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In This Issue

• Spec to Columnist: Blow Yourself
• Vote Phil "Shuttlecock" Steigman
• Magic Cards Not Key to Happy Sex Life
• Letters to the Editor
• FU Foundation Unveils New Logo Wear
• Lerner Elevators vs. ROLM phones - The Final Battle
• Regime Change at The Fed
• Whoah It's A Scary Roach!
• Nerd Wizard Levels Up on Girl at Bar
• A Pleasant Star Wars DVD Fantasy
• Imaginary Superhuman Boyfriend Tell-All!
• Marauding Interviewer: Will You Take These Pills?
• Make Your Own Flamethrower or AIDS Drugs From the Web
• Freshman Magical Mystery Tour of Columbia
• Erotic Mad Libs
• Adventures of Ice Bitch II
• Catch As Catch Can
• Stickman Theatre
• Lord of The Rings Party
• Dining at Columbia, Mob Style
• Crane Droppings
• THEY WATCH

Upon coming to Columbia, we Freshmen/First Years (or as I refer to us, "Suckers") found that all sorts of people were offering us helpful hints and trying to tell us vital things. But, in spite of the efforts of so many, some vital things were still left out. I would like to take this opportunity to remedy that leaving out and take everyone on a Magical Mystery Tour of Columbia University. Step right up and get your drogas mis amigos! Here we go!

The first stop on the Magical Mystery Tour is your bathroom. (You've probably got a bladder problem, or stink, or something, so I have made this the first stop for your convenience). The toilets can be considered acceptable if you use your powers of fantasy to imagine yourself in a parallel universe in which humans are constructed from vomit and feces. Also, every incoming student should know that your shower will squirt like an eighty year old man on his anniversary prior to the advent of Viagra. Or, if you're lucky, it will shoot daggers of pain into your body. Once I thought that daggers of pain could only be thrown, but the horrible truth is that they can also be shot, directly into your back or stomach as you struggle to avoid the crushing torrent in an upright tile coffin of doom. But this can actually be a positive thing. I have always wondered what Civil Rights protestors felt as they were blasted with fire-hoses, and this gives me the chance to live out those magical fantasies. So fight The Man in your shower, my brother (especially if he's trying to? you know? get frisky. Tee-hee!).

Ah, here we come to another little something I want to inform the Suckers about, a dangerous secret that the upperclassmen thought they could keep from our little freshmen eyes. This is the phenomena known as tai-chi meditating, or whatever those guys and gals do on the Furnald lawn. Don't look too hard though Magical Tour-ians! At first you may think, "Ooooo, watching people relax is relaxing." But soon you can't stop. You find yourself drawn into relaxation with them. I refer to this as the "those-things-from-the-Odyssey-that-sing-and-shit-ah-what-are-they-called-?-no-of-course-I-did-my-reading-really-I-um-...-ah-crap-I'm-not-getting-any-tonight-from-my-Lit-hum-prof" effect. I discovered the secret to the allure of this dark underbelly of Columbia when I realized that the man who often directs the activities is that master guy from Red Sonja and Kwai Chang's master from Kung Fu (The original show, of course. The Legend Continues was a piece of shit. I mean, dude, have you ever seen it? You haven't?! Get back in your seat you stupid tourist!). Any way you slice it, that guy died years ago.

Next stop on the Magical Mystery Tour is your room! Yes, your room is built from cotton candy that has been used to wipe the ass of all creation for 100 or so years, but who has a room that isn't these days? This is NYC for Muhammad's sake. All told, I think it's a sweet deal; it may be almost nine grand, but you get room, board, and all the mutant rats you can catch and eat. Look, there goes one now, eating your laundry! Shh, let it go! And don't let it smell your fear, or it'll probably eat your soul.

This ends our wondrous Magical Mystery Tour, but let me impart to you some valuable advice that my AA sponsor gave me before I had a relapse, which is probably the most important thing everyone forgot to tell us about school: "There is no such thing as a promising up-and-comer in your school, or in any other school really. The future, she is a lady, or as the French say, an "omlette," and that lady "omlette" of the future can really only result in two things: You either come or you don't. Promises don't mean a thing."