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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

Much much better than Joe Liebermann.

Hey, girls! Are you disillusioned with the Columbia dating scene? Is date rape just an anagram for repeat? You bet your hypothalamus it almost is. Only a short time ago, I was in your position. I had just had my heart broken by another second-rate Columbia whimpster (not even a real, badass New York whimpster) whose idea of dating involved trips to John Jay, obscure and unpleasant music, and "just hanging out," i.e. me working against time to get us sufficiently fucked up for him to realize what my least favorite philosopher Foucault was really getting at: that we should just have sex and go to sleep.  I was crushed when he dumped me, but after the tears and the flaying, I started to look on the bright side: I had acquired almost enough whimpster pelts to make a pretty wallet! Better yet, I then had a stunning realization: this path was leading nowhere.  In order to find true happiness, I  needed to go where few girls have gone, but so many should: the wonderful world of monster dating. 

Now before you start throwing out negativisms by telling me monsters "eat people" or "aren't real," let me tell you about my  relationship with Gollum. Unlike most of the tortured-yet-caring guys I've dated, he's not just pretending to be fucked up so I'll feel bad and sleep with him. Oh no; Gollum's issues are for real. Not only does this poor afflicted soul truly need me, he also brings an exhilarating variety to our time together. Before I can get bored with the wimpy Gollum, he has changed into a vicious, rampaging animal who bites the heads off things (and the allusions to head don't stop there, if you know what I mean!). He's no skinnier than the humans I've dated, and ever so much more dynamic. The guy has synergy, and that's why I am glad to call Gollum my preciousss.

Nevertheless, dating Gollum can be emotionally draining, especially since I found out he was a senator in my home state, Connecticut (I don't like anything that reminds me of my awkward pre-college, pre-monster years). So for a bit more emotional and geographical distance, I hop across the pond for a rendezvous with Count Dracula. His suave manner provides a nice contrast to Gollum's incessant whining/hissing sounds, and his accent is really sexy. Dining at Dracula's sumptuous table, I sometimes wonder how I ever settled for those microwaved vegan Boca Burgers I had to  excavate myself from whimpster's freezer. His hickies are admittedly worse than ones I've received in the past, but at least he only takes my blood and not my dignity, my Sunday afternoons, or my fucking Nick Cave t-shirt. Dracula understands I'm under a lot of pressure at school. Dracula has hundreds of years of experience pleasing women! And Dracula hates Foucault.

I also have a very, very occasional thing going with Chupacabra, the goatsucker. He's a spicy Latin monster with a fabu-lous country bungalow down in Mexico. Okay, so it's more of a hut in the woods where he hides when villagers chase after him with pitchforks, but it's really quite cozy. He's a little too kinky even for my tastes most of the time though, so I don't see him much anymore. Most of the time.

Dating three guys at once, you ask? You slut! Don't you think they'll ever find out about each other? Never fear, my littleing nue. One of the best things about dating monsters is that most of them live on different planes of existence, so there will be no more of those unpleasant encounters at Ferris Reel's screening of American Splendor when your Friday fuck buddy glares a hole through your Thursday dandy's head and you have to politely excuse yourself to check your mail before surreptitiously calling an assassin and having them both killed. With monster dating, it's waste not, want not!

The only thing you must remember is to always, always use proper birth control. There's nothing worse than making it past the right-to-life crazies into an abortion clinic, only to have your doctor ask you pesky questions like "Why did I burn my hand on your two-week old fetus?" "Why is it grinning at me like that?" and "DEAR GOD, will someone PLEASE get it OFF ME?!" Now that's just awkward.

Other than that, have fun! Seriously, the sky's the limit. You can thank me when you're traveling to new worlds and having so many hip achingly, ass-grindingly satisfying orgasms that you don't even care if your whimpster-wallet ever gets finished. Once you've had black (the black arts, that is) you'll never dare to go back. Take it from me, your guide to the sexy-scary ones, or as my friends have started calling me, Ms. Satisfied.