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In This Issue

• A Modest Proposal for Iraq
• An Indie-Rocker Falls Into the Gap
• Beware of People Selling Stuff, Except Us
• Women Need to be Vulnerable and Easy Again
• Marriage is the Perfect Career
• All The Cool Kids Are Doing It...
• Girl Sells Soul to Pour Investment Bankers' Coffee
• Wendy's Sells the Fuck Out: Lame With Mayo
• I Used to Listen to Jesus Christ, Before He Went Mainstream
• The Singing Senators: Behind the "Music"
• In Gateway, I Designed a 3-D Noose
• Barnard Woman Tries to Use, Not Give, Head
• Mexico: Taco Bell Without Plumbing
• Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200
• Wacky Fun Whitey Gets a Date
• Colombia Spectador
• Columbia Bookstore's Introduces New "Ghetto-fab" Line of Clothing

College-a place to seek knowledge. To constantly do as Alma Mater urges us (and I don't mean just sit in the middle of college walk all day long) - to ask every two-year-old's favorite question: why?

Why am I here? Was college supposed to make me smart? Was college just a segue into seeking employment as a short skirt-wearing, dick-sucking, administrative assistant? Why are all my recently-alummed friends still unemployed? When I leave in May, oh Ma Alma, am I just supposed to get the same sort of job as everyone else? If so, shouldn't I have spent more nights in college getting so paralyzingly drunk that I tried to climb up you and sit in your lap, forgetting that a metal seat in December might freeze my sex organs off? That way, at least I could sit at my desk job in the basement of a Trump Tower reliving my wild and vivacious past.

OK, so I've faced some of the realities of my life. I have to buy some groceries because apparently there's no nutritional value in crackers slathered with mustard (I don't know either; that's just all that's left in the suite fridge). I also have to get my ROLMphone fixed because after I spilled rum and coke on it, none of the buttons work anymore. Then I have to pay my phone bill so I can keep calling my psychic who along with my mother, tells me, that I have to make some plans for next year. 

So my first stop in job searching was the Columbia Career Website, which is perfect if you want to be a paralegal or join the Campaign to Save the Environment. After five minutes at that, I realized I want to skip right to the part in life where I make a lot of money. I Googled ‘pay me for having phone sex' and only came up with porn sites. 

Most of them were actually pretty good, but some made me a little sensitive. Since I'm in college, I'm not really into cumguzzling coeds. Just hits too close to home, I guess.

What other way could I make money so that I could continue my burgeoning and increasingly expensive philosophy habit? Lacking a finance degree, I was still convinced there was something I could do in order to be hired by a large firm to do investment banking, like convince them that I even know what ‘investment banking' means. I went to the JP Morgan Chase website, and I went to the Merrill Lynch website, I went to the Salomon Smith Barney website. Apparently, I'm not really enough of a expensive-suited man to be hired, because that's what all the photos on their site depicted. However, the guys were pretty attractive and that was when I found the solution.

The perfect job-the money comes in without your doing anything. You get a free house, benefits, and, if you want it, regular sex. I knew what my future profession was. My title would be ‘wife' and my duties would be serving the breadwinner. 

So I didn't do as much stupid stuff in college as I really wanted to. But with Mr. Right out of the house all day long, I'm sure I'll have a moment or two for fanciful indiscretion. And hey, I'm not really sure what I learned in college anyway, so why go through the agony of ‘finding myself' or ‘testing my limits'? Why not just kick back with the Pottery Barn and J.Crew catalogs and concentrate on what really makes me happy? 

It's five minutes to five on the last day I can change a class to the pass/fail option. The only thing I'm going to change is my degree-sign me up for an MRS! Outta my way, all you token blind and quadriplegic kids on campus, because I've got to get to Kent! I can find a husband in two months, right?