Volume XXXII • Issue 7 • May 2017
the FEDERALIST Columbia’s Only Newspaper That Keeps It Strictly Platonic
THE STAFF Feditors-in-Chief: Iqraz Nanji Max Rosenberg Managing Editors: Thomas Germain Ben Greenspan Submissions Editors: Benjamin Most Nick Ribolla Dylan Sachs Ani Wilcenski Graphics Editor: Natalie Arenzon Layout Editor: Nicole Javorsky Undertaker: Miranda Roman Staff: John Andrade Amanda Ba Isaiah Bennett Thomas Brockland Michelle Dandeneau Harrison Gale Kevin Gong Sandy Gooen Garrison Grogan Connor Halm Greg Humphries Philip Maehr Gus O’Connor Erika Sherr Luis Vera Editors Emeriti: Andre Adams McKenzie Fritz Brett Krasner Natasha Przedborski Hailey Riechelson Shaakya Vembar On Probation: Justin Cheng Dallas Koelling Hayley Tillett Yi Wang Dead to Us: Cameron Averill
To the abyss,
An Apology from the Feditors
After a year and a half at the helm of this esteemed publication, it is time for us to move on. Before we part ways, however, we would like to apologize. We’re sorry. For all of it. Every article, every news brief, every sleazy shot glass sale—it’s all been regrettable. We would ask for your forgiveness, but we frankly don’t really care about you. First, we would like to apologize to Saddam Hussein. To athletes everywhere, we may have once called you “empty-headed mountains of flesh,” but we salute you for raising the average level of attractiveness on campus. For the most part. And to be honest, we were a little impressed that wrestlers figured out how to use technology. Jews: we may have taken some shots at you over the years, but at least you’re not athletes. To Brian Greene, we apologize for accusing you of mansplaining astrophysics. But maybe you should stop acting like you’re smarter than us. We regret publishing the following puns: “First Sheikh Shack to open in Saudi Arabia,” “Track Team Plagued By Race Issues, and most cringeworthy, “Middle Eastern Public Radio Launches Kuwait Kuwait Don’t Tell Me.” Sorry folks, you can’t unread that. From the bottom of our hearts, we would like to apologize for the graphic that accompanied “Michelin Man Explodes From Toothy Blowjob.” Still, we thank our friend Neil M. Gorsuch for his role in making this illustration possible. We appreciate Brown students for having reminded us that you can still be sad at a four-year summer camp. Don’t worry, champ, your parents love you. Now use their credit card to go out and buy that Che Guevara poster you’ve always wanted. We apologize to Hooters for insulting the caché of your brand. Spec, we apologize for publishing your phone number as our reader complaints hotline. But you could certainly use the feedback. Harlem, shrug. For trivializing your struggle, we would like to send a formal apology to ISIS. We can’t imagine having to stream beheadings on 3G. Maybe consider switching to Verizon? We apologize to rural whites for suggesting air passengers sprinkle peanuts over flyover country to feed you. We thank you for your work on oil rigs. We are sorry for insulting half-chubs. We get it, it’s not your fault. Most of all, we would like to apologize to men everywhere. Just know that your antics disgust us. And to James McShane, check page 3. Finally, if we have offended you, we’re deeply sorry that you have nothing better to do than read this newspaper. Peace, Love, and Goodbye Forever, Iqraz & Max
TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE 3: A user’s guide to James McShane.
PAGE 14: Wow! This fourth grader is a waste of space
PAGE 4: A few light drownings.
and natual resources.
PAGE 5: If you live in Wien, seek help.
PAGE 15: Wool is in this summer.
PAGE 6: Sorority just Instagramming stock photos.
PAGE 16: Is sleep better than activism?
PAGE 7: Disugusting: math professor speaks English.
PAGE 17: Why is alchohol legal but not bath salts?
PAGE 8: How to approach a woman if you are in SEAS.
PAGE 18: Times are changing: it’s OK to shit in your
PAGE 9: Foot-on-foot love.
pants.
PAGE 10-11: Learn something for once.
PAGE 19: Our phallus critic raves about a freshman
PAGE 12: Garden of Econ.
penis.
PAGE 13: Listen to majority voices.
PAGE 20: Fin. Cover Artwork by Natalie Arenzon
WELCOME
JAMES MCSHANE IS THE ULTIMATE BAD BOY
Op-Ed: I Can’t Decide Whether To Submit My OpEd to The Odyssey or Spec By CONNOR HALM
with a small group of likeminded, unhapFlexible py Columbia freshmen. I can submit my This past week I’ve spent a lot of time piece into the veritable marketplace of and energy thinking about something ideas, where everyone will applaud me for that’s bothered me for a long time. I know my bravery and insight into how ‘probI’m great at writing opinion pieces, and lematic’ the Columbia Core is. that you all love hearing my thoughts On the other hand, Odyssey Online about relevant cultural topics like “What provides a platform for me to gripe about All Roommates Think About Each Oth- all the different struggles that college kids er but Don’t Say” and “The Dangers of inevitably face. Not to mention the fact Mixing Strawberry Lemonade, Svedka that I can reach a much, much, much and Lime-aritas.” But now I have some higher readership with Odyssey Online. more weighty thoughts to share with you, Granted, there will be a few Cornellians and by God I can’t decide what medium I in the mix, but I’m willing to take it down should use to share them with you. a few reading levels to make my thoughts On one hand, there’s the Columbia more accessible. Spectator, where I feel I can really connect What do y’all think?
Uncultured Swine Still Not Totally Sure What Boujee Means By BEN MOST Cultured Swine The Core Curriculum is supposed to turn its students into refined, sophisticated citizens. But months after the release of rap group Migos’s smash hit “Bad and Boujee,” uncultured swine Dan Swanson CC ’18 admits that he still doesn’t know what “boujee” means. “When my friends reference the song, I just laugh and pretend like I get it,” Swanson said. “But the whole time I’ve been wondering, what the fuck
does that mean? Is that even a word?” Swanson said that even after seeing the term in countless Instagram captions—mostly on the accounts of white girls—he has yet to glean its meaning. “My best guess is that it has something to do with pregaming in a frat’s backyard on Bacchanal, but again, I really have no idea,” Swanson said. Swanson, a pleb, also added that he doesn’t know who Saint Pablo is, either. “I don’t remember that guy from the gospels at all!” Swanson said.
Keep it tight. PAID FOR BY FIJI
18 Things I Didn’t Know I Could Do To James McShane By GARRISON GROGAN
1. Stimulate James McShane to near ecstasy at the mere mention of “theft alert.” 2. Gaslight James Mcshane into thinking he is the criminal element. 3. Treat James McShane as a living performer of security theater. 4. Give McShane food poisoning on a wonderful caribbean cruise. 5. Give James McShane the son he never had. 6. Hide my water bottle in James McShane to get it past the TSA. 7. Train James McShane to enjoy the feeling of soft jazz through a Pavlovian association with soft cheese. 8. Use James McShane’s moustache to hold my soup. 9. Let James McShane perjure himself in a court of law. 10. Put out a fire with James McShane. 11. Bring James McShane to an art museum and torture him with my explanation of dadaism. 12. Ride James McShane through the subway tunnels when the local trains aren’t running. 13. Meet James McShane’s parents and tell them they should be proud of their son. 14. Steal James McShane’s man purse and make him write the theft report. 15. Cry on James McShane’s shoulder until he makes you feel secure. 16. Legally change his name to Shane McShane. 17. Write a Clery Crime Report about how naughty James McShane fondled you last night. 18. Use James McShane as an example of how an unrecognized genius from Southie can escape his MIT janitorial position with the help of an empathetic shrink, Robin Williams, who recognizes his gifts and propels him to open his heart to the possibility of love.
CRIME ALERTS
NAMIBIA JOURNAL
Christian Missionary Work Is Not as Glamorous as It Seems
THE DIARY OF BRENDAN O’FLAHERTY, WHITE SAVIOR
Day 0
but that may just be the language barrier. My
Day 12
Well, Diary, it’s finally happening! I’m cur-
host family got angry with me last night, be-
Dear Diary,
rently sitting in seat 22B of a non-stop Air
cause I was nervous and I compulsively built
OK. I’m startin to get really pissed off here.
Namibia flight. In just a few hours, I’ll forever
a well. This other family wants me to mar-
I just found out that the villagers have been
change the lives of the Naminibians Namphib-
ry their daughter. But, she doesn’t smell like
throwing all the Bibles I gave them down my
ians Naminites the fine tribesmen of Namibia.
my mom. Is that a cultural thing? One thing
well. Oh Lord! I hope they don’t land on poor
How exciting! I’m going to build so many wells
learned today is that the villagers are big fans
Tjipaha’s head.
for these people, they’ll have to rename the vil-
of the 2008 and 2012 New England Patriots!
Day 18
lage ‘Well-ington’. Do you get it? Funny, right?
They all have so much merchandise celebrat-
Dear Diary,
I wonder what kind of stone I’ll build the wells
ing the Super Bowl victories.
So after I built the tenth well, the village
with. Slate? Granite? Oh, I hope it’s granite. I
Day 5
seems to be slowly turning into a sinkhole. On
guess only time will tell. See you soon!
Dear Diary,
the bright side, we’re ten feet closer to rescu-
I want to prove my use, so I filled in the wells
ing the first baptism! Oh and ten feet close to
Dear Diary,
that were here when I first arrived. Now these
having a wave pool! I tried to take a picture of
I have to be frank when I say that my first
people will have to use my anxiety-inspired
the families to celebrate this occasion, but the
well.
kids just seem to depressed. If these freaking
Day 1
thought upon arriving in this village was “Why is there already a well here?” I don’t know
Day 8
kids aren’t going to smile for my Facebook pho-
what to do. These people have no agricultural
Dear Diary,
to, I’m not so sure they deserve a well.
skills, and they don’t need a well. I don’t know
I’m in way too deep here. I tried to perform
how to farm, so we’re out of luck. Maybe I can
my first baptism in the well, and I didn’t think
Dear Diary,
teach them to pray?
ahead. I accidentally dropped Tjipaha into the
The first baptism died but I told the villag-
Day 2
well and we can’t seem to get him out. Luckily
ers it’s fine because he went to Heaven. They
Dear Diary,
Tjipaha seems to be able to accept Jesus Christ
didn’t buy it.
These people don’t speak English and no one
and tread water at the same time. People are
Day 40
here has watched Stranger Things. I keep mak-
a tad disappointed. Maybe they’d cheer up if I
Dear Diary,
ing Eleven jokes and no one is getting them,
made them all personal wells?
I’m not doing so well…
A TOUCHING TALE
Day 35
YOU PEOPLE DISGUST US
Wien Sophomore’s Last-Ditch Attempt at Companionship Foiled by Gruesome Death of Ant Farm By LUIS VERA
Will Die Alone
WIEN—Sources have confirmed that one Gary Michaels CC ’19, buckled under the weight of crippling loneliness and ordered an ant farm online in a desperate bid for outside contact--only to be sent into a spiraling depression upon discovering the colony massacred in a freak accident. The complete eradication of the farm, totaled at 227 ants, was initially attributed to the 13 days the package spent on a poorly ventilated, sunless shelf in Wien, during
which time Michaels reportedly attempted to muster up the testicular fortitude to interact with the package staffer. Campus authorities have declined to investigate further. However, one Public Safety official ventured his own theory: “The first thing you have to understand about this Michaels kid is that he’s fucking weird,” the officer, who requested he remain unnamed, told reporters on Sunday. “Like, this is some next-level shit. I swiped him in once and our hands brushed, and I suddenly felt this wave of profound unease, like someone took a piss on my grave. I had
to call home and make sure my daughter was still alive.” “Anyway, afterwards I looked into this kid, and it turns out he’s just that creepy all the time. I’ve seen him clear out the Wien lounge in 15 minutes just by sitting down. The other kids don’t even know why they’re leaving, they just want out. Listen, I think these ants might’ve heard someone say this guy’s name when the package came in and decided to just tap out rather than live with him. Some Jonestown shit went down in that ant farm, I’m telling you.” Further inspection of the ant farm re-
vealed that, indeed, all 227 ants were found in the same corner, having sustained heavy self-inflicted wounds. A pheromone examination further showed that the ants were all in a state of what might only be described as acute desperation. Whatever the cause, the effect on the young sad sack was reportedly quite severe: Michaels was last spotted sobbing hysterically outside the package center three days ago, and no information on his whereabouts is currently available.
Pigeon Perched on 1020 Roof Always Thinking With Cloaca By ISAIAH BENNETT Not to Be Looked In the Eyes 1020 - Students looked on in disgust this weekend as one filthy pigeon spent all night atop 1020 hopping from female to female in search of a mate. “It’s disgusting and frankly really embarrassing,” said one disappointed onlooker. “The ends that some of the freaks go to around here for a little mating are absolutely pathetic.”
Other sources reported seeing the pigeon strut around on frat row for hours before resignedly heading to the corner of Amsterdam and 110th, where he endeavored to coax anything with feathers and an orifice back to his nest. He also harassed passing male pigeons, asking if they would be his wing men. “He sits around at the sundial fluffing his feathers all day, staring at all the females with his beady little eyes like they’re pieces of meat, turkeys ready to be cooked,” one frustrated student said. “The fact that, in this day and
age, you can get away with that kind of blatant sexism absolutely blows my mind. Their species may be preyed upon, but mark my words: that bird is the true predator.” Across the Hudson, the bird’s friends and family expressed growing concern about where their once young and adorable chick’s life was headed. Said the young pest’s mother: “Those college campuses are dens of sin— just look what they’ve done to my little boy. I knew when we dropped him off this wouldn’t end well, when we saw a possum wearing bird
BUT READ ANWAYS
feathers trying to pass itself off as a parrot. No wonder these godless heathens have corrupted my sweet child.” While some family members blame the horny pigeon’s relentless sexual advances on his newfound freedom, others are convinced that he’s just a bad egg.
I DON’T BRUSH MY TEETH
State School Sorority Photo AcTransfer Adjusting tually Same White to Buttchug-Free Girl Repeated 150 Times Environment By HARRISON GALE
Sore BUTLER - Trying to find your footing after a big move can be a challenge for anyone, but when Karl Winters CC’19 transferred from Arizona State University to Columbia University, nothing could have prepared him for the jarring culture shock.
“I’m in a place where no one ever gets loose.” Though Winters thought he wanted a change from the all-out blackout-drunk partying of ASU, he has found himself stricken with nostalgia for the kind of warm, velvety buttchugs of his old stomping grounds. Nights
holed up in Butler with nothing but the sounds of one man’s echoey sniffles to keep him company were no match for vodka-soaked tampons shoved up his youthful, eager bottom. “I really thought I wanted a break from getting a Budweiser enema every weekend, but now that I’m in a place where no one ever gets loose, I’m starting to miss the familiar, raw sting of alcohol funneling into my rectum,” said Winters. “I guess you never know what you got ‘til it’s gone.” When asked whether he plans on transferring back to ASU, Winters stated that he has plans to consolidate the chugging community at Columbia, which has long sought the acceptance of Columbia’s orally-fixated. Winters hopes to secure space in the old FIJI house, as the place has long been seen as welcoming to assholes.
By BENJAMIN MOST easier to just use this Getty image over Soroity Girl Correspondent and over,” Gamma Alpha Epsilon president Becki Madison CC ‘17 said, sipping a skinny half-caf Frappuccino. “We all look the same except for that one brunette, but usually we make her take the photo anyways, so we should be fine.” After repeating the same white girl 150 times, Madison also increased the brightness of the photo and covered the shadowy areas with hearts and Greek letters, she said. “It was way quicker this time,” she said. “Usually we have to spend an hour or two getting the perfect lighting before going back to the house, posting on Instagram, and getting wine-drunk, but this time we were able to skip straight to Instead of taking its annual photo the Instagram and wine part.” with every member this year, sorority Madison also added that as a reGamma Alpha Epsilon found a stock sult of Photoshopping the picture photo of a white girl squatting and past- this year, the girls didn’t have to squat ed it 150 times in a row. in dresses, which was difficult be“Rather than getting the sisters to- cause their knees were always sore. gether this year, we figured it would be
Join the Columbia Graduate Student
HUNGER STRIKE
We will go to John Jay on Mondays until the University grants its graduate workers just compensation. BUT I DO FLOSS
please don’t take a shit while i’m brushing my teeth. paid for by everybody
MY SAFE WORD IS
PSA From Your Hot TA—Just Leave Me Alone By NATASHA PRZEDBORSKI Hot In college, I couldn’t even pay a girl to have coffee with me, and now I have all these students just eying my crotch during discussion sections. Honestly, the most annoying part
is having to schedule all these office hours. All I want to do is go home to my lizard and hang out. But no! I have to stay at school after hours to talk to these overly smart students about how well they already understand the material. Trust me, whatever you have to offer will not boost your grade.
To all the students emailing me to “talk about the class,” just drop it. I’m not interested. I know I look good in this button-down shirt, that’s what adults look like. Can you please just pay attention to what’s on the board instead of trying to imagine me naked?
I did not sign up for this objectification and commodification. What about asking me about my interests, or engaging me in a complex discussion, or bringing me coffee? Go get your complexes sorted out in your free Furman sessions. For fuck’s sakes, let me masturbate in silence.
Columbia Mistakenly Hires Professor Who Speaks English By KEVIN GONG
English Speaker BUTLER – Columbia’s Mathematics Department released a statement last night that it mistakenly hired a professor who could actually speak clear, concise and understandable English. “We apologize for our mistake. In the future, we will work harder to ensure that students cannot understand anything from the lectures or notes.
They cannot truly understand the beauty of the Hairy Ball Theorem until it’s explained to them by a professor unfamiliar with even the Latin alphabet,” said Director of Undergraduate Studies Marissa Li. The first warning signs that the department had erred in hiring James O’Connor arose when his class’s midterm average was over 50 percent and only covered material taught in class.
Concerned students reported being able to fully understand the professor’s lectures without having to interpret mangled grammar, look up the lecture topic online, or ask for notes from their Asian friend. “I didn’t come to an Ivy League university to be spoon-fed information,” math student Atticus Hutchinson CC ’19 said. “I came for a challenging, intensive educational experience in a di-
verse learning environment, and the fact that I was assigned a white, English-speaking professor—a Gentile, no less—is an insult to all of Columbia’s values.” Professor O’Connor was promptly notified of the mistake and told to pursue other employment options, perhaps at Cornell University.
Administration Unsure if Creepy Guy Pervert or Just Christian By NICK RIBOLLA
CPS representative Tammy Rosenblatt. Ready for Jesus “Like, knife shit. Or poop shit.” Students remain undecided as to whether Matthias’s “very clean but still ST. JOHN THE DIVINE – Following kinda greasy” visage should be a cause continued reports of his uncomfortably for comfort or concern. “His brightlong handshakes and seemingly inter- white teeth, polite glasses, and cleanminable smiles, Columbia Adminis- ly-pressed clothes, all should probably tration remains unsure whether Mark have put me at ease when I met the Matthias CC ‘18 is a sexual deviant or guy,” said Jackie Carter SEAS ‘17, “but I just really, really Christian. really can’t tell if he’s just being friendMatthias’s off-putting behaviour has ly, or wants to tie me up and slather been the subject of campus-wide de- me in some homemade barbecue sauce bate. “His natural talent for making ev- from wherever in bumfuck Kentucky eryone he meets deeply uncomfortable he must be from.” has got to stem either from deeply inAt press time, Matthias was seen grained Protestantism or a desire to do perking up at the mention of the word some freaky, freaky shit to people,” said “missionary.”
JESUS CHRIST
DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME
A SEAS Report On Seducing Women By NED GREENSTEIN Couldn’t Get a Frat Bid Hypothesis: Even you—yes, you, you lanky, pimply mess of a SEAS student— can pull straight 10s and unleash the alpha male inside of you, with a little help for yours truly, the SEAS seduction expert. I know, I know. You’re ugly, and your intellect holds you back. Girls just want to be your friend and have no interest in fucking you. Only assholes can pull bitches, not nice guys like you. Well, it’s time to take a good, long look in the mirror, buddy. Because you have two options: either keep bemoaning your misfortune, or keep reading this guide and learn how to become the asshole you want to be. I think you know what you need to do. Background: I used to be like you: a pathetic, sad fuckup out of touch with my own sexuality and able to do nothing outside the fields of theoretical physics, rocket science and vector calculus. By age 20, the closest I had ever been to touching a breast was one magical moment with a Macy’s mannequin outside the changing rooms. That was the moment of my sexual awakening. On that fateful day, I resolved to discover the secrets that, until then, were known only by natural alpha studs like econ and business majors. Why did women go for these mindless thugs time and time again, while intellectuals like you and me were waiting by the wings, ready to treat them like princesses? I needed to know the answer. If you’re a natural pussy magnet, pulling bitches with your confident swagger and your understanding of the financial markets, this guide isn’t for you. Perhaps you would prefer one of our other guides, such as “How to Find the Perfect Trophy Wife.” This is a guide for my fellow SEAS gentlemen, the repressed intellectuals who, after years of being pushed aside by brutish econ meatbags, are ready to unlock the secrets of sexual success. Materials: For this experiment, you’re going to need an entirely new wardrobe. Throw out your Star Wars shirt collection—yes, even the one with Darth Vader that says “Warning: Choking Hazard.” Especially that one. To play with the big boys, you need to dress like the big boys. Invest in timeless classics like Vineyard Vines and Brooks Brothers, while showing your individuali-
ty with more niche choices like Yeezys or a well-fit blazer where appropriate to put that tech startup money to good use. The transition lenses in your glasses aren’t going to work. Women need a man who can commit. Pull out those Ray-Ban shades whenever you can; they make you look dark and mysterious while covering up a decent portion of your ugly face. Otherwise, get contact lenses or, if you’d like to try more of a “New Yorker in the streets, Playboy in the sheets” look, some wide-rimmed glasses. Be warned though: while this style may make you the hit of the party in your book club, going for those slutty 10s may require something a little more suggestive, so rolling up your sleeves past the forearms and showing a little chest hair (taped-on if necessary) is also recommended. When seducing women, props such as a deck of cards often come in handy. No, not the cards with a different Far Side comic on each one; a fresh deck of Bicycles is what I’m talking about. When your conversational abilities fail, as they inevitably will, you can impress bitches with card tricks and palm reading. A good old-fashioned game of 52-card pick up while picking up chicks is also a great way to get an upskirt glance if you need something to keep you going. Here comes the hard part: putting your fresh outfit and your props to good use and getting your sexless ass out of the lab and into her bed. You’re at a frat party. (Getting in is easy; just ask that Chinese chick you met in your freshman Python class to help you and then ditch her as soon as possible.) You need to distinguish yourself from the others—and, as an engineer with a bright future ahead of you, doing so is not as hard as it may seem. Approach the first hot girl you see, taking the shortest path possible— use Dijkstra’s algorithm here if necessary. The vibe you’re going for is “I’m sexy, I have a big dick, and you want to fuck me.” But you can’t say this directly, because none of those things are true. However, you need to embody everything that a big-dicked individual would. The dick that matters isn’t the one attached to your crotch. What really matters is the big dick in your heart. Get up close. Hopefully you’ve washed yourself in the past few days—a tall order for someone busy unlocking the secrets of the fabric of space-time, I know, but trust me here. Whisper your opening line in her ear. There are virtually infinite choices
here, but ultimately, it doesn’t matter what you say. She probably won’t be to hear what you’re saying anyway, so just say something like “Hi, I’m Chad Bigcock” or rattle off a few dozen digits of pi. What matters is your physical communication—get up in her grill and make those digits sound as sexy as you know they are. At some point in the night you’re going to need to dance with her. This might be hard because you’ve never danced before and likely never heard music outside of that song your chemistry teacher played in class to help you learn the periodic table. Luckily for you, dancing is easy. Just sway your body to the beat (that means the occasional pounding noise that happens every half-second), mimic the much cooler guys around you, and hold a Solo cup in your dominant hand. Talk to her about anything a CC or Barnard student might want to talk about. That means nothing about Doctor Who, nothing about the latest math paper you read, and definitely nothing about why P does not equal NP and anyone who says otherwise is just a fool with his head in the clouds. Slowly escalate physicality throughout the conversation. If you ever start to lose confidence, just repeat the following mantra to yourself: “I have a big dick and do not like math. I have a big dick and do not like math. I have a big dick and do not like math.” By now, she should be wetter than the boat you made out of popsicle sticks for your fourth grade science fair. Don’t waste time; lean in and whisper, “You wanna get out of here?” While this line may seem confusing to you at first—where are you going?—it actually suggests that you are going somewhere to have coitus, which is the ultimate goal of this experiment. If she says yes, congratulations. You’re almost there. Don’t celebrate yet, though; you still have to make her cum. Results: You’re in her room now. She has terrible taste, and boy band posters and pink sheets disgust you, but make sure not to comment. The time for negs is over. Make sure you have a condom. If you haven’t seen one of these before, they’re like plastic cum socks. A word of warning: your big-dick mantra won’t actually give you a big dick, so if she asks if it’s in yet, just say you’re still getting there and keep going. Getting yourself off is easy; you’ve been
KEEP IT PG
doing it on your own for years. Mastering the puzzle of female sexuality is a different matter entirely. Legend has it that some women can’t orgasm at all, so your two-centimeter peter certainly isn’t going to do it for everyone. While this topic is too complex to explain in this little brief, call 212-854-9550 to purchase my results-guaranteed sequel booklet, “SEAS Report on Seducing Women 2: Congrats, Bro.” After the deed is done, wipe yourself off and get the fuck out of there. You’ve got a pset due Monday. You don’t have time to linger and deal with pillow talk. But next weekend, go out there and do it again and again and again. Remember, you can’t trust a small sample size. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it took Darwin years to develop his theory of evolution. But you’ve taken the first step. You’ve conquered what once seemed insurmountable. Rejoice, for you have felt a real-life breast. Now go out there and fuck some more hos, you homely, limp-dicked piece of shit.
By AMANDA BA
HOT MEAT
My Parents Love Their New Backyard Barbecue More Than Me By FED BOARD Vegan and Going to Tell You About It Recently, my parents invested in a new grill for our backyard. I didn’t think much about it; it was just another purchase. That is, until I started noticing signs. My parents skipped my last six ballroom dance competitions to stand around admiring the grill with Randy from next door, because apparently, their more proud of getting a nice char on the chicken than their daughter not misstepping the waltz. I thought I could find it in myself to look past it. Oh, how comically wrong I was. A few days later, I made my parents a refined blown-glass sculpture of the great Roman historian Tacitus. My dad glanced at my work, said, “That’s great, buddy,” and headed outside to char-broil some turkey sausage. That was when I realized that my
parents love their new backyard barbecue more than me. My achievements in glassblowing and Baroque dance can’t possibly compete with a sizzling piece of grass-fed beef.. I am an only
By NATALIE ARENZON child—and yet, the grill is their favorite member of the family. The jealousy is simply too much to
bear. One night, I snuck outside, armed with a hammer. Before I could unleash a fatal blow on that greasy grill, my father raced outside and threw himself in front of the it, ready to sacrifice his life to protect it. “Dammit, Dad,” I yelled. “How come you’ll leap in front of a grill to save it but sat back and laughed when I got hit in the face with a softball at my intramural game? Is it something I did? Why don’t you love me?” I sobbed. My father looked at me quizzically and ran to the grill to check for scratches. And this is where I am now—outshone and outperformed at every turn by a Weber 66004001 Genesis II LX S-340 Natural Gas Grill. I’m not worried though. How long can this possibly last before they realize they’ve been neglecting their beloved child for an inanimate object and come crawling back to apologi–Oh my fucking God my mother just walked in with a Roomba.
Man For Man: You Wore Those Shoes That Look Like Feet With The Individual Toes. We Haven’t Met But We’re Already In Love. By GARY BERNARD Amateur Podiatrist Springtime in New York. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and I’m looking for love. I just got out of a nasty croc-on-croc relationship, and for a while I didn’t know if I could love again. But when I saw the way your neon orange, foot-shaped shoes hit the pavement as you
walked the last 2k of the color run, I knew you were the only one for me. I feel like I already know you. You obviously own a fitbit, and you probably burn through those 10,000 steps by brunch. You’re not a vegan, but you always ask for rice milk in your macchiatos. And sure, you didn’t vote for Jill Stein, but you thought she had some great ideas. Let me bury my secrets deep inside
that expensive leather man-bag you keep strapped to your lanky midwestern frame. I want to replace those orange scented candles that Housing confiscated from your dorm last February, and blast the folk rock station on spotify while I slide between your burlap sheets. I swear it’s not a fetish—just promise me you’ll keep the toe shoes on. Whisper in my ear about the extra traction they give you for Ultimate
while you upload every single picture from your backpacking trip to pinterest. I would do anything for you. I’ll even switch from Cliff to Luna if that’s what it takes. Was that you I saw the other day selling Herbalife? Wow. I never knew I could love so much.
You Say “Tomato”, I say “BUSHDID9/11” By DYLAN SACHS
Infidel
As an Oregon native at a culturally Jewish university, my time at Columbia has brought immense amounts of culture shock. Perhaps my biggest surprise has been my newfound awareness of my thick, Portlandian accent. Although I fully accept that linguistic tics might be difficult for foreigners to comprehend, I had no idea how much regionalist
scorn I was in for when I ordered the classic BUSHDID9/11 and mozzarella panini from Hamilton Deli. “Sorry, what was that?” the sandwich crafter asked. I politely repeated my order more slowly, but was met with a blank and slightly concerned stare. God damn it, I thought, There must be a different word for this in the Big Apple. “Sorry, I mean I would like a caprese panini with extra BUSHDID9/11.” His concerned gaze was replaced with an equally
confused look of alarm. I scrambled for the right words.. “I mean, a caprese panini with extra tomatoes.” The man behind the counter looked at me for an umcomfortably long time. “Son, in these partsthat’s called a tomato mozzarella panini.” He looked around for a moment, then leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear. “But if we’re being honest, I’m with you on that.” ” My experiences at HamDel were a re-
SIZZLE SIZZLE
minder that, here in New York, things really are different, right down to the way people refer to BUSHDID9/11s. That’s what I love about this great country—its sheer diversity of thought, opinion, and fruit classification. As I go about my four years at this university and in this city, I will never forget this day and its spotlight on the unique perspectives we all bring.
Name: Dr. Andre Adams School: CC Defend Your Major: All those numbers in your precious Vox thinkpieces have to come from somebody’s ass. Israel or Palestine? Palestine never offered me an all expenses paid indoctrication where I can meet fellow breeding-age New York Ashkenazi Jews, so... Favorite War Criminal? George W. BUSH!! #real o.O t r u t h O.o #real Do You Mind If I Sit Here? How dare you talk to me. How Do You Blast Those Love Handles? Asymmetrically Fondest Childhood Venereal Disease? Privilege Do You Have A Color-Coded Right to Speak? Does stammering uncomfortably every time race comes up because you didn’t know any black people until you were 15 count? Does Your Dad Kiss You on the Mouth? Not without active, enthusiastic consent. Last Words: About time.
Senior W
Name: Na-Trash-A School: The angry feminist one, BC Defend Your Major: Economics also known as, I will be your future boss. Israel or Palestine? I don’t ask for ID before they enter me. Favorite War Criminal? Spec or Bwog. Do You Mind If I Sit Here? I’d rather you sit on my lap but I guess next to me is fine. How Do You Blast Those Love Handles? Is that an American thing? Fondest Childhood Venereal Disease? The patriarchy. Can you tell I go to a Women’s College?. Do You Have A Color-Coded Right to Speak? I plead the 5th. Does Your Dad Kiss You on the Mouth? Wouldn’t know, he still doesn’t know about me. Last Words: I need not explain my fame. Imitate thou able not. My odyssey to greatness envied. I am you, president. Daughter of Deborah, sister of Athena and wife of Beta, I am wise, I am senior.
Name: Breeeeet School: GS/JTS Defend Your Major: We look at past societal and state conflicts and incorrectly predict the next ones. We also correctly fuck new conflicts up. Israel or Palestine? Well this israeli a hard question for me to answer now isn’t it? Tbh both are cool tho. Favorite War Criminal? Obama Do You Mind If I Sit Here? Get off my lap How Do You Blast Those Love Handles? I’m literally a walking human skeleton so @everyone plz send some love handles my way cuz winters get super cold for me. Fondest Childhood Venereal Disease? CC elitism for sure. Do You Have A Color-Coded Right to Speak? What, do you think society is color blind or something? Does Your Dad Kiss You on the Mouth? No, but yours does ;) Last Words: Eat shit commies I’m outta here.
Name: Shake n’Bake School: the ‘nard
Defend your major: someone’s gotta deal with the finance br TION COMES Israel or Palestine? Only one of them has the word ‘palace’ in it Favorite war criminal? Charlie Chaplin. Do you mind if I sit here? If by ‘here’ you mean ‘on my face,’ th How do you blast those love handles? IEDs (Improvised Exerc Fondest childhood venereal disease? Isn’t chickenpox just herp Do you have a color-coded right to speak? Yes. When I’m wit person, I don’t talk to them either. When I’m with other POC, I Does you dad kiss you on the mouth? My daddy kisses me wh Last words: “Hmm...this is the worst turbulence I’ve ever exper
Wisdom
ros’ crippling depression and anxiety ONCE THE REVOLU-
t.
hen of course not. cising Disappointments.) I tried. rpes? th a white person, I don’t talk to them. When I’m with a black I also don’t talk to them. Tl;dr: I don’t like talking to humans. herever he wants. rienced.”
Name: McKenzie Supreme Leader Fritz School: The Debora L. Spar College of Hwhite Corporate Feminism Defend Your Major: Thanks to my Political Science and Human Rights majors, I can one day write a thought-provoking think piece that your racist Aunt Marcia posts to Facebook with the caption “FAKE NEWS”. Israel or Palestine? As my hero, Miss Teen South Carolina 2007 once said, “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uhmmm, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and uh, I believe that our, I, education like such as uh, South Africa, and uh, the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uhhh, our education over here in the US should help the US, uh, should help South Africa, it should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future, for us.” Favorite War Criminal? I’m going to prematurely say Donald Trump...I’m an optimist! Do You Mind If I Sit Here? My face is actually fully booked for the week but I might be able to squeeze you in next Tuesday. How Do You Blast Those Love Handles? A combination of crisco, saran wrap and courage Fondest Childhood Venereal Disease? Crabs, my mom is hypoallergenic and crabs were so much cooler than that fucking beta fish. Do You Have A Color-Coded Right to Speak? Well I took Lee Bollinger’s Freedom of Speech and Press course sophomore year, so now that I’m an expert I’m going to say that censoring #Spec op-eds would probably have a chilling effect on the insightful rhetoric found in the Columbia Buy Sell Memes page and I’d probably also continue to evade the question and use some of my favorite buzzwords like “problematic” or “intersectionality”. Does Your Dad Kiss You on the Mouth? Only on the weekends because during the week I live with my Grandma. Last Words: Peace. Love. Butthole.
Name: Jailey School: GS/JTS Defend Your Major: Me carcass sways the nasador o’ the gosling—so dulcent so swift so suckle throwt me prested-woken’d yarble. Israel or Palestine? Aye, say ye, Detenance! Strem and scream and helter skelter. Aye non, me says, poot your civimaggot away to rot and pointandpoint follow. So Israel. Favorite War Criminal? Brett Krasner. Wont thy scuchmachine to chinwagin me, yon the babe gosling (UUUWK kweouk UUUWK kweouk?) roasts sur the cripplecrappletendercackle and we setten. Do You Mind If I Sit Here? Such real oheeyass I feel! I feel such real oheeyass! How Do You Blast Those Love Handles? Et aye, my sweet, such I feel oheeyass that to me feel real! The yarble biggenwidens with the What soft in my delanted orificicles! Fondest Childhood Venereal Disease? Aye, my syphilized yarblebling does get festive with the—What soft in my delanted orificicles! Do You Have A Color-Coded Right to Speak? I’m not that organized.
YES ALL MEN
The Water Bottle Flipper: A Feminist Critique By ALEXANDRA HARRIS
At first, like most, I was captivated Flippant and mystified by the Vine compilations of this distinguished sport. How does Often heralded as the greatest city one calculate such a trajectory? The in America, New York is truly the City precision and discipline of the flick of of Dreams—that is, if you’re a man. For the wrist™ alone was enough to send me women, New York City is nothing short spiraling into a mental abyss. But the of an absurdly overcompensating con- more I thought about it, the clearer it centration of phallic symbols designed all became. All the hype surrounding to trivialize the working women who the flipping trend, the culture that has dare to walk its treacherous male-infest- arisen around water bottle artistry—it’s ed streets, with penislike streetlights at all just a front. It always has been. The every corner to remind women of their water bottle flip isn’t about athleticism subservience. This obvious misogyny at all; it’s about sexism. became clear to me about my second The shape of the water bottle alone is week living here as I walked up and evidence enough. Have you ever stopped down Broadway, astounded by the mas- to ask yourself why water bottles are culine homogeneity of this city’s archi- shaped to emulate male rather than fetecture. Recently, however, I’ve noticed male genitalia? Or why we don’t drink a smaller yet equally offensive sexist from breast-shaped bottles when, after practice ingrained within our sexist cul- all, a mother’s milk is the true nectar of ture: the water bottle flip. life? Men must have felt so inferior to
women that they had to mold a drinking gourd in their gender’s honor, when in fact, millions of years of evolution point to the female breast as the optimal shape for liquid consumption. In fact, after an extensive Google investigation, I found that plastic water bottles were patented by engineer Nathaniel Wyeth. Not only was he—of course—a man, but he also received his bachelor’s degree from the University of Pennsylvania, the same cradle of douchebaggery that gave our current male bigot of a president Donald Trump his bachelors. Coincidence? You tell me. Not only are water bottles so clearly one of the many phallic symbols that plague our society—like the Empire State Building or Jared Kushner’s general body shape—but they are now at the epicenter of one of the most modern sexist practices. Consider this: have you
ever seen a viral water bottle flip video in which a female was the star? No, because women have been conveniently excluded from this phenomenon. In fact, according to a shocking statistic from provethatimright.com, women were the stars of less than 5% of all water bottle flip videos this year and made just 78% of men’s earnings per view. It’s time that men opened their eyes and acknowledged the oppression they’ve inflicted upon women. The next time you’re sunbathing on Low Beach and somebody begins flipping a water bottle, stop and ask the women around you if they’d like to take a turn first. And when they call you a chauvinist pig for asking, take their criticisms to heart. Because flipping water bottles doesn’t need to oppress women like it does now.
Downtrodden Freshman Columbia Garden Yields Calls It Quits, Asks Fully-Grown Econ Majors When This Thing Can Be Over With By: THOMAS BROCKLAND
Ripe and Juicy
By GUS O’CONNOR
Just Done 59TH STREET—Michael Kane CC ‘20 has had enough. After spilling his lentil soup all over himself after some asshole bumped into him in Ferris, Kane courageously took it upon himself to call it quits on this whole college business. “Yeah that’s it,” Kane said, his shirt still a little sticky. “I can’t thrive in a place where they don’t even have trays in the cafeteria.” Last seen playing the pan flute in the Columbus Circle subway station, Kane did not seem to regret his decision: “This is my life now,” Michael said. “I don’t need your pity. But I do need you to buy this pan flute CD for $5.”
BY NATALIE ARENZON
OUTSIDE URIS—Along with the tulips, daffodils, and crocuses in bloom each year, another growth perennially sprouts out of the Columbia Garden Club’s garden: fully-grown econ majors. “We don’t really know where they come from,” said environmental science major, Kerry Rubenstein. “We water the soil with broken dreams, fertilize it with internship offers, and voila, out they come.” “I’m really proud of myself. I pulled myself up from my bootstraps from nothing and look where I am now,” said a newborn consultant as the gardeners carefully dug him out of the ground with a trowel. “We have an idea that the magic ingredient might be the runoff from Uris,” said a student tending to him while he attempted to mansplain the Laffer Curve to everyone in earshot.
One of the student gardeners used a shovel to knock out a somewhat-unripe one who was shouting, “ALL WAGE LABOR IS SLAVERY!” The gardener shook his head, remarking: “He’ll ripen up after a few weeks at Goldman.”
A note to our readers: please make sure the econ majors are ripe before plucking them. You can usually tell by checking if they have a LinkedIn.
Columbia would be a lot less stressful if we didn’t have to take classes. Tell the administration to take action. Join the conversation at www.ColumbiaFederalist.com. GOOD TALK
UNSOLICITED OPNIONS
I’m White and I’m Here to Tell You You’re Eating Your Sushi Wrong By THOMAS BROCKLAND Claims He’s a Black Belt Whether or not you care—and you should—I am the textbook definition of a man of culture. All of my photos are black-and-white. I watched a movie with Woody Allen in it. I have been to at least four museums. I thrice ate a croissant and once a bowl of curried lentils. And yes, I have written a handful of haikus in my time. You, poor reader—yes, you—know nothing about the travesty you bring to the ancient Japanese culinary art of
sushi. I know this because I wrote some haikus one fateful day nine years ago, in fourth grade. The experience turned me into something of a connoisseur of authentic Japanese culture—more than you can ever hope to be, you plebeian. This is coming from someone who has spent an hour once planning a hypothetical trip to Tokyo before getting bored and scrapping it, someone who has watched at least five episodes of Dragon Ball Z just for cultural background, someone with that Japanese wave poster on my wall because it’s just cool, man, it really speaks to me. I spent a cumulative
twenty minutes over three days searching Japanese terms related to sushi just to know more than you about it. You simple fool, you can’t even fathom the mistakes you make. You pick up your disposable wooden chopsticks— not even buying your own reusable lacquered set, the horror—and dip your sushi rice-side down into soy sauce. Didn’t you know you are supposed to use it only on the fish, and only as much as I dictate is culturally appropriate? You eat rolled “sushi” with the rice on the outside instead of the inside? Have you no respect? Don’t get me started on adding
cooked fish and shellfish to this culinary masterpiece. You utter imbecile, did you think that you can just adapt food for new tastes? Food isn’t about enjoyment or experimentation, you simpleton, it’s about me. Here’s a haiku just for you, since I’m feeling generous: I am insecure This is my sole source of joy; Please, someone help me
The Five Thiccest Lit Hum Books You’ll Ever Read
By BENJAMIN MOST
enough material to satisfy your cravThirsty for “Knowledge” ing. With footnotes on every page and a stunning appendix in its trunk, the AeThere are two types of readers: those neid spits game with the best of them. who get off on skinny little 200-pagers 4. The Odyssey: Popular with Latin like Song of Solomon, and those looking students and literature majors alike, Hofor a thiccer text, something with meat mer’s Odyssey will have you wetter than and substance. To all those people who the Mediterranean with its harrowing revel in moist novels like Infinite Jest tale of the Greek hero Odysseus and his and scoff at bony novellas like Of Mice treacherous journey back home. Dividand Men, this list is for you. Without ed into 24 full-figured books, each pretfurther ado, here are the five thiccest ty thicc in its own right, the Odyssey’s books in the Lit Him syllabus, all guar- metaphors will have you rereading senanteed to make you sweat. tences again and again. When you get to 5. The Aeneid: While it can’t compete the final bloodbath, you’ll be pressing with the thiccness of some other choice replay on that money shot longer the Lit Hum titles, Virgil’s Aeneid is thicc Odysseus got it on with Circe. enough to easily satisfy most hungry 3. Inferno: Don’t be fooled by its (and thirsty) readers, and has more than small dimensions and unassuming cov-
er. Dante’s Inferno, which features both the original raw Italian and a slick English translation, is thiccer than it may at first appear. The small print will make you work for it, and it’ll take some stamina to get through some of the hottest scenes. But if you manage to make it to the final stage of Hell, we’re pretty sure you’ll be begging Virgil, to take you on another ride. 2. Crime and Punishment: Clocking in at number 2 on this list is a book that has it all: crime, punishment, and other stuff, too. For the inexperienced reader, Crime and Punishment is a punishment in itself (but as a Columbia student, you’re into might be into that). However, anyone looking for a thicc read will find that Dostoevsky’s 1866 classic of-
fers an outlet for all of your naughtiest, most punishable desires. Just wait until you get to the horse beating scene; we’re pretty sure by then you’ll be beating your own horse, too. 1. Don Quixote: Without a doubt, book number one in the Lit Hum thicctionary is Miguel de Cervantes’s Don Quixote. Clocking in at 940 pages and with a titillating introduction by Cervantes scholar Edith Grossman (don’t get hung up on that not-so-hot name—her analysis is stupid thicc), Don Quixote will have you chasing windmills all night long. And by windmills, we mean Sancho Panza’s dick. That peasant boy can get it.
I Wouldn’t Have Killed Myself if I’d Known Fucking Dirk Would be at the Funeral By NICK RIBOLLA
Kind of Petty Friends and loved ones—you’re likely wondering how I’m doing now that I’ve crossed over to the other side. The afterlife is quite rewarding, and I believe I’ve made peace with the demons that haunted me in my troubled life. I am finally, truly free. There is just, like, one thing that’s kind of still bugging me.
Who the fuck invited Dirk to my funeral? I fucking hate that guy. Imagine my surprise when, looking down from the Great Beyond, I see Dirk with that shit-eating grin on his face, standing around my cemetery plot like he owns the goddamn place. And he was like, weird to my mom. All I’m saying is I would’ve appreciated a little heads up on that. One time Dirk came with me and my friends for dinner. He said he wasn’t
hungry and didn’t order anything. But of course, once the food gets there it turns into a motherfucking potluck. Oh, what’s that Dirk? You want some of my shrimp scampi? Oh, and some of Robby’s pasta? You wanna fuck my mom, Dirk? You wanna fuck my fucking mom? It would’ve been one thing if he’d just shown up. But there he is, sobbing like a little bitch at my eulogy. Really? Dirk didn’t come to a single kickback I had this sum-
SPEC REJECTS
mer, and I had like six seriously legit kickbacks. You’re gonna cry over a man’s death but not check out his new digs? That’s fucked up. I’m not the haunting type. Really, I’m not! I’m not petty like that! But if this little shitbird keeps touching my mom’s shoulder I am going to ruin him. RUIN. HIM.
SPOT IS WITH GRANDMA
Wow! Dumbass 4th Grader Still Believes Spot Went to the Farm By NICK RIBOLLA
Newsbriefs I Thought I Was Healthy, But I’m Just Not __________________________________ Transfer Student Really Likes It Here, Don’t Ask Him Again __________________________________ Deantini Conned Into Opening Too Many Bank Accounts __________________________________ Uzbeki Constitution Day Forgotten, Again __________________________________ It’s Not Plagiarism, It’s Intertextuality __________________________________ Cuckolds of America: Keep Your Hands On Our Women __________________________________ We Know You’re High __________________________________ Homeless Man Won’t Settle For Less
________________________________________
Dumbass Freshman
ITHACA, NY — Earlier this week, reporters confirmed that Jake Wallingford, Ithaca resident and local dumbass, still believes his beloved chocolate lab Spot is alive and well at some farm in the Adirondacks where only his grandmother had gone before. The fuckwit’s mother, Mary Wallingford, was unsurprised by the news. “My husband and I have always known that Jake wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He is his father’s son after all. But c’mon. That little mutt has been dead as a doornail for years.” “I love my son, but the little crybaby bitch he is, he would
probably lose his shit if he heard of Spot’s death,” his father added. “We couldn’t even tell him the tooth fairy doesn’t exist because of the waterworks. The little shitbird doesn’t even have any baby teeth left. We had to give him some to trade for quarters. Do you know how hard it is to get ahold of toddler teeth legally?” “Maybe I should’ve eased up on the Merlot during his third trimester,” added Mrs. Wallingford. As of press time, Wallingford was seen taking some glue out of his back pocket to snack on.
How to Tell If Your Significant Other is a Pretentious Asshole By GUS O’CONNOR
Ice Cream Biter Has this ever happened to you? You’re out for a stroll with your hubby in Riverside Park, admiring the trees and grass, when suddenly he starts talking about how the trees remind him of this one time he was watching an avant-garde film by some Dutch man whose name you won’t even try to pronounce, where the trees began to laugh and cry all at once, and how that really told him a lot about his soul and how the confines of city life just aren’t for him? And then, stuffing his hands in his pastel shorts, he starts to tell you about his favorite 17th century Dutch artist, but then he stops to think because there are just so many favorites it’s hard to pick one? Or maybe, passing by a cheese shop, he just has to pop in and get a slab of his favorite type of Swiss cheese—which is Emmental, the only kind of Swiss he would ever consider eating due to its unique texture and mild, savory taste? Or does he tote a copy of Infinite Jest to a cafe
brunch, where there is no conceivable scenario in which he would get reading done? Was his Alaska cruise okay, but not as good as his Joseph Conrad-esque sailing trip down the Congo, which inspired him to buy a second vacation home in Africa for when he gets tired of his Malibu beach house? Does he tell you he’s having a tough time deciding which litigator he wants to help him with his DUI because the last one was all right, but the one who helped him with the bar brawl over a misquoting of Kant got him more in damages? Does he “dabble” in painting and visit Cape Cod a few times a year to paint the sunset over the sand? Have you ever seen him genuinely excited while watching a game of golf on TV? When going a few blocks down the street, does he sometimes take a cab because the urban scent perturbs his sensitive nose? If yes, then your significant other is probably a pretentious asshole.
I’m really disappointed in you. paid for by jessica marinaccio IN HELL
Over-eager Mom Sends Sweater Vest By GUS O’CONNOR
it: his mother had just royally fucked his Momma’s Boy summer style.
As the weather has turned toasty toward the end of the year, many are busting out their dusty flip-flops, dresses, and tank tops for all sorts of sexy summer fun. All but one. Jimmy Chordle SEAS ’18 recently received a package in the mail from his mother, and he knew the instant he opened
“She said she had sent me a package, and I thought it was going to be some flip-flops or a swimsuit or some shit like that,” Chordle said. “But no, she had to dress me up like a sheep, God forbid my arms get a little sunburned.”
“Fuck you, mom,” he added. Chordle’s new sweater vest, cutely adorned with bananas and other assorted fruits, is made of 100% heavy wool fiber, and really clings to Jimmy when he’s out and about on those warm summer days. “Someone please just put me out of my misery,” Chordle said.
NEW SWEATER Shortly after speaking with The Federalist, Chordle was CAVA’d for heat-stroke and low self-esteem. Still, he instructed the ambulance staff not to lay a finger on his beloved sweater vest, for although it was giving him first-degree burns, he could not risk his mother seeing a charge for woolskin separation on his hospital bill.
Researchers Discover New Species of Prospective Columbia Students By JOHN ANDRADE
Studying Potential Mates History was written today as scientists have discovered a variety of new species around Columbia campus. While many have borne witness to these miracles of nature, they have been officially documented and added to the list of known species. The Federalist was lucky enough to gain data on the new species: Alphadouchies • This type of prospective student is very territorial and has to be at the center of attention.
•
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On tours they closely follow by the guide’s side and consistently ask empty questions to seem interested as if the more questions they ask the hung-over sophomore, the more likely their admittance will be. Anyone who approaches Alphadouchies will likely succumb to verbal abuse rooted in insecurities
Absentiumcellularis • This species is one that does very visibly does not want to be on the tour • Can often be spotted on their
• •
phone, texting Becky that this school “is frickin lame” Is also usually seen paired with a parent that is exponentially more involved with the tour than they are Got a ‘3’ on the AP US History exam
Daddiuswealthius • This species can often be spotted as the only one wearing a matching suit and Rolex with his father • Also commonly played lacrosse for one year and sucked at it • Will go to UPenn
Silenciuswarius • This species can most often be seen in the back of the herd, constantly looking off with a thousand-yard stare • When they do speak, they generally size up other members of the herd by only asking questions regarding test scores. • When was the last time they washed those sweatpants?
By NATALIE ARENZON
complaints? please call 212-854-9550 SAME ASSHOLE
Fed/Counter-Fed I’m Woke vs. I’m Awake
TICK TOCK
By HARRISON GALE
I’m staying aware of the political turmoil and racial conflict in I was startled awake by a fire alarm at around 2:30 this mornthe United States and around the world ing, and haven’t been able to get back to sleep. Being woke isn’t just about being proactive about my own ob- I got up to get my half-pint of Ben and Jerry’s EmpowerMint stacles, it’s also about using my privilege to empower others. ice cream from the freezer but I just realized I already finished it last night. God damn it. A way to keep myself informed is to get my information from I heard reading helps make you sleepy but my perusal through a variety of sources, including reputable news outlets and this Buzzfeed conspiracy theory about how Leonardo DiCapbooks. rio might be a human-dog hybrid isn’t helping. I’m keeping myself active in challenging systematic injustices, I’ve given up on trying to sleep so I’m just gonna walk around like participating in protests and walkouts. for a while. You have to stay vigilant on behalf of others. Watching out for People watching on Low Steps was fun until an old witch crone other people is key to dismantling oppressive systems. tried to sell me the blood of a SEAS freshman who fell into the enchanted Delacorte Fountain next to Hamilton. Most importantly, reaching out to your neighbors is a critical I’ve been trapped in a conversation with the Halal Guy for 20 step in building our communities to defend ourselves. minutes and he’s nice and all but I just want my lamb over rice.
Public Service Announcement
now on pay-per-view
The clock is ticking. PAID FOR BY SDT
TICK TOCK
TRY WHEATIES INSTEAD
Op-Ed: Bath Salts Are Getting a Really Bad Rap.
By GARRISON GROGAN
Prefers Showers Look, bath salts are getting a pretty bad rap. Not all of it’s undeserved. Sure, last time you ended up naked, punched your way through a fence and choked your chicken until there was blood, you said you would never do it again. But was it really that bad? Sometimes you just need that noholds-barred release. Sometimes you want to hit that high you can’t get from cocaine or LSD alone, the kind of high only snorting a little Vanilla Sky with some crap you found in an abandoned chemical plant off a stripper’s ass can achieve. If I wanted some pitiful 20 minute rush I’d go back to smoking meth. I want that 9 hour “I’m dying and I can’t see” kind of high. If you don’t fear you’ve lost all ability to interpret the world around you and consider sui-
cide at some point, did you ever get a high at all? Side effects aren’t even that bad. If I gave you a list of side effects of bath salts and Columbia, I doubt you’d be able to tell the difference. Here they are: • Insomnia • False euphoria rapidly evolving into paranoia • Nightmares • Depression • Severe agitation • Hallucinations and delusions • Self-harm • Suicidal thoughts or suicide • Psychosis • Violent behavior • Brainstem herniation (increase of pressure inside the skull that can cause death) • Seizures • Sexual dysfunction
•
Rapid involuntary movement of the eyes • Brain swelling and brain death • Death A solid two-thirds of those are straight Columbia symptoms. Who hasn’t experienced a little brain swelling? Hell, let’s not talk about the sexual dysfunction. Furthermore, I’m tired of all these amateurs saying they’re high when they don’t know shit. I know you’re not seeing stars on that single puff you took. And if your face doesn’t look like a heroin-injected slice of Ferris pizza, you’re just half-assing the whole fucking thing. I want to look at you and not be able to tell if you spent 3 days in Butler or spent 3 hours taking a shit on the floor of a McDonald’s. If you’re not trying to bite off your own tongue because it talked back to you, you’re just not high
enough. They way I see it, you bumblefucks have two options: keep pretending you know what a bender is or man up and go eat that guy’s dog.
University Mails Preemptive Rejection Letter to High School Junior By LUIS VERA Applied to Harvard HAMILTON - The Office of Admissions confirmed Saturday morning that, in an unprecedented preventative measure, it had mailed out its first preemptive rejection letter to one Matthew Winger, a high-school junior in Sioux Falls, SD. “We deliberated long and hard over this decision, and we’re confident that we’ve made the right decision,” Dean Jessica Marinaccio told reporters during a press conference. Though the Dean declined to state the specific reasons for the groundbreaking move in accordance with Admissions Office privacy policy, she expressed confidence that the letter “was in the best interests of both the University and Mr. Winger, and would save significant time on both sides.”
However, a Federalist investigation exclusively reveals that the new procedure comes amidst considerable upheaval in the University bureaucracy. “We’ve been keeping track of this kid since ’15,” confided an unnamed source in the admissions office. “Every so often we get these weird wanna-be-Columbia high school dweebs—you know the type, kind of guy that shows up to freshman Algebra decked out in Pantone 292, tells everyone he’s already practically been accepted, makes lion noises when he jerks off ‘cause he thinks its manly—shit like that. Usually we let the admissions process grind them up and spit them out, but we had to step in here. Motherfucker’s been calling the office twice a week. We’ve been debating what to do with him for years—we wanted to head him off
at the pass, maybe send him a couple brochures for some sort of menial occupation
Jessica [Marinaccio] insisted he deserved a shot–right up until he went and got a tramp stamp of her face done last week.
time that day. We sent him emails, a printed letter by express courier—hell, I think Jessica bribed the hobo on the corner to bike to Sioux Falls and yell it outside his house.” As of press time, Winger had reportedly been reached by at least 4 of the University’s 67 avenues of communication. Though his family declined to comment on the decision, several piercing shrieks were heard from the Winger home throughout the night, and ISP records revealed such searches as “can u live without soul”, “where to buy light blue noose” and “how to hire hitman on darkweb” originating from the household.
more his speed, but Jessica [Marinaccio] insisted he deserved a shot—right up until he went and got a tramp stamp of her face done last week. You best believe we worked over-
Don’t mix ecstasy and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. paid for by columbia health BUMP OF CHAMPIONS
CHANGE ME
To Streamline Life, CS Major to Wear Same Grey T-Shirt, Diaper Everyday By ISAIAH BENNETT Potty Trained WIEN – As the semester’s work ramps up, one wise Computer Science major has made a commitment to truly streamlining his life. Donning a diaper nicely covered by Columbia bookstore sweats and a single questionably stained grey T-shirt, Jeremy Irons SEAS ‘18 is confident that he has finally gained the upper hand against the dual pressures of completing Advanced Programming
problem sets and walking all the way to the bathroom. “After I stopped showering back in January, I struggled to figure out how I could further maximize my work output,” explained Irons. “But last week, as I sat in Butler sponging down my nutrient-starved body I suddenly realized: why change my clothes when I can just wear the same reeking shirt for an entire year? Why go to the bathroom when I can relieve myself right in the NoCo chair I’ve nested in for the past
13 days?” Despite mild criticism from his friends and family, Irons himself couldn’t be more excited. His new attire has not only optimized his performance but also drastically reduced the amount of social interaction he has to endure each day. “You’d be amazed how quickly guards have been swiping me into my building, and how quickly people have been getting out of the elevator since my aroma reached that point of piquant
combination between Arduino boards and aged flesh.” said Irons. “Needless to say,” Irons added, “I’ve never written so much code in my entire life.” Ever the entrepreneur, Irons sees the competitive landscape for unique diaper habits as an indicator of the end of the nonportable bathroom era. “Right now, two of the top fecaltech V.C.s have already put up capital for my line of reusable diapers for programmers,” he said. “Our valuation is already bigger than Kohler.”
Columbia to Divest from Toddler Fight Club By PHILIP MAEHR
ToddlerTech Investor FURNALD LAWN—In attempt to appease a disgruntled student body, Columbia has made the bold decision to divest from a Columbia staple, Toddler Fight Club. In a university-wide email, President Lee Bollinger cited the organization’s “lack of transparency” and “ethics concerns” as incongruent with the university’s vision for a community-driven Columbia. TFC, or Toddler Fight Club, was founded in 2007 by nannies to legally inflict the punches they could not statutorily throw at their wards. The nannies also hoped to supplement their meager
pay by streaming the fights live on payper-view. Today, TFC’s membership exceeds 35 nannies who represent over 100 kids. The fights typically occur on Friday evenings and the kids are placed into four diaper classes ranging from Constipated to Heavy Hitters. “Typically, we get the kids going with a few Pixie Stix mixed with pre-workout, grease them up, throw them in the ring and they go at it,” said [Redacted], nanny and corner-woman for Jimmy “The Butcher” Goldberg, who is the defending champion of the TFC. “They can’t come out until there’s only one left crawling, and if I were you I’d put down $100. The Butcher will be on all
fours until someone rocks him to sleep,” continued [Redacted] as she flashed a shiv made of Columbia students’ lost ID cards. When asked about the University’s divestment decision, the nanny seemed unfazed. “We don’t need Columbia’s money,” she said, priming a syringe of breast milk protein. “The city’s competitive preschools have endowments that make Columbia look like a Detroit public school. And you can bet your ass they’re recruiting.” Others, however, are upset by the University’s move. The Barnard Columbia Solidarity Network (BCSN) issued a scathing response: “This is yet another example of the University using
its resources to indulge its privileged community members at the expense of minority workers, while completely ignoring student demands to divest from perpetrators of systemic violence.” Attempts to extract more information about the organization have been unsuccessful, as none of the fighters seems willing to speak to the press. When The Butcher refused comment to The Federalist, his nanny remarked only that “the first rule of TFC is that you don’t talk about TFC, unless you have a parental signature on the media release form.”
Man Trapped in Woman’s Body: Dad’s Nicknames for Son “Someone Get Me The Hell Out Becoming Alarmingly Strange By GREG HUMPHRIES are “affectionate” and “all in good fun.” of Here” Greggy Obviously, some of these names have By BENJAMIN MOST
Supportive
CLAMMY CHEST CAVITY—After 20 years trapped inside a woman’s body, the voice of the tiny man inside crying for help has finally been heard. Complaining about the darkness, uncomfortable moisture, and nauseating motion, the small man warned, “Someone better get me out of this shithole or there will be some serious lawsuits to deal with.” The man also spoke out against his dining options, complaining, “I’m get-
ting real tired of this salad shit. Can someone drop me a fucking burger?” The woman claims she doesn’t know how the man got there. “At first I just ignored the little asshole and pretended he wasn’t there,” she said. “But I’ve had enough of keeping him down. It’s time to tell the world: there’s a little man trapped inside my body, and he’s crying for help.” The mini-man was last heard saying, “Seriously, I can’t see shit in here. Is anyone listening to me? Hello?”
“It all began with ‘buster,’” begins 11 year-old Thomas Connelly, speaking to The Federalist on Monday. Connelly, not alone, has been the victim of a strange epidemic inflicted by fathers upon their sons around the pre-teen years: Connelly’s father has resorted to increasingly alarming nicknames. A Federalist investigation reveals that ‘bucko’, ‘champ’, ‘squirt’, ‘Ralph Waldo Emerson’ and even ‘slutbag’ have been names used by Mr. Connelly to refer to his son. The senior Connelly insists in his defense that these terms
WAAAAH
made young Thomas rather uncomfortable, but his father seems not to see the problem.
“Slutbag.” No doubt this strange phase will pass, but in the meantime, analysts expect, some serious daddy issues later down the line.
WHATCHA PACKIN?
Girl with Hot Profile Picture Pretty Average in Real Life By BENJAMIN MOST Unsure If That’s Really You BROADWAY HALL COMPUTER LAB—Columbia sophomore Chris Danson was dismayed to find that a girl he had seen on Facebook with a really hot profile picture is actually painfully mediocre-looking in real life. “Every time I scrolled past her, I would scroll back up to admire the tasteful sideboob in her profile picture,” Danson said. “I could only imagine the tastefulness of that
sideboob in the flesh.” The picture, which featured the average-looking girl in a semi-translucent bikini with the caption “Winter? What’s that?” and some sun emojis, sent an unfair and unrealistic message, Danson said. “But when I saw the bikini-clad goddess in person, when I finally ran into her standing in sweatpants and a boring green cardigan in front of Butler, she just looked like a mere mortal,” Danson said. “I couldn’t even make it to a half-chub. After the high of swiping past that tastefully tanned stom-
ach for weeks, I was disappointed, to say the least.” Despite Danson’s unexpected disappointment, he has other options open, he
“I could only imagine the tastefulness of that sideboob in the flesh.”
said. “There’s another girl I’ve scrolled past a couple times that I have high hopes for,” Danson said. “More of a respectable party cleavage look, which is also something I can get behind.” The Facebook profile of Danson’s new love interest sports a profile picture of the girl holding a red Solo cup in a dark room with the background blurred and the caption, “Great food, great friends, great night.”
Dad Doesn’t Know His Sweet Little Daughter Fucks By MICHELLE DANDENEAU Sweet Little Girl CLOSTER, NEW JERSEY—Tom Morgan, 53, still remembers cutting the crust off the ham and cheese sandwich for his daughter, Katie. Sliced into four little triangles, he’d pack it away into a Polly Pocket lunchbox and, at the last minute, add two extra Oreos as a “treat”. Tom did this for 14 years, ever since his daughter entered elementary school. “I upgraded from the brown bag when she hit 4th grade,” he said. Katie, now in her third year at Columbia, hasn’t carried a lunchbox for years,
but her father still thinks of her as his “little girl.” What Tom doesn’t know, though, is that his sweet little daughter, who once graduated valedictorian of her high school and led the cross country team to county victory, now fucks. “I’m not out of control or anything,” Katie said. “I always be sure to use condoms, and I’ve even been talking with my mom about going on the pill. Barrier methods are never 100% effective, you know, and I just want to be safe.” Morgan has been in denial about his daughter’s sexual maturity ever since she started growing breasts in the 7th grade. On
her 13th birthday, Katie’s mother brought her home a Victoria Secret bag filled with training bras and Tom, believing his wife had bought the wrong size bra, gave them all away to the flat-chested maid from Peru. Tom also, thinking they were the property of her “promiscuous, boy crazy, whore-like roommate,” threw out the two pairs of black panties he found sitting in Katie’s suitcase while home for Christmas break. “My husband doesn’t know that I gave our daughter the sex-talk when she was in the 4th grade. There was no way I was sending her to college just to be taken advantage of by some imbecile teenager who can’t
tell his penis from his asshole,” said Katie’s mother when asked about her daughter’s sexual escapades. Katie, recently elected President of the Columbia Christian Fellowship, is spending two weeks this summer at her boyfriend’s family’s house in Nantucket. Tom, still under the impression his daughter hasn’t kissed with tongue, is very supportive of the vacation and has already begun re-filling the lunchbox with sandwiches she can take with her.
Guy In Window Across the Street Actually Has a Really Nice Dick By GREG HUMPHRIES Penis Critic FRAT ROW - In the early hours of Monday morning, around 10:00 AM, Bradley Carson CC’18 awoke to the sight of a man in full nude across the street in Carman Hall. Gaping from his window in KDR, Carson noticed that the freshman in question had ‘a really nice dick’.
“I was just going about my business and attending to my usual morning routine,” said Carson “when all of a sudden I see this really nice dick straight in my eye line. Not too big, not too small; it was a full on Goldilocks situation.” Carson added, “And he wasn’t a Jew, I can tell you that much.” It goes without saying that such an event is not a regular occurrence, Carson’s shock
and admiration being a testament to this. The brothers at KDR, in fact, did not believe Carson’s story when it was recounted to them. He recalled one of his brothers saying: “Nah bro. Columbia must have been his safety school. Anyone with a dick that nice applied to Harvard early.” Despite trying to make contact with the man in question, both The Federalist and
I NOTICE THESE THINGS
Carson have been unable to find the identity of the mystery marauder. If you know any individual with a really nice dick living on Carman 4, please call 212-854-9550 to pass on his details. He deserves a fucking high five.
Sundays
9 PM
Lerner 569
Quote of the Month
SPONSORS OF THE FEDERALIST: Your parents
“Winter must be hard for the poors.” - Lee Bollinger