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In This Issue

• The Spec's Front Page (PDF)
• Matthew Fox Strips Naked, Insults Graduates
• Krishna vs. Christianity
• Last Book of Potter Pilfered, Rowling "Shocked"
• Secret Society No Longer Secret to Sniffer-Outers of Secrecy
• New York's Preschools Seek Swingset Leaders
• Bitches Got the Right to Shut the Fuck Up
• Before They Were Great Quotations
• An Inconvenient Truth Is Unsafe at Any Speed
• Spectator Copy Editor Shares Typical Evening
• Dancing Tops Crappy American Exports to UK
• Columbia Spectator: Op-Eds (PDF)
• Spec Staff Editorial: What the Fuck, Man
• Spec Sexportations: Delivering Our Children
• Spec PERSPECTIVES: Importance of History
• Spec: Corrections
• Spec: Letters to the Editor
• Prezbo v. Hamiltron
• THEY Watch

Come on man, seriously, I’m 21.  No wait, seriously, I am.  My friends are waiting for me inside dude, don’t do this.

What’s wrong with my I.D., huh?  It’s real, I swear.  Can you tell me what’s not real about it?  Sorry, what’s that?  Say that one more time?  The license number?  It’s real, that’s just how they are in Boston, where I’m from.  Huh, come again?  My address?  It’s uh, I live on Chilhowie, um, the house number has a, a, it starts with an eigh—no, a three!  A three.  It’s four digits long, it’s four or five digits.  It’s not more than six digits.  It’s at least two—damn, stop sweating me, man!  Why the hell wouldn’t I know where I live?

Okay, the ZIP code is supposed to only have three digits.  Dude, have you even been to Boston?  Oh.  Well when you were there, you should have paid attention to the ZIP codes, because that’s how they are.  It’s colonial, you idiot, they got the first ZIP codes.  They added the other two digits for, like, California and Hawaii when they ran out of numbers.

Dude, I didn’t mean that you’re an idiot.  You’re just being sort of a dick when all I want in my life right now on this night is to get in to this bar, man.  My friends are waiting for me inside!  Come on, chief, I know this hot girl that I can call and bring over.  Hot girls in your bar, dude, come on!

Has anyone ever told you that you look like Hurley from Lost?  Wait, dude, get off me, I meant that in a nice way!  You’re thinner, way thinner.  Plus you look a little taller.

What’s it going to take for me to get in, dude?  You want a little, um, pocket relief?  Ow!  I meant money!  Is that a list of party guests?  Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot—I’m invited to the party.  I’m a plus one.  You’ll see it under Washingt—um, Lincoln.  Yeah, Lincoln.  What?  It’s not there?  Oh, sorry, I keep forgetting; it’s a group—two Washingtons and a Lincoln.  They aren’t there either?  What if they’ve got two friends coming over?  Sacagawea and Susan B. Anthony.  No?

Fuck you man, I’m going to Nacho’s.  This place blows anyway.