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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

New York City is like the popular cheerleader in high school who nobody seems to realize is ass ugly. All she's really got going for her is a boob job and a cunt that's open for business 24 hours a day. This is a hideous, godless, heartless town, and I've had just about enough of its prancing around rubbing its cha-chas and loose vagina in my face.Nevertheless, I recently resolved to give New York a second chance.As any good journalist would do (i.e. John Stossel from 20/20), I decided to concoct an elaborate disguise designed to test the capacity of compassion in the hearts of New Yorkers as we near the most beloved holiday in the universe: Christmas.

I took on the guise of an unfortunate: young, preggers, sipping on a mysterious beverage in a brown paper bag, and riding into sweet, sweet flavor country on my noble steed, Virginia Slims. I would sit on the road and ask those passing by for money. The more money I received, the better New Yorkers were in my estimate. And the more crack I could buy.

I sat my bloated ass down in front of Riverside Church, and started a-beggin'. My reasoning behind the church site was simple: church + God = if you don't give me money you will go to hell. I was certain this brilliant strategy would open up their hearts, or at least loosen up their change. I was wrong. At first, I was choosey as to whom I would accept money from. Anyone who looked even remotely as though he/she might speak Spanish I would quickly hide my empty plastic cup from; I'm half Mexican, so I know that whenever a Hispanic person passes a homeless man, woman, child, or monkey, his/her eyes turn to dollar signs and they get grabby. It's a natural Hispanic instinct, much like drinking to the Irish, whoring to the French, and dog-eating to the Canadians. Save for the occasional disgusted shake of the head, nobody was paying any attention to me.New Yorkers were proving themselves to be bastards.

Then it came to me: those Santas in front of Macy's don't get money because they appear to be pregnant, they get money because they are delighting all by ringing that horrible little bell. I didn't have any bells on me, so I put some pennies in my cup and started shaking it with all my might. A single irritating beat wasn't getting me anywhere, so I began playing a medley of favorite songs, from Ace of Base's "Young and Proud" to Styx's "Lady." I earned a good 20 cents and a puzzled look from a girl in my art history class. I noticed a woman approaching me-I was sure I had hit the jackpot. Perhaps she would write me a check. Silly lady! I can't even manage to keep fleas out of my hair, how could I possibly manage a bank account? I giggled at her stupidity.

"Do you know that smoking while you're pregnant is harmful for your child?" I answered, "Bitch, I live in a box right now. A smoker's cough is the least of the little shit's problems." Word. She did not appear to be moved by my reply, and abruptly walked away. I thought she might call social services on me, so it seemed it was time for me to go home.

Twenty cents. That is not nearly enough to buy my love. What kind of sick world are we living in where a homeless coked out pregnant girl spewing obscenities doesn't get free money? Before you shake your head and call to people in encountered in my investigation fascist perverts, take a good long look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself, "Would I do the same?"