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In This Issue

• Latvia, Land of Style and Lip-Hair, Too
• Liquids Banned
• Coke: Who Snorts What
• Hate for the Hate Squad
• Tales of the Inexpressible - Part I
• Al Franken Talks, Frankly
• Eggs Run with Claims of Cracker Nazis
• A Spears-Federline Manifesto
• What Goes on in my Head While I Get Paid to Pick Pine Needles out of the Gravel at my Local Country Club
• Hairless Man
• University to Fund Loan Elimination by Selling Drugs
• Proclamations from the Desk of Most Glorious Marshal Lee Bollinger
• Poland Ruined Everything
• Prez-Bo
• Tales of the Inexpressible - Part II
• Da Vinci Code Confirms Church Can't Tell Fiction From Non-Fiction
• On My Early Fame
• Able to Fuck My Anus in a Single Pound
• THEY WATCH

Kimi Traube

President Lee Bollinger does not adibe liquids on campus.

It was a dark day in Columbia's history. In front of Low Library, members of every campus publication had been waiting since four in the morning. The assembled press was silent as our liebchen, President Bollinger, emerged from Low. Tears welled up in his eyes.  Everyone leaned forward to hear the words of our brave leader and his semi-sentient hair. His hair rose and surveyed us with silent resignation. "My students, my friends, Orchesis. There comes a time in every president of Columbia's tenure when he must make a decision relevant to the student body. This is one of those days." We held our breath. Was he going to make a statement about diversity on campus? Or maybe Manhattanville? This was going to be news. "Due to the recent threats against America, I have decided to ban liquids from the Columbia campus. That is all."  This was big. Big like Uris not taking Dining Dollars anymore. I rushed to obtain the details.

"A liquid" is defined as a grouping of atoms who were once together (not "Facebook relationship" together) but now think that they should "just be friends." This results in an awkward and uneasy tension between the atoms (with occasional drunken ionizations) but none of the "you stole my electron" or "you gave me syphilis" attitude of  gases. Now that the class is informed, the hard-hitting, incisive journalism can begin in earnest.

Before actually talking to any members of the University I had to take what we campus journalists call the "Prezbo Administrative  Challenge." The test begins with a "GUTS" Aggro Crag challenge,  then a quick test on the classics, and finally you must battle Dean Yatrakis to the death with only a tongue depressor for a weapon. (The key to victory is knowing she has an insatiable desire for rotting animal flesh.) After my lengthy-fought battle, I was awarded the greatest honor a campus paper reporter can receive, a meeting with assistant to the assistant to the president of Columbia. That's 42nd in Columbia's Presidential Line of Succession - right after the desk attendant at EC, but before Roaree the Lion!  (For his part, Roaree is the ex officio executor of the provost's will).

I was greeted rather harshly with "What the hell do you want?" I was slightly taken aback, amd unable to reply. AAP (Assistant to the Assistant to the President) Langston quickly withdrew his anger: "I'm sorry about that, but I'm not allowed to have coffee anymore, so I've been sucking on discount beef bullion cubes. It puts me in a pissy mood." I gingerly approached his "Heros of Western Literature" bobble-head-covered desk. "The whole liquid ban is really a pain in the ass for everyone. Believe me, I've been against it from day one." I was confused ... I thought that the liquid ban was merely a recent development in the policies of Columbia University. When I asked the AAP about this he was startled. "You don't know? Big Papa Lee (a twinkle of lust sparked in his eyes) has had it out for liquids ever since he was a wee little president of Columbia University. I remember him at age five. He had just had his first meeting with an international leader that morning and was settling down for brunch. He was such a happy young president, full of pep and moxie in copious amounts (sigh). But then disaster struck. I brought him his usual coffee made from only the most pure tears of the innocent, just like any other day. But today his spill-proof mug proved to be only nigh spill-proof. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I can still hear his screams."

Astounded that this issue had such a history, I pressed the now visibly distraught AAP for more information on this astounding story. "Well first he started damning all of thermodynamics for allowing things to be hot and not just warm, then he asked me why I couldn't have brought him his coffee in a solid form. I tried to explain to him that it just wasn't possible without freezing it. I tried for weeks to find a solution to his problem, coffee Jello, coffee bars, coffee bean pie, but nothing would satisfy his thirst. Then our young president brought forth an idea of bureaucratic genius. If science couldn't solve his problem he would simply legislate it away. If he wanted to have his coffee in solid form all he had to do was make liquids on campus illegal and solid coffee would follow." At this point, the AAP finished and swallowed the bullion cube in his mouth and reached for another one from the slowly dwindling pile on his desk. "The rest was just a waiting game.... He waited until the time was right and made the move. You have to respect a man with that kind of patience." I agreed and politely excused myself from the room.

There you have it, right from the lion's mouth. There will be no more liquids on campus, though we may benefit from solid coffee in the near future. We cannot know the repercussions this action will have. Just yesterday, I heard rumors that a student group called SLOCC (Students for Liquids on Columbia Campus) plans to attack the president. At the same time, there are rumors of new fundamentalist groups being formed to fight the teaching of liquid theory on campus. Stay tuned for further developments in this enthralling saga.