Volume XXXII • Issue 5 • February 2017
the FEDERALIST Columbia’s Only Newspaper Founded By a Supreme Court Nominee. Seriously.
THE STAFF Feditors-in-Chief: Iqraz Nanji Max Rosenberg Managing Editors: Thomas Germain Ben Greenspan Head Submissions Editor: Cameron Averill Submissions Editors: Dallas Koelling Benjamin Most Ani Wilcenski Graphics Editor: Natalie Arenzon Layout Editor: Nicole Javorsky Undertaker: Miranda Roman Staff: John Andrade Amanda Ba Isaiah Bennett Thomas Brockland Justin Cheng Michelle Dandeneau Harrison Gale Sandy Gooen Garrison Grogan Connor Halm Greg Humphries Philip Maehr Erika Sherr Hayley Tillett Luis Vera Editors Emeriti: Andre Adams McKenzie Fritz Brett Krasner Natasha Przedborski Hailey Riechelson Shaakya Vembar On Probation: Kevin Gong Emilio Gulati Gus O’Connor Nick Ribolla Dylan Sachs Yi Wang
A Congratulations from the Feditors Congratulations to Neil Gorsuch CC ‘88 on his nomination to the Supreme Court. The nomination renders Gorsuch the Fed’s first alumnus to land a job interview, except for the one guy who got a call back for that audition to dress up as Elmo in Times Square. We would like to thank Judge Gorsuch for his continued support and blanket endorsement of all of our published work. For the past 30 years, Gorsuch has been an integral member of the Feditorial Board. Though he has busied himself with shallow legal pursuits, Gorsuch has always found time to contribute to our award-winning investigative journalism. Gorsuch’s post-Fed career, though not as meaningful as his work with the newspaper, has included some noteworthy highlights. We are particularly proud of his decision to support Hobby Lobby in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby Stores. While we at the Fed have a few strong opinions about the gays, we support any action that chips away at Michaels’ monopoly on the crafting industry. Judge Gorsuch’s record speaks for itself. His stance on euthanasia, as detailed in his book, the Future of Assisted Suicide and Euthanasia is a prime example of his level headed thinking. Though we have not taken the time to read it, the title is pretty fun. In addition, while Mr. Gorsuch has yet to decide an affirmative action case, we know that, regardless of his position, he will be no less of a disappointment to President Bollinger than we are. We at the Fed are confident that Mr. Gorsuch will uphold our Founding Fathers’ intended discriminations, and that Merrick Garland’s voodoo doll of him won’t stand in the way of his confirmation. We wish him the best of luck in his efforts to move out of Denver. Sincerely, THE FEDITORIAL BOARD
TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE 3: White guilt in an HVAC system. PAGE 4: Some deep shit. PAGE 5: Usual Suspects. PAGE 6: Intellectual chameleon speaks out. PAGE 7: I’ll show you a black hole. PAGE 8-9: Which victim is best for marketing? PAGE 10: There’s a real dental hygiene crisis in the Jihadi community. PAGE 11: Mom will never get my gages. PAGE 12: J.K. Rowling and God have something to say, so you’ll read it. PAGE 13: Touch my body. PAGE 14: Start whirring. PAGE 15: Bleak. PAGE 16: Paid for by your parents. WELCOME
Cover Artwork by Natalie Arenzon
HUMOR
Can Somebody Please Fucking Offend Me?
By ALEXANDRA HARRIS
Beggar With a Hewitt Home
As a student of Barnard College, I don’t pay nearly $70,000 a year to go more than a week without being offended. Could you do me a favor and write an extensive Facebook post about the hypocrisy of white feminism? Retweet a Fox News segment discrediting climate change? Remind me that I couldn’t possibly understand real hardship because I’m just a Patagonia-wearing-white girl? Come on! All you have to do is possibly imply that
victims of sexual assault were asking for it to set me off. Is that so hard? Sure, I might overgeneralize you, or call you an ignoramus. But that’s a small price to pay to hear the invaluable social critique I’ve stolen from John Oliver. Honestly, the least you could do is sit back and listen to me, a courtesy that all men have failed to afford women time and again throughout the history of our “great” nation—please, get me started on this, I beg of you! The criteria is simple. For example: do you think that the media has a liberal bias? Perfect! Have you ever used the words “not all men” in a sentence? Strap
yourself in! Did you write in Bernie’s name for the general election? Shut up and listen! Are you an advocate for pro-life? Boy, will I be happy to rip out your jugular! Your role is miniscule, really. You’ll be the the Chris Christie to my Donald Trump: fearing for your life in the background while I ramble about whatever the fuck I damn want. Doesn’t that sound fun? Yes? Then please, fucking offend me! Just be forewarned that I’m on the right side of history.
God to DeHow to Stand with Standceased at ing Rock When You’re Pearly Gates: Stuck in an EC Airshaft ‘Who Do You Know Here’ By GREG HUMPHRIES
Sinner PREGAME, PURGATORY - Recent reports indicate that Heaven is getting pretty hard to get into. Thousands of lost souls, waiting in a seemingly endless line in front of its trademark pearly gates, have reportedly been buffeted by a veiny man in a wife beater with a holy water tear drop tattoo who goes by Peter. God, occasionally stepping out of the gates with an overhand Solo cup grip, has been trying to keep the place from getting out of control. One hopeful visitor, former 84 year old Max Hubert, described his experience: “I’ve been pregaming for this thing since the 30s,” Hubert said. The bouncer asked who I knew inside, and I told the him I just wanted to see my wife again. Apparently you can only get in if you bring two girls with you.” Looking around, Hubert shook his head. “You’d think it wouldn’t be that hard, but these younger car accident and drug overdose guys get all the chicks.” As of press time, God was seen looking around nervously to see if security is near. “If this thing gets any crazier we’re gonna have CAVA show up,” God said. “That’ll clear everyone out.”
BY NATALIE ARENZON IN THE NEWS
Columbia Admissions Plans to Admit “At Least 20 Hot People” in Class of 2021 By MIRANDA ROMAN Eager Upperclassman NEW YORK, NY—An anonymous tipster to the Federalist revealed that the dean of undergraduate admissions, Jessica Marinaccio, is expected to announce a new strategy for admitting what the tipster referred to as “Columbia’s most diverse class yet.” Marinaccio continued, “Columbia College and the Fu Foundation School of Engineering and Applied Sciences, combined, will admit twenty attractive students for the class of 2021.” When a reporter for the Federalist asked why she decided to do so, Marinac-
cio responded: “The students at this school are really fugly. Like, whenever I walk into Butler, I see hundreds of unwashed, acne-ridden swine in “Rush Beta 2015” shirts. I don’t think anyone in that building has showered in months. And do any of these fuckers know where Dodge is? Looks like the mozzarella sticks are getting to them.” The interview concluded with Marinaccio stating that “It doesn’t matter if these kids are dumbasses. We can get rid of lit hum…the core’s a joke anyway.”
Breaking: Some Kind of Shit Going Down on Low Steps By DALLAS KOELLING Apathetic Loiterer LOW STEPS - The Federalist has received reports of what could be a protest, a concert, a bake sale, or some other shit brewing on Low Steps, though this information cannot be confirmed at this point. Witnesses recount hoards of people gathering, hearing some amount of noise, and having only a dim notion what was happening as they made their way to class on the north side of College Walk. “There were people holding signs, I guess,” Eric Mayer, GS’20, reported. “They seemed angry, or like they were happy.
WAITING FOR HATE MAIL
10 Pristine Locations to Empty Your Bowels
By FED BOARD
Assholes Moving one’s bowels is like real estate—it’s all about location, location, location! Through my extensive patronage of some of the hottest locales on campus, I’ve reviewed all the toilets, chamber pots, and sink drains to provide inquisitive readers with the most useful information about Columbia’s campus—that is, where to do your #2.
10. Your RA’s Mouth Sammy is ALWAYS available and loves to talk. Stop in during Sammy’s on-duty hours and plop a fat shit right in her fucking mouth. Super cool! Not like other RA’s. And she’ll just be glad you’re finally doing your connect conversation.
9. Hamilton When you have an emergency, nothing gets better than running up or down a few flights of stairs. Literally anywhere in Hamilton is a great place to shit. If you have time, try waiting in line for the elevator; the upholstery inside is the perfect place to release the bullshit you’ve been swallowing during the entire Core Curriculum.
8. Your spot in Butler Tired of people moving your textbooks when you leave them there for 9 hours at a time? Show them who’s boss by dropping your earth’s bounty right in the middle of your table in 209. Don’t try this in Avery. People will just assume it’s an art installation.
7. Dusty’s apartment Your boy always has always got you! Classic Dusty. I love that fucker. Why does he live off campus, though? He must have money—all the more reason to pop a squat and let him pay for the cleanup.
6. Spec’s Submissions Box Content is really running low for this cycle. Be a Good Samaritan and help raise the quality of another on-campus publication. They’ll print it on their op-ed pages tomorrow.
5. On me Don’t knock it til’ you try it. Please. Note: I’m allergic to gluten.
And like they were trying to sell me something. Or dismantle capitalism? It was unclear.” “I think I heard music,” an anonymous witness claimed. “Or maybe someone shouting through a megaphone,” he added, before shrugging his shoulders and walking off unconcerned. Students on their way to classes are advised to circumnavigate Low Beach in order to avoid the disruption or fundraiser, whatever it may be. Additional reports will not be given as this story develops, because not one person cares.
4. Ferris Booth Nobody will notice if you stick it right in the Goat Curry. It tastes like White Man anyways.
3.Your parents’ checking account You already soiled it when you chose to spend 80k a year “learning how to learn.” If no stall is available, also consider taking a shit right onto your father’s good name. Should’ve gone to Yale.
2. Entrance of Pupin It’s a pun. Laugh, please.
1. Home For maximum comfort, just hold it until break. Show your parents all that you’ve taken in this semester.
MOSTLY SHIT
Op-Ed: I Work Hard to Look This Average By CONNOR HALM
Your Daddy Look at this Dad-Bod. Do you think I was just born with this flabby, misshapen torso? Do you think these love handles appeared overnight? Do you think the baby fat that’s still lingering on my cheeks and chin has remained there only by the grace of God? Are you out of your mind? I work my chubby tush off every day to maintain my totally average appearance, and you need to appreciate that. Every day my struggle begins in Ferris, as I sit down for my breakfast of biscuits slathered in Nutella, as much bacon as I can get away with without becoming one of the kitchen staff ’s stories, and a donut or seven. As I begin inhaling my balanced meal, I hear the girls at the table next to me talking about their attempts at calorie counting or flirtations with fad diet regimens. I look down at my food and sigh. For me, calorie counting isn’t just an off and on habit, it’s a religion. Those four thousand calories aren’t going to eat themselves.
In fact, for years, I have followed a strict routine of minimal dieting and even less exercise. And yet, despite all the sacrifices I’ve made, some girl’s new pressed juice cleanse is still held in higher esteem than my unwavering commitment to my current, flabby state. It’s a double standard that more in our society should recognize. People just don’t realize that having a dad bod isn’t a one-time affair. It’s a commitment to Keystone Light and multiple sleeves of Double Stuffed. More so, it’s an unwavering devotion to feigning injuries and hiding under my bed when my friends ask me to join them at the gym. Fitness freaks won’t ever have the determination needed to sustain my BMI. They don’t know what it’s like to constantly wonder if you’ve eaten enough cheesecake this week. Yet, though this work is both taxing and painful, I know that in the end, it will all be worth it. Because healthy-looking people don’t get that they’re running an unwinnable race. By age 30, they’ll look like me anyways.
WORTHLESS OPINIONS
Op-Ed: In These Trying Times It is Imperative That We Come Together to Protest Meatless Mondays By ISAIAH BENNETT SJW With a Love for Bacon Over the past few weeks, fundamental human rights have come under assault: reproductive rights, LGBTQ freedoms, and freedom of religion. Foremost among these wrongdoings, however, is the persistence of Meatless Monday in the Columbia Dining Hall schedule. President Bollinger must understand that this kind of dietary intolerance will not be accepted by our community. Only by coming together can we ensure he knows that after a long day of napping in Butler, our tired souls require more sustenance than “okra and chive soup” can provide. To be clear, this is not about narrow-minded environmental objectives or divisive identity politics. Indeed, some of my best Barnard friends spend half their lives at Sweetgreen. But if you are not a meat eater, I call on you to be an ally. The nature of our tyrannical political climate demands that we ALL
MY BODY, MY RIGHTS
fight to protect our fundamental rights. Especially when those rights concern shoving animal caracses into our faces. We’ve all experienced the disappointment of walking into John Jay on a Monday afternoon, fresh off a weekend of greasy chicken quesadillas and 14-oz hamburgers, only to find samosas and spinach. This is not just a pathetic excuse for a meal; it is an affront to the values upheld by our well-nourished Founding Fathers. To say that Meatless Mondays don’t affect your dietary habits is a privilege, but this oppression will eventually affect us all. The vegetarian agenda has already leaked into the rest of the week, with meat-free options appearing on Tuesdays and even Wednesdays. One Friday morning, the John Jay omelette station even ran out of bacon. So remember: first they may come for the ground beef, and you may not speak out, but who will be there to speak out when they come for your GMO-filled tofu?
SHEEPLE
Op-Ed: I Pretty Much Believe Whatever The New Yorker Tells Me To By CAMERON AVERILL Intellectual Chameleon Like most contemporary intellectuals, I do most of my opinion forming in coffee shops. On Saturdays, I camp out at Hungarian Pastry Shop with that week’s print edition of the New Yorker in tow. It is a fine use of time, considering a 1987 New Yorker comic conveyed to me, through drawings of cats, the opinion that you don’t need friends to have a good time. Those Saturdays make me realize how many opinions there are to be sourced from the New Yorker, and how little time there is to think critically about them. So instead, I inhale them indiscriminately, like the smoke of Gauloise Cigarettes, which, according to Joseph Schumacher’s 2004 New Yorker essay on the quotidian affairs of some great minds of literature and philosophy, were the preferred cigarettes of 19th-century French intellectuals. I haven’t always deified the New Yorker. Before I came to the Greatest City in the World (a claim supported by four separate pieces in the last year), I was an ignorant, critically-thinking high school student living just outside Los Angeles. My own move from L.A. to New York resembles the move Cirocco Dunlap described in a February 2016 “Shouts” piece, a piece which helped me conclude that Los Angeles is an uninhabitable wasteland seething with superficial filth. In California, my only news outlets were the Orange County Register and my mom’s old copies of Town and Country Magazine, sources which obviously do not merit dereference, seeing as not a single writer from either publication has ever had a piece published in the New Yorker. As a result of my limited access to the
New Yorker, my opinions, my likes and dislikes, were all grossly inaccurate. My erroneous opinions persisted until I stumbled upon an old copy of the New Yorker in Butler Library. The page was opened to a review of the 2009 film, Avatar, which I mistakenly believed I liked. The scathing review made me realize the first 18-years of my life had been shrouded behind a veil of ignorance. I realized my high opinion of Avatar was simply incorrect—just like my opinions on ricotta cheese, French Onion Dip, Outback Steakhouse, voucher programs, Dartmouth College, the 2008 financial crisis, Gandhi’s passive resistance, and Moleskine notebooks. How disturbing it is to realize what you thought you liked was, in fact, unworthy of being liked! How jarring, to leave the cave and see the sun as it really is, in all of its elitist, prep-school-educated brightness! People often ask me my stance on the Israel-Palestine conflict, which puts me at a loss for words. It’s not that I haven’t assimilated an opinion on the matter; I’m sure at some point I have. It’s just that I haven’t read any pieces on the conflict lately, so I forgot what exactly I’m supposed to believe. I wasn’t sold on the Black Lives Matter movement—though I wasn’t not sold on it, either; I just hadn’t come across a piece to help me form an opinion about it. But one fateful day the clouds parted, and God shined through the heavens in the form of a hyper-liberal, very white, freelancing Yale graduate, who told me, in so many words, that BLM was very, very good. Now I believe BLM is very, very good. As expected, the New Yorker is also my go-to source for humor and wit. Sometimes I’ll read a “Shouts” piece and wonder, “was that funny?” Then I remember that if it is
good enough to grace the pages of my New Testament – which updates weekly –, then it must be good enough to warrant a laugh by me. As a result, I laugh heartily. With regards to science and technology, I have few opinions on those matters. It’s rare that I read a piece about the Silicon Valley that isn’t a take-down of the nefarious tech bro culture, or a eulogy for, and simultaneous evisceration of, Steve Jobs. Indeed, in my computer science courses I usually submit, in place of a programming assignment, a photocopy of Raffi Khatchadourian’s November 2015 essay on the psychology of Elon Musk. Admittedly, my grades in those courses have been abysmal, but I’m not worried; according to think-pieces published in 2007, 2011, and 2014, my grades aren’t a reflection of my self-worth. Thankfully most upper-middle-class-twenty-something-Brooklynites have pretty similar takes on current events. But if, God forbid, two opinion pieces were to ever conflict, I’d defer to the newest one. I believe it was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” I’m not sure what that means, nor am I convinced it’s relevant to the point I’m trying to make. But about a dozen New Yorker essays in the past decade have used it in their introductions, so I’m certain it’s a token of wisdom worth uncritically absorbing into my world view. My professors have tried, to no avail, to ween me off Condé Nast. “Think for yourself,” my world-renowned professor of Russian Literature said. “I want to know what you think about Crime and Punishment.” To which I replied, “Professor Knapp, as articulated in a 1999 piece analyzing Dostoevsky’s legacy on the 20th century liter-
ary tradition, Crime and Punishment cemented psychology’s indelible place in the age old art of characterization. Therefore, I believe Crime and Punishment cemented psychology’s indelible place in the age old art of characterization.” The impact of the New Yorker on my view of the world cannot be understated. Seinfeld? Overrated, but according to a 2007 piece, also an unrivaled classic. Modern Art? Invaluable, even though the contemptible, state-school-educated masses don’t understand it. My parents? No opinion, but seeing as they’ve never once been mentioned by name in the print edition of the New Yorker, it’s likely they aren’t worth thinking about at all. That’s not to say its impact is limited to my thoughts. Au contraire: the New Yorker spells out for me exactly how I should behave and what I should desire. My outerwear of choice is the cardigan, and my preferred mode of transport to work is to freelance from home. I speak with Oxford commas, and try to write according to conventions articulated in Victorian Era usage guides. I want to live in Williamsburg in my twenties, TriBeCA in my thirties, and Westchester thereafter, but I wouldn’t be opposed to doing a stint in Park Slope for the sake of acquiring a more diverse perspective. I refresh the New Yorker website every 10 minutes, eager to see how my character will change with each new book review or analysis of current events. Which political leader will I liken to Stalin next? Which play that I haven’t seen will I rave about to anyone who’s listening? But perhaps the most important question: Doth my pretense know no bounds? The New Yorker, and therefore, I, think not.
THAT MOLE LOOKS PRETTY IRREGULAR
MAYBE IT’S PRIVILEGE
BE SURE TO HEAD OVER TO COLUMBIA HEALTH SERVICES OR ANY LITHUM CLASS TO GET YOUR PRIVILEGE CHECKED ENGLISH BE HARD
ISIS Issues Trigger Warnings for Executions By W. REED SIMMONS
Infidel
In response to recent complaints from the far-left subset of the Jihadist community, the Islamic State has committed to giving trigger warnings before all future executions. In a public video announcing the new policy, two masked, AK-47wielding men announced: “ISIS is an organization committed to establishing a Caliphate, and we do not intend to offend anyone in the process. We recognize that many people have experienced trauma in the past, whether that means they have been the victim of relentless microagressions or have narrowly escaped a kidnapping on the border of Iraq and Syria and been forced to leave their wife behind, only to watch a piece of her neck fly off like a projectile and stick right to the camera in an execution video months later on Twitter. Regardless of the nature of said trauma, we do not wish to exacerbate it, and trigger warnings should keep us from doing so.” The announcement followed complaints from people around the world about the graphic nature of the beheading videos. One American expat living in a remote Syrian cave said on Twitter, “Before my kids see the execution videos, I need to explain to them why the blood of infidels needs to be spilled to rid the world of their pestilence. Without a trigger warning, they have no way of knowing when a British journalist is about to have his guts spilled out onto the desert floor. For what it’s worth, the American farleft has commended ISIS for its progressive decision. One Columbia student, Katie Jacobs, conveyed such optimism: “This is really a major step in the right direction, and I look forward to seeing what the future holds—fewer bombings of civilian territories, maybe, or, if we’re lucky, even an increased recognition of intersectional male cis-het Sunni identities.”
MY FATHER ONCE MOLESTED ME IN TORONTO
Asshole Brian Greene Mansplains Quantum Mechanics to Fro Sci Students By BEN GREENSPAN SEAS-Splainer WATSON HALL - Complaints flooded into the Gender-Based Misconduct office this week, alleging that theoretical physicist Professor Brian Greene “mansplained” quantum mechanics in a Frontiers of Science Lecture. “I was simply floored that this white male had the audacity to think that I am not aware of the wave function for the probability map of an electron,” said Anna Calamari CC ’20, a planned anthropology major. Frontiers of Science is a Core Curriculum class designed to introduce humanities students to the world of scientific discovery, inquiry, and, according to some, rampant misogyny. “As he stood there on the stage, his gaze met mine, and I could
literally see him objectify me as he explained that Planck’s constant allows us to find an element’s energy when its frequency is known,” said Diana Radcliffe CC’20, a self-described “privilege-crusher.” The Gender-Based Misconduct office has received over 20 complaints regarding Prof. Greene’s actions, and has promised a swift response. “We have a strict no-tolerance policy regarding mansplaining at Columbia,” said Gender-Based Misconduct spokeswoman Catherine Holyoke. “The condescending manner in which Prof. Greene discussed the movements of a megatron in a hydrangea atom is unbefitting of our institution.” At press time, the Gender-Based Misconduct office had received 10 more complaints regarding Dean James Valentini’s demeaning explanation of “beginner’s mind.”
College Is Hard, So My Abs Are Not By ANONYMOUS
Soft Boy
Had I gone to my statistics class more regularly, I’d have a clearer grasp of that golden principle which guides academics across disciplines: correlation does not imply causation. But control groups notwithstanding, I’m prepared to assert that I’ve found the root cause of my flabby physique. School is hard, so my abs are not. Before coming to Columbia, I thrived in school and my body rivaled that of Adonis. But, when I came here, I had to give up exercise to study, and instead of eating carrots and kale chips while doing a problem set, I started to shove Hostess Ding Dongs in my gaping mouth until preservative-soaked cream dribbled down
my greasy cheek. This pattern marked the beginning of the rapid disintegration of my Hellenic physique. Now, every day, I slump into JJ’s Place for some much-needed brain food. Mozzarella sticks provide the healthy fats and protein I need to keep my mind nimble enough to read Shmoop at 4 AM. Sometimes, while I’m sitting there, procrastinating five assignments with six cups of Jamba Juice around me, the thought of going to the gym crosses my mind. But then I realize that they don’t have five problem sets due tomorrow, so fuck it. I tried, I really did, to fit exercise into my busy schedule. In my first semester I did sit-ups while reviewing flashcards for Mowsh bio, but I stopped after getting a 32% on the first exam. I used to do a ten
JUST KIDDING, HE DIDN’T
second plank every morning, but I had to cut that in half so I could have enough time to sleep for eleven hours to avoid the harrowing march to oblivion that is leaving my room and being a real person. How am I supposed to spend ten minutes on the elliptical when I have to make time to cry silently into my pillow? How am I supposed to lift weights when I can barely lift myself out of bed to face that smug, unemployable grad student in Lit Hum? How am I supposed to skulk around the track like some geriatric mall walker when the dorm elevator moves a floor an hour, so I’d have to hobble down the stairs? Four months into college, I’ve become a soft piece of shit with mediocre grades to boot.
By NATALIE ARENZON
BE AN ALLY FOR ONCE
GS Flag Flies at Half Mast
I’m Concerned That My Fish Isn’t a Feminist By BEN GREENSPAN Ambivalent Pet Owner People are always astonished when I tell them how old my fish is, but it’s the truth. Ten years ago, my mother took me to PetSmart after school, and told me to choose whichever betta fish caught my eye. After a few minutes of wandering, I found myself returning to the same blue, male crowntail betta—I knew he was the one. Soon, little Gilliam Jefferswim Clinton was happily exploring a 4 gallon aquarium on my dresser. Perhaps most people do not become emotionally attachments to their fish, but I did with Gill. Yet, since coming to Columbia, I developed a terrible, sinking feeling in my stomach. After learning about institutional sexism, intersectionality, and the gender spectrum, I am now concerned that my fish is not a feminist. I should note that Gill Clinton has always, in my experience, been respectful towards women. When my mom feeds him, he treats her offerings as he does mine, happily chowing down on the flakes. In fact, Gill’s favorite hiding place in his tank is behind the reclining mermaid. But Columbia has taught me to be more skeptical; while Gill has never expressly rebuked feminism, he has never expressly lauded it either.
Feminism allows for little gray area, and because Gill has not showed that he is willing to stand up for justice, he must have chosen the side of the oppressor. When my friends and I would have sleepovers in middle school, not once did he object when we gossiped about which girls had graduated from training bras. When I played rap music containing profane, misogynistic references to female genitalia, he did raised only an apathetic glub glub. When I complained about women’s history month (an immature viewpoint which I have since disavowed), Gill even swam up and down in agreement. Since this realization, I have tried to introduce Gilliam to literature that would broaden his perspective on the plight of the modern woman. I read him the Feminine Mystique and Lean In; I plastered images of Kate Chopin and Lisa Leslie in view of his tank; I played Girls and The Amanda Show on continuous loops. Thus far, all has been in vain, perhaps Gill has not once voiced his backing of income equity or paid family leave. If Gill does not soon affirm his support for women everywhere, I will have no choice but to eliminate his toxic masculinity from my life, by flushing him down the toilet.
Remember the fallen comrades in classes with an undergraduate-determined curve.
By IQRAZ NANJI
ISIS Dentist Declares Jihad on Tooth Decay By ISAIAH BENNETT
Rotten, Cavity-Ridden Fucker MOSUL - Amid the ongoing battle between Iraqi security forces and the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, a new splinter group has formed to fight the corrupting influence of tooth decay. In a video sent to the offices of the world’s foremost candy companies, a masked man stands in latex gloves, holding an AK-47 and
a dental drill. He announces forces them to declare their his intent to preserve “pure hydevotion to a handy guide to He announces his intent to preserve “pure hy- tooth hygiene before shoving giene” by dismantling the oppressive western sweets indusgiene” by dismantling the oppressive western them back into their filthy try and waging Jihad on tartar, cells with nothing but a brand sweets industry and waging Jihad on tartar, plaque, and other problematic new toothbrush. dental ailments. Further investigation perplaque, and other problematic dental ailments. After announcing his noformed by CIA and UN offible intentions, the masked cials has confirmed that the dentist is recruiting fanatic man proceeds to perform six continuous hours of unanesthetized root ca- orange jumpsuits typical of ISIS propaganda followers with the promise of 72 untarnished nal work on a number of captives clad in the releases. After the surgery is over, the dentist molars in the afterlife.
FROSTY NUGS HERE
EMO IS JUST A PHASE * We have to talk. This “emo” style of yours is getting ridiculous. You know it’s just a phase, right? * Excuse me, but we are having this conversation now, not later. * You don’t believe me now, but one day you won’t think your green hair is so cool anymore. * There’s no way you can see with your hair over your eyes like that. * How can you be comfortable in those pants? They’re the tightest skinny jeans I’ve ever seen! * You can’t be emo forever. How do you expect to get a job if you just stay holed up in your room listening to Blink-182? * I don’t care what genre they are. But at least see a doctor. I think your gauges are infecting your ear lobes. * Jesus, why can’t you be like a normal person your age and just spend your time overworking yourself in school and looking at memes? * You’re being ridiculous. If you keep this up, I’m going to get your father involved. * All right, you win. If you hate your doting parents so much then just run away. Go and leave home, I won’t go after you.
ROE V WADE
Fed / Counterfed:
By Harrison Gale, Graphic by Natalie Arenzon
SHUT UP, MOM!
* I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m a little busy reading the latest issue of Kerrang. * Oh, so now all of a sudden time is important to you? Time is just a construct, anyway. * What are you talking about, Mom? It’s naturally green! And for your information, the shade is ‘electric mucus’. * I see all the fakeness of people like you that I need, even if my hair is just a long fringe that I have to be constantly brushing to the side of my face! * Oh yeah? Well, I’d rather have these tight pants stop blood circulation in my legs than subscribe to your tight-ass morals! * For the last time, Blink-182 aren’t emo, they’re pop punk. God, Mom. * No way! My gauges are where I keep my pet gecko Gerard. I’m not letting anyone get near him! * Sorry to disappoint, Mom, but I’m not just some fucking sell-out conformist like you! * Fine, do it! It’ll give him a reason to come home and talk to me for once! * ... * ... * ... * HELP! GERARD IS STUCK IN MY EARLOBE!
Columbia Gym Teachers Already Disgusted By GREG HUMPHRIES Does Sports Things Only a week into the semester, the Columbia Physical Education Department already finds itself nauseated. As PE classes begin across campus, instructors report gagging back their breakfasts when glimpsing their students trying to exert themselves. One session of Dancing in Place had to be postponed when the gym floor became coated in a thick layer of Ferris-pizza grease. The instructor, Peter Nielsen, reported watching the oil seep out of his students’ pores as they began to move their limbs, slathering the floor in pepperoni and mozzarella grease. Shreya Ortiz, a Yoga instructor, attributed the students’ pathetic physical
Ortiz reported that three of her students had fainted that morning and needed medical assistance after just 7 seconds of downward dog. condition to a simple cause: “They’re all a bunch of lazy fuckers, and fuckers don’t pass.” Ortiz reported that three of her students had fainted that morning and needed medical assistance after just 7 seconds of downward dog. One student had suffered a debilitating asthma attack after attempting to roll
out her mat. “I’ve never encountered more flabby human beings,” Ortiz said. “Except for every other semester I’ve taught here.” When the Federalist asked students in John Jay about these disturbing reports, most declined to comment, stammering something about “going to
WRAP YOUR WILLY
Dodge tonight.” However, one admitted he is familiar with the issue: “I’ve heard sex is good exercise,” he said. “I’m just not doing any of that either.” As of press time, JJs’ closing has reduced the average daily flights of stairs climbed on campus to zero.
BUTTER MY BISCUITS
Open Letter From God: Noah’s Ark Requirements Are Too Binary By ANI WILCENSKI
Newsbriefs Breaking: Bake Sale to Support Student Theater Breaks Even. __________________________________ My Superiority Complex Is Better Than Yours. __________________________________ Holy Shit, Was a Black Guy Actually President This Whole Time? __________________________________ Barnard Math Major Makes a Difference. __________________________________ Bathroom Bill Supreme Court Case: Plaintiffs Pledge to Appeal Court’s Decision, Demand Trial By a Jury of Their Queers. __________________________________ Grad Students Vote That They Should Have Gone to Law School. __________________________________ Breaking: Stressbusters Finally Eliminates Stress. __________________________________ Bullied Fat Person Just Has Thick Skin. ________________________________________
Owner of Boat Shoes
To the American People, even Scientologists: Over the past 5000 years of its existence, I’ve spent a fair bit of time traveling your country. During these trips, I’ve had the opportunity to meet individuals from all walks of life, and have heard their words and stories. After much reflection, I now write to you bearing some important news. Our country is evolving quickly (except in the rural areas), and my views are evolving as well to reflect the changing needs and perspectives of my diverse constituents and definitely not just my wealthy white Protestant donors. I have heard your voices, and I have listened. And I am now proud to categorically assert that I support the gender spectrum theory. As such, I condemn, in the strongest terms, the objectionable social attitudes displayed by one of my own followers, Noah, whose ark requirements are simply too binary. Yes, it’s taken me quite a while to get here. At one point, I believed that, in case of a flood, these issues should be left to the discretion of the individual boats. But I changed my opinion when I realized it failed to reflect this nation’s progressive values. It’s been 2,017 years since I sent my son to Earth. It’s high time we stop imposing our antiquated gender
norms on beings who don’t fit the mold – beings who, if you didn’t notice, and I was hoping you didn’t, I created. But this isn’t just an opinion piece; it’s a call to action. So I’ve laid out a comprehensive plan to confront intolerance: I have introduced a slate of biblical amendments to reflect my emerging views. First, I hope to outline a mandatory workshop in Genesis, called Under1Ark, completed by each animal before officially boarding the vessel to start a sustained dialogue about inclusivity and social identity on deck. Second, all Bibles should henceforth describe the distribution of gender-neutral life jackets stamped with each animal’s preferred pronouns. Third, relevant chapters should document the creation of gender-inclusive sites on the ship’s bow, so no animal has to sacrifice their comfort for the pressures of conforming to socially constructed lavatorial standards. It is my hope that, though we still have a lot of work to do and a lot of changes to make, these proposals will be a step in the right direction. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and may I bless the United States of America. Love, God Pronouns in Use: He/Him/His (capitalized, dammit)
JK Rowling: “Everyone In the Harry Potter Series is Actually Transgender”
and find the true magic in their gender identity,” Rowling added. In the years following the conclusion of the series, Hogwarts became a safe haven The truth behind the beloved erotic fiction series for the transgender community, especially for those that took the world by storm has finally come out. JK half-blood students in the midst of transitioning.” Rowling announced on Twitter that all characters in Rowling has also made known that the school rethe Harry Potter series are, in fact, transgender in- cently changed its housing process, doing away with dividuals, including Neville Longbottom’s infamous the sorting hat so students feel comfortable choosing toad Trevor. The author said she was as shocked as their own identity. her readers to learn this news, but was happy to acIn response to public outcry against the revelacept her characters tion, Rowling took The author said she was as shocked as her for who they are. to Twitter, ranting: Rowling explained readers to learn this news, but was happy to “Name one time the plot of the story you saw a characaccept her characters for who they are. ter’s original genthroughout the seven italia. That’s right, novels was really just you didn’t. So you just assumed their genders? Nice the journey of three trans friends trying to find their one, asshole.” identity in a world of older trans people: “The magAs of press time, Gryffindor has expressed interic was just a mechanism for coping with entrenched sectional solidarity with Students for Justice in Paldiscrimination.” estine. “Dumbledore helped the young wizards blossom By MICHELLE DANDENEAU
Closet Hufflepuff
HARD-HITTING JOURNALISM
Student Calls Adherence to Dated Gender Roles “Vintage” By HAYLEY TILLETT
Meninist
Recently, after catching word of his edgy worldview, the Federalist caught up with Brandon Ainsley, CC ‘18, as he gazed pensively into the distance and sipped black coffee in Brownies Cafe. “I guess I just appreciate a good throwback,” he stated, adjusting his man bun and making sure his coffee-stained post-modernist screenplay draft and copy of Infinite Jest were visible to all passerbys.
“I’m a huge fan of women operating in separate spheres from men. I mean, c’mon, the 1950s? The post-war resurgence of female domesticity? That’s my aesthetic. And, oh my god, Republican Motherhood? Now that’s a deep cut. You just don’t see that kind of intricately-crafted oppression anymore. It’s all mass-produced sexual liberation nowadays.” He paused his musings to check a notification from Rolling Stone and kindly correct the grammar of the girl sitting behind him. “I mean, the glass
ceiling used to be a mosaic—a true piece of art. Now it’s just a thin, cheap sheet of recycled plastic that could be shattered with a toothpick. It’s a moral disaster of the highest order.” At press time, Ainsley could be seen sitting in Avery, rocking a head-to-toe Urban Outfitters ensemble as he perused a book about Victorian-era restrictions on women and loudly marveled to the innocent souls around him about their “refined, yet radically bold appeal.”
And then, from out of nowhere, for seemingly no reason, comes a voice you haven’t heard since “Alexis Texas has horny hotel fuck.” Yep. It’s the fucking cameraman. The moment is ruined. When the cameraman cuts in, you just have to move on and bop the bologna to something else. There’s no coming back once the guy behind the screen calls out, “Yeah! All right!” like a fucking little league coach. Centimeters of dick length are being lost by the second. The thrill is gone. Listen up, buddy: I didn’t click on this video for you. I
clicked on it because I saw a girl with bare tits in the thumbnail and goddammit, I wanted to objectify her. I never asked for your commentary. All I wanted was some sick dick-in-vag action, but no. You had to burst in and egg on the performers like an alcoholic pageant mom. What were you
Op-Ed: Porn Cameramen Need to Shut the Hell Up By BEN MOST Sexually Frustrated You finally found it. The perfect video. After minutes of sifting through trash – the nine-minute one with seven minutes of striptease, the stepsister one that’s pretty hot but just doesn’t do it for you anymore, the one that looked like it might have some kinky butt stuff but was really just an extended blowjob scene – you’re ready to blast off. After skipping through the irrelevant plot details, you get to the heart of the video. Tension is building. The chemistry between the actor and actress is palpable. Every camera angle is perfectly engineered. You’re almost ready to bookmark this shit.
HOUSEWIVES ARE PEOPLE TOO
Op-Ed: Why Won’t Daddy Kiss Me on the Mouth Anymore? By JOHNNY GLADWELL Daddy’s Boy
It’s been months since my daddy last kissed me on the mouth, and I don’t know what to do. I need answers. An explanation. What went wrong? What could I have done better? Were my lips too chapped? Was my breath too foul-smelling? Was it my neck beard, which had just started growing in when I left for college? These are the questions that haunt me at night. It all started when I arrived home for winter break. When I saw him at the terminal, I just couldn’t hold back. I sprinted through baggage claim into his arms. He is my safe space, the one I look to for warmth and comfort. So when I went in for a loving kiss, the kind only a daddy and his child can share, and he gave me his rough, unshaven cheek, I didn’t know what to think. In all my years of life, he has never refused me. I have no interest in cheek. pect a warm patty between two buns. When I get on a plane, I expect the pilot to fly me wherever I paid to go. That’s how it’s supposed to work. If that burger isn’t cooked right, I get sick. If that pilot screws up, I spend Christmas Eve whacking my weasel in the bathroom stall at JFK. Once people stop caring about their job, the entire system is broken. You know what, cameraman? This is my vicarious sex to be had, and you better back the fuck up. If I wanted to hear someone talking over beautiful footage I would have looked up the director’s commentary of Planet
When I order a burger, I expect a warm patty between two buns. thinking? This is a beautiful connection between a man, a man, a man, another man, a woman, and me, and you need to get the fuck out. When I order a burger, I ex-
MY TONGUE IN YOUR CHEEK
Cheek is what I give to my grandma after she tells me how tall I grew since she last saw me. From my daddy, the most important man in my life, I want something more intimate, more caring. I want mouth, just like it’s always been between Daddy and me. I’ve been at Columbia for three years now, and the distance has only made my love for him stronger. Some think my attachment to Daddy is overwhelming, maybe even childish. But they just don’t understand. He gave me life, and I want to give him my lips. So no, I can’t just settle for cheek. I won’t accept it, not after everything we’ve been through – mom leaving after walking in on us embracing, strangers in public asking if I’m okay, strangers in public asking if I’m sure I’m okay. I love you, Daddy. Please don’t push me away. No, pull me closer. I’m home again.
Earth. But I looked up “teen redhead sex” for a reason, and it wasn’t to hear a 40-year-old film school dropout’s excited moans. Undesired outbursts from the cameraman are an insult to me, to the internet porn community, and to the human reproductive process. I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you to shut the hell up so I can admire Faye Reagan’s ass cheeks and rub one out in peace until I grow hair on my palms or my roommate gets back. But if I hear so much as a peep from the guy behind the camera, I’m gonna have to spank myself blind elsewhere.
LIBTARDS IS A GENDER NEUTRAL TERM
Helicopter Dick Pilot Takes Flight By BENJAMIN MOST
Co-Pilot A little more than 100 years after Wilbur and Orville Wright sent man into the skies in flying machines, helicopter dick pilot Richard Koch has achieved an even greater feat: flying with no technology besides the rapid spinning of his own semi-erect penis. In the footsteps of the great aeronautical pioneers, Koch faced a slew of technical and aerodynamic issues during his early test flights. At first, despite rotating his penis at rapid speeds, he only lifted about six inches before limply flopping back to the ground due to an incorrect calculation of the
required hardness levels. But after consulting a rather highly enthusiastic team of scientists at NASA and making necessary phallic adjustments, he was able to fly for 15 meters in moderate wind conditions before finishing on the JFK helicopter pad, his quickly whirring penis slowing to a halt as full flaccidity returned. “Taking flight using only the motion of your penis is really all about confidence,” Koch said. “Your first time, you might not last very long, but with more practice you’ll build up the stamina to insert yourself into a variety of aeronautical situations. You can even work
Columbia Vows to Purchase Cage-Free Adjuncts By MAX ROSENBERG From Actual Upstate
LOW LIBRARY – On Monday, Columbia President Lee Bollinger announced a new commitment to procuring adjuncts subjected to humane treatment. “It’s time for the adjunct-farming industry to accept basic modern standards of morality,” Bollinger said. “In 2016, it’s unbelievable that we still treat our adjuncts so heartlessly. It’s just not natural.” The move was spurred by an investigative video filmed by activists. The footage showed horrific conditions, with adjuncts bleating violently every day in airless transport cars and confined to tiny, cockroach-filled spaces
about the size of an average New York studio apartment. The teachers’ diet consisted almost entirely of inorganic feed produced by the chemicals company Maruchan. Student groups advocating for freerange, grass-fed adjuncts—ethically sourced from a local farm upstate—claim that beyond ethical issues, the health of the student body is a major concern. Adjunct meat has been described as “wiry and chewy,” and is reported to contain trace amounts of cocaine, LSD, and crippling dread. As of press time, President Bollinger was seen herding a flock of adjuncts, enjoying their daily graze, back into Low Library.
Columbia’s freerange adjuncts will be ethically sourced from a farm upstate.
out the kinks by yourself. But if you haven’t been doing your Kegels twice a day, you won’t even generate the thrust to make it out the window.” Indeed, the groundbreaking pilot warns that fellow aeronauts should be made aware of several safety measures during their preparation. “Don’t lean back during takeoff or landing, and be aware that you can use your penis as a floatation device in case of emergency. Accidental circumcision can occur at high velocities, so be sure to securely fasten your foreskin prior to takeoff.” Koch said he plans to put his flying abilities to good use, as he plans to employ
his penis to help him beat traffic, impress his friends, and escape after onenight stands. “Never again will I arrive late to my 8:10 Lithum class on Hamilton 7 because of an elevator backup,” Koch gloated. Koch added that, after some time flying solo, he plans to find some wingmen to form a flock with him. “I’m really looking forward to soaring across the skies with some bros, our penises spinning in unison at supersonic speeds,” he said. “Right now we’re just the tip of what we’ll be able to accomplish.”
Op-Ed: I’m Not Sure Donald Trump’s Going To Be A Good President By RICARDO MUMALO
CNN Anchor Um, so this is a bit awkward. Usually I’m of the mind to wait-and-see, quiet-and-listen, stop-and-frisk. But, from what I’ve read, things are a bit rough down in D.C., and I am not so sure that Donald Trump is going to be a good president. I’ll admit, I was pretty excited when I first saw him come down that big escalator in his building. He waved a bit like that British queen, and they’re doing great over there! Then a lot of the stuff I heard him say made sense to me. A lot of those Mexican Chipotles have opened up in my town over the last five years, taking the place of good old-fashioned American Taco Bells. And I definitely don’t think people we know are going to bomb us should come to our country. That just doesn’t make sense. I really didn’t like Hillary, either. What was she trying to prove by wearing those woman suits? Like, we know you’re a woman, stop trying to fool us into thinking you’re a guy. Then she had those e-mails that were secret, and Trump pointed out
SPEC HAS MORE THAN 3 READERS
that she was the most corrupt candidate ever. Listen, if it swims like a duck, smells like a duck, has flippers like a duck, then it probably also waddles like a duck. Too bad Hillary Clinton isn’t a duck though. I would have voted for her then. So, I voted for Trump, and I was super happy. But this week, he has done some super shifty stuff. Like, although I wasn’t thrilled about it, I got Obamacare because the Cheesecake Factory doesn’t have dental insurance. And, I’m supposed to get a filling in a few weeks, but now Trump is saying that I won’t be able to. So that’s not really cool, and is not a good sign in my opinion. I don’t think he should outlaw the dentist. Look, if I had to guess, Trump’s going to turn it around. You don’t just build a huge, unfailing business empire without learning how to fix problems. But for the time being, I’m a little bit worried that he is not going to be super great at being president. Also I just realized this but didn’t he molest someone or something?
MAKE LIT HUM A TRUE SAFE SPACE
Op-Ed: I Didn’t Get a Ph.D in Greek Tragedy to Teach Literature Humanities to Econ Majors By MIRANDA ROMAN Student Debt Victim I know that I’m hot shit. I graduated from Yale with a Classics degree, a 4.2 GPA, and an acceptance to Columbia’s highly selective Classics Ph.D. program. Life was great up until my fourth year—I was scoring straight A+’s in my classes, TA’ing a few lectures, brainstorming ideas for my kickass dissertation, and getting put on a pedestal by the other women in the department. Then my fourth year in the Ph.D rolled around. I was informed that I would become something called a “Teaching Fellow.” What does that mean, you may ask? I was ordered to teach a class of 18-year-old little shits some easy beach reads, like the Iliad and To the Fucking Lighthouse. I thought it would be relatively painless—who doesn’t want to breeze through an 8:10AM class on the picture book masterpieces of the West-
ern Canon? I maintained my optimistic attitude until the first day of class. Some neuro major kept on answering all of my questions, and I’m pretty sure that a kid in a “Columbia soccer” sweatshirt fell asleep in the back. Why the fuck weren’t any of these intellectually spoonfed little runts participating? Didn’t they reread the 500 pages I assigned for the first day of class? And memorize all the possible quote I.D.s? It’s not like this stuff is hard. Come on, people. Middle
schoolers in Louisiana read these books when they come home to their houseboats. I was under the impression that my students would be literate. Evidently, I was wrong. I’m not getting my Ph.D in Classics to teach you how to read. I bet these chucklefucks can’t even begin to understand just how far the intertextuality in this class goes. I bet the connection between Genesis and Crime and Punishment, which anyone not dropped as a baby can ascertain in one cursory glance, was
Why the fuck weren’t any of these intellectually spoonfed little runts participating?
completely lost on these cognitive invalids. And if you’re in my class, let me ask you something: did you really think, with your misshapen, swollen head, that I believe you read that printed out PDF of the Bible? How many PawPrint dollars did you charge to your parents’ unlimited credit line right before class to print that stack out? From now on, participation no longer counts, because I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. I would give each of you a muzzle if the head if the department didn’t see my course evals. Let’s make a deal: everyone in this class is getting an A- or B+, depending on how pretty you are and whether you laughed at my joke on the first day. Now stop showing up so I can get some adult reading done. And if you’re an econ major, go punch yourself in the dick with your Sperrys.
CPS to Offer 24-Hour Crippling Depression By ANONYMOUS
HIPPA Regulations
In the wake of CU Dining’s announcement that it will offer students round-theclock stress-eating beginning next year, Counseling and Psychological Services says it plans to offer something even better: nonstop crippling depression. CPS says while many students currently suffer from debilitating mental illness almost all the time, there are some holdouts who experience brief moments of fleeting happiness that give them the will to go on. But if CPS’ plans are a success, this shall no longer be the case. “Our goal is to ensure that no student at Columbia ever feels a sense of communi-
ty or belonging,” said Susan Marks, director of CPS. “We realize that in past years, a few rare students have graduated Columbia with fond memories of their time spent here. To our surprise, some even plan to donate to Columbia in the near future. We hope that our new efforts will mean no student will ever return to Morningside Heights without a chill running through her spine and a feeling of gratitude for having narrowly escaped this harrowing institution.” Marks says CPS has several distinct plans to reform the existing mental health services on campus. “Currently, students can make an appointment and expect to see a trained therapist within a few weeks.
To remedy this situation, we plan to place all future requests on an indefinite wait list, and to refer low-income students to off-campus specialists we know they could never afford.” To address students who seek help using Columbia’s Nightline service, Marks has a similar solution. “We are thrilled to announce that, starting in fall 2017, we will forward all future calls to freshmen enrolled in Science of Psychology—with the most severe cases going to those students with a C-grade or lower. In the event that these students are busy, we will just forward the call directly to the depressed caller’s parents. That should do the trick.” Aware that some students still don’t
feel the need to seek out CPS services and thus would be unaffected by CPS’s internal changes, Marks is urging deans of the College and SEAS to implement academic reforms to guarantee that all undergraduate students will go over the edge at some point in their academic careers. “More Core classes, longer syllabi, refusing to double-count courses – these policies are vital if we want to successfully sap each and every student of his last remaining joy and motivation,” Marks said. Unfortunately, no students could be reached for comments, as we at the Federalist couldn’t wake any of them up from their 18-hour “naps” to hear their thoughts.
Freshman Boldly Ditches Frontiers of Science Field Trip By GUS O’ CONNOR
Uneducated White MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE - Chad Mcbride CC ’20, woke up the morning of his FroSci trip and made the daring decision to skip and get a few extra hours of sleep instead. “They said it couldn’t be done, but I did it.”
According to his friends, who were all shocked by his fearlessness, Chad spent many long hours agonizing over the merits of his decision, but was finally swayed by a particularly compelling arguments from his roommate: “Fuck that shit, man.” His suitemate reportedly offered the pivotal case: “Why would you wake up on a Saturday to go look at some big-ass dinosaur? Fuck, dude, if it’s Neil DeGrasse Tyson
you’re looking for, just go on Twitter and say the Earth is flat.” Ultimately, their powerful rhetoric outweighed the utter bliss of the promised Shake Shack dinner afterwards. “We’ll get a Shake Shack up in Morningside soon enough,” McBride said. “It’s not worth looking at some dead animals for hours just so you can eat one after. My time would be better spent trying to touch my tongue
BARNARD LIVES MATTER
to my elbow.” Nevertheless, some sources claim that they saw Chad with his face pressed to the glass during the dinner, looking longingly at his classmates while sadly sipping a watery, melted Jamba Juice. As of press time, Chad could be seen sitting in a Carman lounge deliberating about another intrepid decision: whether or not to skip the lightly recommended weekend Lit Hum trip to the Met.
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