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In This Issue

• Todurken: Hot Poultry Threesome
• New York City Hates The Homeless (Surprise!)
• Pope Lives It Up In Final Days
• Letters to the Feditrix: We Want Orangutans!
• Columbia's Investments Are Really Shady (Another Surprise!)
• Italian Neo-Fascism: Sexier than Ever
• Hidden Origins of your Favorite Holidays
• Macy's Parade Unites Jaded New Yorkers in Disgust
• Slow Motion Gunfight Saves Christmas
• Barnard Feminists Full of It (You Guessed It!)
• Reality TV to follow Nike's Lead, Exploit Third World Women
• Fed Staffer Admits Inappropriate Santa Fantasies
• Family Time Blows (Got you Again!)
• The Obligatory Vegan Option: Tofurky
• Why Holiday Diversity Scares Me
• A Paris Hilton Holiday Comic
• Your Retirement Fund
• Silent Vengeance: Book II
• Wacky Fun Whitey
• Robot Ninjas vs. Zombie Vikings

As a student at an all-female school, I'd just like to say how much I've been enjoying my college experience. Thus far, I have come to the conclusion that Barnard College is the perfect place to attend if you want to do your part to overcome white male oppression, maybe hook up with that special someone in your Historiography of the Vulva class, but still get that MRS degree at the end of four years via CC. (Hell, they even provide us with an oh-so-convenient back up. If you've waited till you're midway through your senior thesis before contemplating the rest of your life, you can always run over to SEAS for a quickie, and a pre-whipped, guaranteed,-high-income spouse-to-be.) Barnard College: the women's college where you can juggle forays into homosexuality, while still remaining a virtuous straight girl and future soccer mom at heart.

It's the ideal place to go to find girls who can quote verbatim from A Room of One's Own. Girls who would definitely put rape and/or sexual assault on their list of turn-offs. And of course, girls who have perfected the, ÒWell...no, now that you mention it, I don't really like the idea of living someplace where menstruation through sewn labia is a regular thing but I don't think I'd call myself a feminist shtick. Yes, we've learned the way to a man's heart: making ourselves into a complete shell of a person. Even the odd SEAS chick has more pride in her vulva. No, indeed, the girls at Barnard haven't burned their bridges (or their bras) yet. They know where their meal ticket is: the oh-so-desirable and sexy Columbia FLEX account. Case in point: recently overheard in Hewitt, "Ohmigod, I am so jealous! You're losing weight and you have a new boyfriend!" It's good to see that Barnard womyn know their priorities: getting dominated by a Columbia man is so much easier when you've got the strength, intelligence, and easily labeled anatomy of a stick figure.

Sure, we stash as many strap-on dildos, amyl nitrates, and Ani DiFranco CDs under our roommates' beds freshman year as anyone at the other Seven Sisters...but we don't broadcast our homoerotic experimentation. (Indeed, we won't risk being mistaken for lesbians by hot eligible CC guys by going to Conversio Virium to pick up strap-ons. It's all about risking our virginity to venture into sex shops in the Village after dark.) And yeah, we'll do Take Back the Night for the feminist resume padding. But later that night, it's lie back and take it, bitch. Because hey, how else do we get that free meal at JJ's?

Admittedly, Barnard chicks lack most of the advantages of their CC counterparts. No access to the L&R classes for those early morning hook-ups for us. No meaningful looks while bitching about the Lit Hum syllabus this year. The closest you get at Barnard is staring across at your fellow first-year students in seminar and wondering if screwing that small breasted Asian chick would put you over the edge on the Kinsey scale. So what choice does an enterprising young freshman make? Does she maintain a dignified, above-all-that stance? I believe that the ability of BC students to swallow convincing one-liners, among other things, at bars says it all. You know, you're not like the other Barnard chicks. Or in other words: It only takes a few minutes of painful unwanted sodomy before most girls start wondering about the Rape Hotline number- bet you could go all night!

So, to conclude: if you're an earnest young pseudo-feminist, take the plunge, become one of us: come to Barnard. And if you're a nubile young thing who's going to quietly dig into her parent's savings account and take a trip into West Harlem when she does get knocked up all the better. So all of you future BC chicks out there, take heart. One day, you too can become a strong Barnard woman who knows all about how to communicate with her sexual partner, yet for whom the phrase, "I'm really not in the mood tonight," would be too much.