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In This Issue
- Editorial Staff, Cartoonist Apologize for Comic
- Spec Buggers Queer Coverage
- Contraceptive Addiction: The Next Big Thing
- Letters to the Feditrix
- BOSS Leader on Racism
- Fed Editor on Racism
- Howard Dean Broke my Heart
- More on Columbia Security Department
- Lasers Make Atlanta Almost Cool
- Barnard Student Government Shows Resolution
- Jesus: Zombie Demigod Beloved By All
- Fundamentally Funny Bible Games
- Fed Fun Guide to Columbia Campus
Howard Dean Broke my Heart
Dean Reaffirms Young People's Commitment to Apathy
Sam Jenning
Howard fucking Dean, you neckless, scumsucking, no-account sorry excuse of a man. You lured me into bed with you with your wild promises of universal health care, a smarter tax code, intelligent diplomacy, environmental responsibility, and by taking a two by four to President Bush's head. And then what. Things don't go your way and you just up and leave in the middle of the night. Not so much as even a goodbye kiss or a "Thanks sugar, your money's on the dresser". You fuck. If this is the way you're going to treat me, then we're through. It's over. I'm leaving before you can hurt me again. Howard goddamn Dean, you took my money, and then you broke my heart.
That's right, and I want my money back. Without contributions from impressionable, wide-eyed pretty little things like myself, you wouldn't have been able to traipse around the country pretending to be such a big man. So I'm putting my foot down. Give me back my money. All fifteen dollars... that I spent at a "Students for Dean" fundraising party... on booze.
Granted, I would have spent that money on drugs or alcohol anyways, but I would have done it for me, not you. I was only trying to impress you; I wanted you to notice me. "Look, Howard! Look how much I can drink for you!" I said. Did you care? Probably not. But I convinced myself that you did just so our already failing affair could keep staggering along, like a dog that‘s been hit by a car. Howard, I was that dog. And you and your promises were that car. And you weren't even a nice car. You were a Hyundai, an old Hyundai, so old that your attractive warranty had expired. Also, you hadn't been vacuumed in years and there were all sorts of loose change and bits of food, just floating around all over your back seat. And I still didn't have the self-respect to keep myself from getting hit by your busted-ass car.
I want to take back all the time we spent together. I want all those hours I spent deleting "Dean for America" emails, I want the twenty minutes I wasted when I first signed up on your website, and I want the other ten minutes it took for me to register on MeetUp. Remember all those MeetUp parties in the DC area over the summer? I want to take back the few moments when I even considered attending one of those $50 minimum contribution events where you grace the attendees with a phone call. It's a good thing I was too poor to hang around with your friends; they would have abandoned me in the end, just like you did.
The biggest injustice here is that I almost registered to vote. You heard me. Thanks to all your big talk, I went and filled out a voter registration form. Because of all your promises to fix this country and execute a flying pile driver on George W. Bush, I put down my party affiliation as "Democrat"- just in case I had to be a registered Dem in order to support you in the primary. You know what? I'm glad I was too lazy to actually mail that fucker in because you turned out to be all talk and no game.
Shit. I was feeling good about hitting the sack with Dr. Dean every night. I had everything I wanted: A candidate with good ideas, a good track record, strong principles, popular support, an alliterative title (Dr. Dean rolls off the tongue... if you know what I mean...), and a barely suppressed homicidal fury. Yeah, I saw those other candidates running around, talking shit. There was that Kucinich fella. Psht. I knew you could have taken him in a fight. In fact, when he asked for my vote, I was kind of hoping you'd fly into a jealous rage and tear him a new asshole. You know, just to show that you still cared about me. But you just stood there while that vegan candyass sidled up to me and tried to mack. I went home crying tears of burning shame that night. Of course, it's perfectly obvious now why you didn't stand up for me: you're a dickless quitter. That's right. I'm drunk enough now to say it, and I don't care who hears me: HOWARD DEAN HAS NO PENIS. It's true. I was keeping up pretenses just to try to preserve my dignity, but when the lights were off, and I was snuggled up to "Dr. Dean, Love Machine, MD", well, lemme tell you it was nothing to write home about.
Oh god... this is what you do to me, Howard. It's only one in the afternoon but I've been drinking since you left. Life without you is hard. I'm in a lot of pain and I don't know how to handle it. I know Wisconsin was a tough loss, baby, I know. And I was there for you, I really was. All you had to do was call. But you left me. You just up and left me with nothing. I've been drinking PBR and watching Wrestlemania classics since four AM and it's all I can do to stay sane. Sometimes, if I squint real hard, the wrestlers look and sound like you and I don't feel so alone. I'm sorry I yelled, honey. I really am. I miss you so much. I'll be waiting for you, Howard. Just promise you'll never leave me again. Voterkins wants his love doctor back.
That's right, and I want my money back. Without contributions from impressionable, wide-eyed pretty little things like myself, you wouldn't have been able to traipse around the country pretending to be such a big man. So I'm putting my foot down. Give me back my money. All fifteen dollars... that I spent at a "Students for Dean" fundraising party... on booze.
Granted, I would have spent that money on drugs or alcohol anyways, but I would have done it for me, not you. I was only trying to impress you; I wanted you to notice me. "Look, Howard! Look how much I can drink for you!" I said. Did you care? Probably not. But I convinced myself that you did just so our already failing affair could keep staggering along, like a dog that‘s been hit by a car. Howard, I was that dog. And you and your promises were that car. And you weren't even a nice car. You were a Hyundai, an old Hyundai, so old that your attractive warranty had expired. Also, you hadn't been vacuumed in years and there were all sorts of loose change and bits of food, just floating around all over your back seat. And I still didn't have the self-respect to keep myself from getting hit by your busted-ass car.
I want to take back all the time we spent together. I want all those hours I spent deleting "Dean for America" emails, I want the twenty minutes I wasted when I first signed up on your website, and I want the other ten minutes it took for me to register on MeetUp. Remember all those MeetUp parties in the DC area over the summer? I want to take back the few moments when I even considered attending one of those $50 minimum contribution events where you grace the attendees with a phone call. It's a good thing I was too poor to hang around with your friends; they would have abandoned me in the end, just like you did.
The biggest injustice here is that I almost registered to vote. You heard me. Thanks to all your big talk, I went and filled out a voter registration form. Because of all your promises to fix this country and execute a flying pile driver on George W. Bush, I put down my party affiliation as "Democrat"- just in case I had to be a registered Dem in order to support you in the primary. You know what? I'm glad I was too lazy to actually mail that fucker in because you turned out to be all talk and no game.
Shit. I was feeling good about hitting the sack with Dr. Dean every night. I had everything I wanted: A candidate with good ideas, a good track record, strong principles, popular support, an alliterative title (Dr. Dean rolls off the tongue... if you know what I mean...), and a barely suppressed homicidal fury. Yeah, I saw those other candidates running around, talking shit. There was that Kucinich fella. Psht. I knew you could have taken him in a fight. In fact, when he asked for my vote, I was kind of hoping you'd fly into a jealous rage and tear him a new asshole. You know, just to show that you still cared about me. But you just stood there while that vegan candyass sidled up to me and tried to mack. I went home crying tears of burning shame that night. Of course, it's perfectly obvious now why you didn't stand up for me: you're a dickless quitter. That's right. I'm drunk enough now to say it, and I don't care who hears me: HOWARD DEAN HAS NO PENIS. It's true. I was keeping up pretenses just to try to preserve my dignity, but when the lights were off, and I was snuggled up to "Dr. Dean, Love Machine, MD", well, lemme tell you it was nothing to write home about.
Oh god... this is what you do to me, Howard. It's only one in the afternoon but I've been drinking since you left. Life without you is hard. I'm in a lot of pain and I don't know how to handle it. I know Wisconsin was a tough loss, baby, I know. And I was there for you, I really was. All you had to do was call. But you left me. You just up and left me with nothing. I've been drinking PBR and watching Wrestlemania classics since four AM and it's all I can do to stay sane. Sometimes, if I squint real hard, the wrestlers look and sound like you and I don't feel so alone. I'm sorry I yelled, honey. I really am. I miss you so much. I'll be waiting for you, Howard. Just promise you'll never leave me again. Voterkins wants his love doctor back.