• Join The Fed
• Advertise with The Fed

• About Us
• Contact

In This Issue

• Stephan Vincenzo: 2 Legendary 2 Die
• Columbia College Graduation Replaced by Job Fair
• Confessions of a Poppy Seed Eater
• Senior Wisdom: The Adventurous One
• Senior Wisdom: The Nostalgic One
• Senior Wisdom: The Old One
• Warning: Social Ruin May Occur
• "39 Steps" to Successful Comedy
• A Letter to the T.A. Currently Fellating Me
• Bored at Butler
• God Ashes on Europe
• YEEAAAAHH
• got meth?
• Letter From the Feditors
• They Watch
• The Staff of the Federalist

Dear Ma'am,

From the very bottom of my heart, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. Ever since I was a little boy, I've wanted to get with a teaching assistant. Other boys' wet dreams starred vixens like the Little Mermaid or big jars of marshmallow fluff. Mine involved semi-foreign graduate students leading poorly attended discussion sections (and of course the fluff as well). For my eighteenth birthday my best friend even got me a stripper dressed as a T.A.-I told her to keep her clothes on; it was more erotic that way.

When I first came to Columbia four years ago, I was full of hope. I expected to fulfill my deepest desires within weeks. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that making my dreams a reality was no easy feat. Despite many tries, I could never find a way into my steamy Shangri-La. It was so frightfully frustrating. Everything seemed worthless. I mean, what is the point of Frontiers of Science if it can't get you past the final frontier? I spent many an empty night, with my lonely penis just hanging there like David Carradine.

Semester after disheartening semester, I lusted after my personal questing beast. I fantasized about sensual exam review sessions and carnal office hours. It seemed that I would never feel the scintillating pleasure of an aspiring academic scribbling comments on my ass.

By senior year, I still had not experienced the bliss of conquest. Fear consumed me. Would I end college a failure? I considered taking on another major to buy myself more time. My advisor wouldn't allow me to. Desperate and lonely, I turned to old episodes of "Desperate Housewives" and Justin Bieber music to drown my sorrows. I was weak. I needed them. I'm not proud of it.

Then, mere weeks before graduation, you opened up to me like a gift from heaven. Thanks to your help, I will march down the aisle with my head held high, because I have caught my white whale. So once again, thank you.

Sincerely,
Adam Weiler