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In This Issue

• Young and In Heat
• Teen Talk
• Way Embarassing Stories From Teens Like You!
• Letters to the Feditor
• You're Bleemin' Thin!
• New, Finger-Eatin' Good Diet!
• Pot Calls Kettle Black, Gag Ball Calls Assless Chaps Gay
• Sequels: Always Better Than Originals
• Boy Bands: Our Saviors
• Barbara Bush is a Dead Bitch
• H&M: We're So Hip!
• Beauty is in the Red, Tearful Eye of the Beholder
• Pity the Lowly Rock Dove
• Do-It-Yourself Object of Love
• Ode to a Spill-Proof Mug
• Mouse and Cat: World Series Prep
• Revolve: The *New* New Testament
• Fed Insider with Grown-Up Teen Idol Rider Strong
• Jewry Blocks Masturbation
• The 9 Train
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.1

Mike Bredin

For anyone, who has early morning classes, the intake of coffee is an essential part of the morning ritual. Any caffeine-addicted college student knows that starting the day without coffee is like breathing without oxygen; difficult and slightly dangerous. A piece of me dies each time I sit through extended lectures without my beloved mood altering stimulant. Attending hours of classes listening to professors verbally defecate all over your morning without a large fix of caffeine is what I like to call “slow suicide”. As a result of this – dare I say it – obsession, I’ve grown to appreciate any and all inventions, and institutions that provide easy access to caffeine in all shapes, sizes, and forms. However, despite my love of coffee, I recognize its burdens. It is rather difficult to carry a java, along with mountains of textbooks, unstapled papers, a switchblade and a can of pepper spray (just in case), back and forth from classes, without spilling coffee all over my carefully planned outfits.

One morning, as I stood on the endless line that eventually reaches the Blue Java in Butler Library, I noticed that they were selling refillable, spill-proof mugs. I began to make the mental calculations and concluded that 99 cents daily would sustain my addiction, conserve my wardrobe, and help me save my precious Columbia points to use on other staples of life, such as chocolate. The cup would pay for itself and I would get more caffeine in the long run. So, after careful consideration, I bought the “Library Friendly” mug, filled it with coffee and skipped happily to my next class.

I was elated. I began to ponder over all the things I could do with a spill-proof mug. I could drink coffee upside down. I could drink it on the town. I could balance it on my head. I could drink it in my bed. I could drink while jumping off a plane. I could drink it in the rain. I could buy more mugs and learn to juggle. This truly is a wonderful mug…le?

All these thoughts swirling through my head gave me a warm sensation inside my heart that traveled through my veins and flowed to all my limbs, inside of them…and outside? What the fuck! I looked down at my legs and thought for a second that I had urinated on myself out of excitement, a situation that would have been mildly distressing. However, I was distraught when I realized it was coffee, not urine. Confused, I searched for the source of evil. It couldn’t possibly have come from me. My spill-proof mug was impermeable, impervious. Impossible! I continued to deny, deny, deny until I had exhausted all possible explanations as to how the coffee ended up in my lap.

Confusion turned to rage as I stared at my, no longer white, skirt. Spill-proof my ass! I turned around and headed to my room and began plotting all the things I could do to my spill-proof mug. I could bury it under a tree. I could fill it up with pee. I could toss it from up high. I can’t kill it, but I’ll try. I could do something very rash. I could stick it in my…trash? Yeah that works.

My rage slowly subsided and I disposed of my short-lived companion. I sighed as I reminisced on the memories we never had. I shed a tear, as I faced the reality, that my dreams of professional mug-juggling would never be realized. And as I watched its light blue façade fade away, into the deep abyss of the garbage can, I said one final goodbye, to the friend that failed me…

Fuck that! I loved my skirt more than that back-stabbing, rip-off! I carefully placed my trash can in front of Butler Library and set the bitch on fire. As the scent of charred plastic filled my lungs, I felt a strange sensation of euphoria and began to wonder what the art of pyrotechnics could offer me. I pondered this new thought as I sipped my iced java and walked slowly back to my room.