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In This Issue

• The Sex Strike: Year Three
• Your Neighbors’ Christmas Lights & Personalities
• Excerpts from “A Jigsaw Christmas Carol”
• Festivalia 2006-2007 (Part Two of a Two-Part Series)
• Things to do with THE FED (besides reading it)
• An Erotic Channukah For The Hot Maccabee In You
• In A Land Of “Wonderful Christmastime,” The Seeds Of Discontent Form In A Chinese Drug
• Columbionics
• Inability to work v. Lateness
• Santa Outsources to China
• They Watch
• The Staff of 23.4

Yo mama’s going on a date. Can you dig that? A date. A nice restaurant, some fine music. Can you dig that? She’s going on a date and she’s going with me. Can you dig that?

I: Finals wouldn’t be finals without some sort of narcotic abuse. But halfway through coffee no. 3, after taking another swig from my bottle of Adderall, the reality of the two consecutive exams beginning in approximately five hours sinks in. A buncha grad students are doing heroin in the Butler bathroom stall, but the mushrooms I took earlier start giving me a boost. Meanwhile as my econ professor starts screaming equations at me from inside my coffee cup, I stare a little more at the book, but it gets increasingly more difficult to concentrate with all the whispering. The talking walls of Butler = THEY!

II: T-minus two hours to the final, and it’s still only chapter three of the book. I crack open another Red Bull and start griding my incisors.  dfgzfxgxzdfxgh. Another line of speed with the rabbit living in the stacks and I get to chapter four, but suddenly pass out on the desk. Shit piss fuck cocksucker cunt motherfucker tits. Minutes later I awake to find I slept through the start of the final and am running barefoot over south lawn towards Schermerhorn. The pronounced shriek as I gallop through the classroom door turns several heads, but the cold, condescending stare of the professor melts my innards as I stand. His eye swells like a balloon, extending from its socket as I slump back into the chair, blue book in hand. This is now. The finals stand around me, cloaked and silent. They watch me as I stare  back at them, a sliver of drool down my cheek. Finals = THEY!