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In This Issue

• Letter From the Editor
• They Watch
• Alcohol.edu Valedictorian Gets Schwasty
• Student Spots Celeb and Doesn’t Flip a Shit; Friends Doubt Her Sanity
• Columbia College First-Year Picks Worst Chair in Classroom
• Columbiascopes
• Class Clown’s Unexpectedly Well-Conceived Joke Falls Flat in LitHum Class
• Tweets of the Week
• Black Friday: A Nocturnal Dad In The AM
• The First Danksgiving Miracle
• Santa Claus is actually Jewish
• What Do You Think?
• “A Rugrats Chanukah” Cures Anti-Semitism
• The Yellow Term Paper
• #ivyleagueproblems
• If You Tweet in the Forest, Does it Make a Sound?
• New Elder Scrolls Game Released “For Nefarious Pro-Capitalist Agenda,” Crackpot Says
• Dance for me, Millie
• How to Increase the Utility of Your Bathroom When You're Shitfaced
• Adventures on DateMySchool.com
• Decoded
• Ask Mark
• Heart2Heart “Facebook Official”
• Reviews of Movies We Haven't Seen Yet: Jack and Jill
• “American Horror Story” is Actually Crazy
• “Dance Moms”: Small Girls, Big Hair

Come children, gather round the fire on this crisp November day. Enjoy your pie and cider and I will share with you the age old tale of our ancestor’s first thanksgiving. That auspicious day when they first broke bread with the savages and sowed the seeds of this great nation of ours.

Haha, why yes young Jedidiah, that’s right, there was a time when it was ok to associate with non-whites, isn’t that silly! But you must understand children, that these were dire times. We had come over on the Mayflower, buoyed by god’s hand across the wild ocean to make a new home on this barren continent.

And barren it was, as barren as my dry, dusty womb. The pilgrims struggled for months, trying to discover which seeds the petulant soil would accept. One farmer’s young son, whom his peers called Broseph, took a chance and planted a small garden with the seeds that his older brother had hidden in his sock drawer and told him not to mention to their mother.

To Broseph’s delight, the garden thrived and when his crop was harvested, the pilgrims found that while, the crop could not be eaten, it was useful for other purposes. When dried and smoked...well, to be honest children, our records are a bit hazy on this subject. In fact, we don’t even know what this crop was rightfully called. Certain nonsensical journal entries refer to it as “dank” and “heady” but those are the only references we have.

What we do know is that while the crop made the pilgrims better off in some respects, it also made clear that their current harvesting practices were not sustainable. There was simply not enough food to go around. They were starving and things were not looking good. They tried all different manner of bizarre foods. We have references to them scavenging for “doritos” and “chipsahoy”. No doubt the desperate ramblings of starving men.

One day, when things were looking especially grim, a small party set out into the forest in one last push to find a food source. They happened upon a young native American boy. Usually, they would never interact with a redskin, but obviously these were extenuating circumstances.

Broseph desperately told the injun, “dude take us to your people, we need some food like stat!” The injun walked towards Broseph, a look of understanding in his eye. He took the desperate youth by the shoulder, and a friendship was born. Broseph showed his herb to Squanto and suddenly Squanto said, in perfect English “Duuuuddddeee, thank god you’re here, we’ve been dry for weeks!” Now children, this common language may have been a bit of artistic license on our ancestor’s parts, but they included the note that “injuns just speak the same language, man.

As their eyes became as red as the native’s skin, a tacit understanding was reached between the two groups. The Pilgrims returned to the native encampment a few days later with some a couple dozen “dime bags”, an old-timey unit of measurement, and traded Squanto and his people for buckets of corn and a whole turkey.

In gratitude, Squanto introduced the Pilgrims to the ritual of the peace pipe. After the new friends had smoked this wonderful herb, they found themselves in want of nourishment. A feast was prepared.

Heaps of “instant potatoes”, “fun onions”, fresh corn, ocean spray cranberry sauce, and of course turkey. Squanto, not quite contented, called on Broseph to passed to “pass the dutchie,” apparently an old term for bowl. As Broseph scraped the bottom of the potato bowl, he passed it to Squanto saying “Shit’s cashed bro” and they refilled the bowl and it was good.

And that, children, is how the tradition that we celebrate today began! Isn’t it wonderful. Now, go help your cousin’s set the table and prepare a youtube playlist of dubstep and cats while your parents and I, umm, go for a quick walk. Now where’s my lighter?