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In This Issue

• Consent is Sexayy
• You Scan My License, Heights, and I'll Trade Your Margaritas for Drugs
• Club EC
• Barack Obama: Exclusive Interview!
• An Open Letter to the Chick Sleeping Next to Me
• A FED Guide to Celebrity Legal Problems
• Columbia's New Admissions Policy: Fuck All Y'all
• Drawn to Columbia. Quartered Too?
• Top 5 Do's For Next 9/11 (Excerpted from Cosmogirl)
• One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish
• A Tale of Woe and Infinite Sadness
• The Typical Suburban Housewife
• Bollinger's Free Speech Fetish
• The Muppets Take America
• The Priorities of American Media
• The World Leaders Forum is So Gay
• Coming Soon To a Bookstore Near You!
• THEY WATCH
• Got Meth?
• The Staff of 23.1

Arinn Amer

It’s midnight on a Thursday and you’re feeling the $10 Georgi. You and your buddies just finished a riveting game of topless Twister with the “questionable” coeds showcasing the freshman fifteen. Your roommate has long left with the drunk girl from Furnald that “doesn’t party but wants to come out of her shell.” You and the foreign transfer with the thick Indian accent decide that this sucks, the frats suck, and you don’t know any of the seniors in EC. All of a sudden your “Columbia-approved” intelligence kicks in and you realize you’ve yet to try that Florida fake you got from the shady Persian dude at NYU. But don’t fear there’s always one vestige of the wild Columbia party scene that you can count on. It’s the real reason you came to Columbia: the bumping nightlife of Morningside Heights, better known to the avid club hopper as the ““other downtown.”” (Note: bend fingers four times.)

You walk over to the Lion’s Den. Lenny, the guy with long hair, stares at your “identification” and lets you in. The night proceeds like any other night at the bars near campus. Classy drinks, hot girls, famous celebrities, good music, and the ever-sought-after-since-you-left-Carman dance party.

Yet this integral part of our college experience is threatened by an apparent move to increase security at nearby bars and clubs. Scanners are only the first step in a whole slew of changes that plan on making the excessive partying, body shots, and wet t-shirt contests a figment of every Columbia students thriving party life. The bar 1020, popular among Columbia students, plans to unveil their newest initiative: “1020 in 2010.” The changes entail DNA testing by bouncers to make sure that every patron is of legal drinking age. Said management, “We want to create a safe and leisurely environment for our patrons that’s in compliance with the law. We anticipate losing 70% of our income and we spent a good amount of money on the DNA machines. Yeah, it really doesn’t seem like the most profitable idea but Gulati’s class was full and we haven’t learned the whole capitalism idea yet.”

Unfortunately the DNA scanners only work using blood samples and require extensive knowledge of polymerase chain reactions, reverse transcriptions, and RNA isolations. In other news, the black market value of pre-med slaves has jumped to $70,000 (many can be found in dark corners scribbling organic chem labs). In related news, pre-med students are positioned to become the coolest people on campus. Said Raj Patel, president of the pre-med society “I control the alcohol, bitches. No, I’m not a tool.” Upperclassmen are also reaping major benefits from the DNA machines. Sober freshmen have been spotted hooking up with upperclassmen in order to steal DNA samples. Said a freshman outside EC, “Its awesome. I’m cool and I get a cheek swab with my tongue. I get into all the bars.” Unfortunately, scanners also check gender.

DNA testing is not the only new security measure. The Columbia administration plans to turn over your grandma’s contact number to any place with a liquor license in a ten-block radius. Forgot to send Granny a Christmas card? Didn’t always take time to visit when you were home? You’re done. Bouncers now call relatives to confirm the age given by your “driver’s license.” One should hope that grandma’s down with you getting your drink on before letting the bouncer call your bluff and your nana. Make sure grandma’s willing to let the Alzheimer’s kick in and add a couple of years to your age. Come on, she could forget.

Surprisingly, the additional hurdles come as a relief to some campus institutions, namely fraternities. Brothers have found that with the increased difficulty of sneaking into a bar, their houses may be the last hope for underage drinking. Brothers “regulating the stoop“ at Pike have reported record numbers of freshmen rushes. “I mean we had this awesome beach party with some biddies in bikinis and lots and lots of shirtless dudes. There was so much sand, we impressed so many frosh with that one.” Fraternities actually expect to turn down applicants, an event that has not occurred since SigEp turned down Hamilton for chasing his body shot with mimbo (colonial cranberry juice). It seems that freshmen and sophomores are left with no other alternative but to pledge a fraternity or sorority second semester. Just don’t join the one with the shitty beer and lame parties.