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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!

You see them all the time. You know, those girls in class-as soon as they sit down their pants shift and a huge Y emerges as their thongs poke out to say hello. I usually make fun of them. However, they do seem to know everyone: their TA's, the jocks, the frat guys... life seems pretty easy for them. So after being repeatedly ignored by my anthro TA, receiving the NYC rejection line as a phone number twice, and finally admitting to myself that I really don't get out too much, I decided that a good thong and a lace bra might be just what the doctor ordered.

I made my way down to the nearest Victoria's Secret and was attacked as soon as I walked in the door. This annoying saleswoman named Karen decided to tell me all the specials, the new Angels bra was in (for the World Series perhaps?), and she was more than willing to get it for me in every color; all she needed was my size. When I told her I was fine on my own she glared at me, and then followed me throughout the store as I made my selections. Props to the Victoria's Secret workers for making an uncomfortable situation all the more relaxing. After settling on a lace bra and some thongs with rhinestones, I was informed that sexy underwear alone did not make the woman, but Victoria's Secret lotion and bath products would seal the deal. No, I was pretty sure that the underwear alone would change my life and somehow managed to escape the store with only that.

Now it was time to put my plan into action. Thursday morning I grabbed my new gear and put them on. The rhinestones were a little cold on my ass, but all in all, the thong was surprisingly comfortable. Now the bra...it was alright, the lace was a little itchy, but I was sure that I would get used to it as the day went on. I went to class and found my TA sitting in the last row working the projector. This was perfect, I'd be able to sit right in front of him, and even better, my thong has flashy rhinestones to get his attention. As I sat down, those flashy rhinestones snagged the tag on my jeans resulting in a classic ripping sound. Perfect. My friend couldn't contain her laughter and she later told me my TA gave me one of those, "Whoa, that sucks" looks as I sat down. So far this sexy underwear thing was not going so well for me, and the lace bra still itched.

Somehow I made it through the anthro lecture even though my friend kept commenting on how Neanderthals had better underwear than I did. Much to my dismay, the rest of my day was pretty normal. No sudden changes of luck came with my new change of underwear. Damn, though, that lace bra was still itching me. I finally decided that the discomfort wasn't worth the benefits I still thought I could reap from my sexy underwear, so took the bra off, only to discover I had developed a rash from the so-called "natural" lace bra. Finally, I would get to show off my sexy underwear to someone, even if it was only to the doctor in Health Services.

I made my way to the dungeon Barnard calls their Health Services Office. At least they took me in right away. Dr. Smith told me that since it was my first visit to health services she was going to give me a full physical. Wow. This was going well. Not only was this woman going to check out my bra, but she was also going to get to see my rhinestone thong. Well, needless to say, after that visit to Health Services, I swore I would never go there again. My sexy underwear had not turned my life around, but was actually the cause of my suffering. The only benefit of the day was the handful of condoms I got to steal on my way out of Health Services. Alas, perhaps it's not the sexy underwear but natural competency that lets those thong girls get what they want out of life. Or maybe, as Fred Durst said about Christina Aguilera, you can take the nasty out of the girl but you can't take the girl out of the nasty.