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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

Matt Holden

The author.

Despite not technically having enough credits to graduate since Columbia buttfucking U hasn't gotten around to logging my study abroad points, I am still apparently walking in a month. Walking where, I don't know, but my parents, classmates and professors keep talking about this walking business. I imagine it's a more refined version of the drunken stumble I've used as my main mode of transportation for the last four years, but honestly, I'm really not too sure.

Beyond that though, I'm not entirely certain what I'm taking away from this whole experience. In fact, lately I've been demonstrating repeatedly that I'm not so much a departing senior as an incoming freshman (and I mean "in-COMING!"). Two weeks ago, I went to an EC party, drank a lot of vodka and ended up sitting on a pool table in the floor lounge making out with somebody. Nothing like getting it on in full view of all the people walking to and from the elevator. Something a freshman would do, right? You know what else freshmen do? Make out with other freshmen! There I was, twenty two years old, playing tonsil hockey with a guy who was just barely old enough to buy cigarettes.

Go ahead, make fun of me -- but believe me, my suitemates have already more than satisfied the entire world's quota. I woke up in the afternoon with a wicked hangover slunk to the kitchen for the all-important cup of coffee when out of nowhere comes a suitemate who starts humping the wall and screaming, "I wanna fuck me some freshmen!" "Even if it's true," I thought, "must you say it quite so loudly?"

As if that episode weren't enough to confirm my froshiness, take last weekend when I went out and got really drunk. I know, I get drunk every night, but this one was special. After bothering to get all dressed up and go to Hot Jazz (freshman!), I bothered to drink so much champagne that I blacked out, got rejected by the bouncer at Nacho's and threw up all over the hallway of my suite. This is the sort of thing most students get out of their systems as first-years, but I swear to you it's the only time I've thrown up from drinking since I came to Columbia. Twenty-two years old and my party dress ain't even covering my stomach, and for all the wrong reasons.

At my last real Fed Bash last weekend, I took a freshman member of our staff, a budding Fed Goddess, aside to tell her that she was going to inherit the legacy of Fed Chick Hotness and that she would be taking my place as the awesome hilarious sardonic girl (OK, one of them). Later, I told her to go home and have wild butt sex with her boyfriend. She looked at me and said, "I don't want to be you, Julia." Somehow, I again became the freshman and she was the one wise beyond her years.

This, it seems, is what I've learned in college. I'd like to thank the Fed for helping me along with my drinking endeavors, providing me with freshmen to alienate, and for not judging me for being the waste of space that I am. I'm not sure where I'd be without you guys. Probably still in that gutter.

As I spend the last month of college trying not to fail out or end up in St. Lukes getting my stomach pumped, I am remembering the people who meant the most to me during my time here. Since most of them were shadowy figures I fornicated with in the stacks, I can't really thank them all personally. So, I thank my paper, my Fedmates, who can sometimes be bedmates, and my old buddy, whiskey. Without the Fed, I just would have been another useless alcoholic at Columbia. And Allah knows we don't need any more of those. Go with God, my friends, and use protection.