• Join The Fed
• Advertise with The Fed

• About Us
• Contact

In This Issue

• How to Hold on to Your Honey
• Gerald Jackson is Simply Fabulous
• Kid Gets 'F' for 'Fat' on Report Card
• Letters to the Editor(s)
• Glam Faux Pas on College Walk
• Cap'n Crunch = Pervert
• Frugal Gourmet goes Glam; Glitter is Cheap
• Screw the Superbowl! The World is Next!
• 50 Mindblowing Tips for Pleasing your She-male
• Necessary Knowledge for Proper Tape-Mixing
• Gone Society Whorin'
• There is No Message
• GLAM! Makeovers by the Fed Fashionista
• Whoroscopes for the Broken-Hearted
• Disturbing Lack of Glam on Campus
• Newsbriefs
• Prince reveals all, pulls pants back up

Here I am in the most diverse city in the entire world. If something exists, the odds are that it's here in New York. I can order Indian food at any hour. I can buy crystal meth laced with Jerry Garcia's ashes. I can find a prostitute who specializes in drinking scotch out of men's ears. Why, then, can't I find the only kind of music worth a damn? I'm talking, of course, about glam rock.

Living in a media megalopolis, with a bazillion radio stations, and an infinite number of bars and clubs you'd think I'd be able to find one Quiet Riot cover band. Yet, I have never even seen a single performer who knew the lyrics to Ziggy Stardust. What the fuck is that? That's like not knowing the Star Spangled Banner!

Columbia has not helped the situation. Can you find a campus glam band? I sure can't. Columbia is inundated with indie-rock garbage. "It should be about the music, man, not costumes and hair." Bullshit! Music is a form of entertainment; all things about it should be entertaining. Tell these indie "rock stars" to put on a show. I could give a shit about some jam band that does solos standing still for three hours. I want to see big hair. I want to see weird costumes. Show some me some Freddy Mercury-style theatrics.

I say we stay silent no longer. All of us, the silent majority of "Sick Mother-Fucking Friends of Twisted Sister" must now take action. Our first line of attack will be to march down to WKCR and set them straight. We will take back WKCR for the students; enough of this twenty four-hour a day jazz bullshit! The new format: all glam, all the time, starting with a New York Dolls marathon. I can see it now- an army in black lipstick and glitter, the biggest mass of hair Manhattan has seen since King Kong. More hairspray than Bon Jovi could go through in a year. It will be glorious!

But our magnificent revolution need not stop there. Next we head downtown to Times Square. We will rush TRL, and take Carson Daly hostage. If our demands are not met, fourteen year old girls across the nation will watch as Ozzy Osbourne dismembers their teen-icon slowly, biting off one limb at a time. We stay on the air the whole time, of course. The world will know the fate of those who stand in the way of the great deluge of glam. The TRL studio will no longer be a haven for teenybopper pop, but a glorious center of glam, spreading the good word to millions around the world.

It's high time the lack of glam rock became the cause of public outrage. Others will join us, if they are brave enough to stand up and be counted. Let our voices be heard clearly, in a resounding chorus. We're not gonna take it. No, we ain't gonna take it. We're not gonna take it, anymore.