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In This Issue

• Students Wrestle for Squid God
• Summer Job Pays to Choke Chickens
• Dolphins: Not Just for Sex Anymore
• Letters to the Feditrix
• The Confessions of a Burgeoning, Fecund Fury
• Suicides Are Fun for Those Who Don't Participate
• Military + Animals = Hours of Deadly Fun
• When Will Columbia Girls Go Not Ugly?
• You Wouldn't Know Hot Ass Even If You Bit Mine
• Necrophilia: Hey, It's Not Like They Mind
• Columbia Hipsters Leave Brooklyn to Strut Stuff
• Want Me!!!!
• I'm Still Drunk After All These Years
• He's Like Larry Flint, but Super Gay
• At Least the Fed Thinks I'm Cool...
• An End to the Planet
• Steve and Cornelius Are Now Chicks, Like to Play with Own Va-Jay-Jays
• Building a Bomb to Put in the Fed's Open Arms
• Oedipus Family Circus
• The Staff of 18.9
• THEY WATCH

John LaBoy

The author drop-kicked Jesus through the goal posts of life, and it's good!

Sarah Longest

On the seventh day, Cthulhu said, "Let there be hot girl-on-girl action."

Hello, Health Services."

"Um. Hello. I was hoping I could make an appointment... Um. Well, you see, somebody bit me last week, and I was hoping I could have a doctor look at it."

(exaggerated pause) "Some- body?"

Cthulhu is smiling from his subterranean prison. Matt Hoffman had wounds all over his body: a yellow and sickly green bite mark on his chest, one on his shoulder, and scratch marks across his belly. And yes, a woman had given him these injuries, not in the name of kinky sex, but to please an ancient and violent god-the worse the injury, the happier the god was.

I speak of the greatest of the Old Ones, the Shambling Mountain, He Who Slumbers, the Loathsome Cthulhu. And thanks to Columbia University Science Fiction Society, the campus just might be spared His wrath when He reawakens to exact His revenge. That is, if you accept Him and fear His greatness now.

In the City of R'Iyeh slumbers Cthulhu, waiting for the time that He shall rise again to rule the Earth as He did in the Ancient Times, great and terrible in his mountainous, green, tentacled and vengeful glory. He feeds off pain, nightmares, and human evil.

Once a year, CUSFS appearing as the Campus Crusade for Cthulhu Week. This year, in addition to the regular annual lineup of brainwashing, virgin sacrifices, and a cappella concerts, a new event was added to the Cthulu Week: Coed Naked Blood Wrestling.

After weeks of intensive training and prayer, the big day finally came. "Yog-Soggoth! Hast'r! Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" I finished my pleas to Cthulhu and scurried off to Low Plaza. Believers already surrounded the pool, yelling obscenities and demanding the death of their favorite opponents. Coed Naked Blood Wrestling had begun.

The round was vicious. Matt Hoffman roughly tossed the tiny Maria like a squid-demon toying with its prey. But Maria would not be had so easily. "YYYOOOUUUUUCH!!!!" yelled Matt as Maria sank her teeth into his flesh. "I taste blood!" She screamed and the crowd went wild. Praise the Great Cthulhu!

Finally, the Emcees, the enigmatic Mike Noble and his wondrous assistant Matt Holden, called my name. Dropping the black prayer veil that had hidden my identity, I stood before their eyes and the Eye of Cthulhu, naked* and covered in war paint. [Ed. Note: by "Naked" the author intends for you to read "bikini-clad."] Tonight, I will unleash dreadful pain and debauchery for Our Terrible Slumbering Lord.

I stood before my opponent, the illustrious Mike Ilardi, inhaling his fear. He was already sticky and red from a previous victory in the pool. I was prepared to smash him.

Suddenly, a small female voice was heard from the crowd: "I want to wrestle!" The match with Mike would have to wait. So we wrestled. Writhing and twisting in the blood, we struggled to get a hold on one another. She pinned me briefly, I wriggled out of her grip. I pinned her, she tossed me off her chest. And all the while, I heard the cries of the fans: "Kill her!", "Orgy! Orgy!", "Kiss her! C'mon!" Five minutes later, her bra was falling off and my bikini bottoms were lodged far up my ass. Happy just to see two girls going at it, the crowd called it a draw.

I had hardly a minute to dry my body and praise the Vengeful One when another call came from the crowd, this time distinctly less feminine, "I want to wrestle her! I want to wrestle Kate!"

Back in the pool he stood and whispered: "Be gentle. I hate to be beaten by a girl."

He will feel my wrath, and the wrath of millions of Aeons of the vengeful hate of the Slumbering Giant coursing through my body.

The Match began. He was clearly stronger than I was, and I suddenly found myself on the defensive. Luckily, I am small, slippery, and sleek, and he was unable get a hold of me. When he stood to let me wipe the strawberry syrup from my eyes (just as a gentleman, and loser, should) , I dove for his knees, catching him off-balance and raising a tidal wave of blood as he came crashing down, unable to escape the crushing pressure of my fury. I had won.

The Matches continued as I dried my shivering body. "Praise Cthulhu," I whisper, "Cthulhu fhtagn! Ia! Ia!" In the ring, the madness continued: Cthulhu warrior Reina Hardy had illegally jumped into a match. The Slumbering One was pleased as she, Matt Lippert, Mike Ilardi, and Sara Hames brazenly displayed athleticism and lasciviousness in His name.

The night ended with a chant to the glorious rising of Cthulhu. Matt Hoffman tenderly touched the blood oozing out of the scratch mark on his belly. "Cthulu fhtagn," he muttered reverently. It is but a preview of the horrendous capabilities of the gaping maw of the Terrible One. After all our festivities, prayers, and celebrations of Cthulhu, only one question remained: when, oh when, will the Green One devour us?