This demonstrates two things. (1)Thurgood was, indeed, The Man. 
(2)Thurgood and his wife were crazy fools. They were so stupid, they couldn’t tell 
the difference between people and lobsters - let alone shit, a hole in the ground, 
shinola, and their asses. But, this story leaves out one important fact, which I will 
give you free: (3) Thurgood and Muffy were flat broke, living in one of those huge 
Macy*s bags they give out at Christmas time.
“What the hell are you talking about?!” Bippo asked.
“I’m telling you who The Man is, Bippo,” I explained.
“What the Christ!? You ain’t told me shit!”
“Look. I’ll give you a simple test. It’ll tell you if someone is The Man or not.”
The test is this: walk up to a random stranger. Confront them, and scream, 
“You the man! Oh yeah, you the man! Who’s the man!?” He or she is probably 
The Man if the response is something like: “I’m the man! I’m all that and a bag of 
Doritos!”
Don’t say to them, “I like the Cool Ranch best.” That would only encourage 
them. Instead, say, “Damn The Man,” very calmly, and then just walk away.
Now, if you still don’t know who The Man is, let me spell it out for you. (a) The 
Man is the force that’s been keeping society down; and (b) The Man will bring 
about the end of the world; therefore (c) The Man is made up of all the stupid, 
uncreative, unstable drones that populate this sorry planet. The Man is the lowest 
common denominator, which represses us all, and keeps us in our place.
That girl with Teen People, YM, and Cosmo College magazine subscriptions? 
She’s The Man. The old fart who doesn’t know that the beverage he’s about to 
enjoy is hot? He’s The Man. The punks who wrap the swings up over the bar; the 
guy who takes a marker and writes “L” & “R” on his contact lenses; my ex-
girlfriend who accidentally washed her cat in the washing machine; the dopes 
who think TV Guide uses unnecessarily big words; the French who are French; 
and anyone who thinks that Pee Wee’s Big Adventure isn’t funny – they are all 
The Man.  Goddamn suckahs, one and all!
But how are crazy fools gonna end the world on New Years Day? 
Well, they’ve been saying for a long time that it’s gonna go down like that, so 
they’d feel real crunchy if it didn’t. That means there’s never been such an 
irresistible target for annihilation-crazed idiots and terrorists. If you’re a real 
terrorist, it’s all about Times Square, New Year, 2000! Invite the religious 
fanatics, the nihilists, the anti-technos, and the capitalist-haters. They’ll attend the 
gala with party favors! Anthrax! Small pox! Smilex gas! 
So! If you want to be as sane and well adjusted as me, Dr. Wilder, you’ll just 
stay away from big celebrations like that. You’ll join me on the summit of a 
secluded mountain, in pristine northern Maine. There, we’ll oversee the 
eradication of humankind, eating Oatmeal Cream Pies, drinking Grape Juice, and 
watching The Never Ending Story. 
Of course, that’s only if I don’t get a date. 

You know you have a question to ask Dr. Wilder too, so why not send it to 
jkonschak@hampshire.edu?