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In This Issue

• Attacking Evil At Its Root
• Starbucks Gets New Badass Logo
• My Drunken Attempt to Thwart War
• Letters to the Editor
• Sexy Underwear Failed to Solve My Problems
• Democrats and Witchcraft, Proper Bedfellows
• AIM is the Tool of the Devil
• AIM is the Tool of the Pedophile
• Columbia Card Helped Me Sin With the Pros
• Is There Enough Satan In Your Life?
• God's Own Country: Florida
• Predictions for 2003, Withheld No More
• At Last: God Comix for Muslims 'n' Bikers
• My Very First Gun Show Sans Hangover
• Celebrities Bulldoze the Darndest Things
• On Finding Macho Yet Delicious Alcohol
• Angry Cell Phone Guy's Secret Identity Revealed
• The Staff
• They Watch
• Wacky, Fun! Whitey?
• A Message for this Election Cycle
• Sniperman!

Remember that brochure in your orientation packet that listed the "top ten reasons" why the Columbia Card is useful, and explained why you should buy hundreds of Dining and Flex dollars? Well, three years and God-knows-how-many useless purchases later, I have come to realize that that pamphlet neglected to mention the fact that the Columbia Card is a one-way ticket to the gates of hell. Forgive me, Father, for this piece of plastic has compelled me to commit the Seven Deadly Sins.

Gluttony

Who hasn't gone on a Dining Dollar shopping rampage? Come on, you know those five Twixes, ten Snickers bars, three sodas you need to make it through a long night of studying. And let’s not forget the last day of freshman year when you desperately try to get rid of every "first-year point" on your account, and you end up cleaning out the entire orange juice supply at 212 for screwdrivers.

Greed

As we demonstrated in issue 18.2, it's almost too easy to blow your parents' retirement fund at the bookstore. Admit it-- you've bought a $50 sweater in the name of "school pride", when you were really just out of clean clothes. And you've bought Playboys and charged them to Mom and Dad, too.

Pride

With my Columbia Card, I feel like I rule the world. "Haha, I can dine like a king at Ferris Booth!" I declare, waving my card in the faces of poor Harlem children. "I can sleep all night in a comfy chair in Butler if I want," I say to homeless people on the subway, "and I get free Internet access, too. Not to mention the fact that I can photocopy my ass cheeks at Copy Express". Ah, the power of the Card.

Sloth

I confess. I do all my grocery shopping at JJ's. It's convenient and I get to hang with the dudes who rap while they fry your chicken. Walk six whole blocks to West Side? No way. Plus, everythingís already paid for, so it's kind of like it's free.

Anger

I cannot tell you how many times I have cursed out a vending machine. What do you mean "SOLD OUT"? With my Columbia Card, expect to be able to get a fucking pop at every fucking hour of the day, every fucking day of the week. So why don't you goddamn service people get off your Union asses and make sure these damn things are full at three a.m. on Monday morning.

Envy

Goddamn you freshmen with fat Flex accounts and the meal plan with the least meals and most points. Iíll be sure to trip you next time I see you walking with a full tray in John Jay.

Lust

I canít think of a better place to meet eligible bachelors than the hot, steamy laundry room. Until the University installs Flex-operated peep shows, I'll have to make do with cheesy pick-up lines like "how'd you like to swipe your card in my slot, baby"?