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Volume XXXIV • Issue 3 • Februrary 2018

the FEDERALIST Columbia’s Only Newspaper That Has Blacked Out in Mondel Chocolates

THE STAFF EDITORIAL BOARD Thomas Germain Ben Greenspan Feditors-in-Chief Ani Wilcenski Managing Editor Benjamin Most Head Submissions Editor ASSOCIATE BOARD Iqraz Nanji and Max Rosenberg Senior Editors Bridget Scanlon Layout Editor Isaiah Bennett Nicholas Ribolla William Reed Simmons Luis David Vera Submissions Editors Sam Milner Copy Editor Mimi Evans Publisher Natalie Arenzon Graphics Editor STAFF WRITERS Alex Horn Jeremy Adkins Annie Iezzie Gil Levitan Philip Maehr Julia Schreder Julian Pecht Jackson Watson Noah Harouche Joseph Baer Garrison Grogan Isobel Shaffer Harrison Gale Cayla Davis Matthew Linsky

A Letter from the Feditors Dear Livid Readers, Childhood is a state of mind, a state of being, and indubitably not the state of Montana. Some of us may have been children in the past, while others, such as Stephen Miller, were secreted from a convulsing, oozing pustule as fully-clothed, quivering men. The two of us are admittedly of the former group, and today, we gaze back upon our years of bare genitalia with deep fondness. The fleeting tastes of summer dance upon our tongues, creating a delightful harmony of ice pops, barbecue, and our fathers’ virulent cigar breaths. We recall the bliss accompanying the season’s first snowfall, and the disappointment when the blade of our sled detached, impaling Dylan Weber. But indeed, age has granted us perspective. We have regrets, some of which we will now convey to you in the hopes that you, captive reader, can learn from our wisdom. Thus, in hindsight, we wish that: We had not framed our Tamagotchi as an accessory to a triple homicide so as to relieve ourselves of the responsibilities of parenthood. We had learned how to Dougie, and thus finally impressed Rebecca Diorne. We didn’t burn that fire ant with a magnifying glass in third grade. We didn’t burn that opossum with a magnifying glass in fifth grade. Our bedroom walls were not adorned with kissed posters of Stone Phillips. We didn’t burn Mr. Garcia with a soldering iron in eighth grade. We wasted our tenth birthday wish on world peace instead of an iPod Nano. We shoplifted the sexiest Cabbage Patch Kid we could find at Toys ‘R Us instead of just asking our father for access to his Brazzers account. We hadn’t spent an hour and a half in 2010 watching Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole. We more actively protested the anti-Semitism inherent in the gym class game “Steal the Bacon.” We attended that Simple Plan concert when we had the chance. If only. Peace, Love, Radical Podiatry, Feditors-in-Chief

TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE 3: Broke my back over break and now I can’t walk straight. PAGE 4: Declared my major and then love for Furnald fuck boi. PAGE 5: Oh no he didn’t. PAGE 6: Cum to Jesus. PAGE 7: Cool story bro, tell me more. PAGE 8-9: Going for gold. PAGE 10-11: I want an oompa loompa. PAGE 12: Sad boi is just bipolar, not sad. PAGE 13: Canada Goose on the loose, here’s what to do about it. PAGE 14: SIPA-Sex in parent’s attic. PAGE 15: Spread legs for suburban sprawl. Cover Artwork by Natalie Arenzon PAGE 16: TA got a new toupee. WELCOME

Codependents Go Independent Over Break By ANNIE IEZZI

Separate But Not Equal

CARMAN-Fresh from winter break and brimming with short-lived hope for a new semester, pairs of roommates across campus have made it their New Year’s Resolution to become less codependent. It’s hard to miss the tearful reunions of roomies who have been apart for three whole weeks; they run into each other’s arms in slow-motion, like military personnel coming home in airline commercials. In reality, sadly, these relationships are not the perfect symbiosis between Nemo and his anemone. When interviewed, one half-of-a-whole said, “Over break, I just couldn’t get out of bed. I only wake up—” “—to the sound of my voice!”, her parasite interject-

ed. “And I just forget to eat and shower unless she reminds me to!” Both sets of their parents reached out to the university over the holiday to inquire about scheduling group therapy at Furman to assuage their separation anxiety.

“And I just forget to eat and shower unless she reminds me to!” The two girls, who refer to themselves collectively as “704”, their room number, have resolved to take


a big step by signing up for conflicting class schedules. They have also decided to stop showering simultaneously in neighboring shower stalls, as their floormates have mistakenly reported them to ResLife several times for breaking the “no intimate showers” rule. They are most nervous; however, about the deconstruction of the “superbed” in the middle of their room, made by shoving their two XL twins together. “I just like being able to hold her phone for her so she doesn’t drop it on her face while scrolling,” defends one of the codependents. Following the pleas of parents and peers alike, updates will be made public as the girls begin their journey to separate personhood, which they are embarking upon because, as 704 says, “At least now we can sleep naked.”

Columbia Environmental Biology and English Departments to Offer Avant-Gardening Course By JACKSON WATSON

Hug a Fucking Tree Already THE TOP OF A TREE--With new developments in urban farming and hydroponics accompanying the constant innovation in literary form, the world seems to be far outstripping academia’s turtle pace. But if there were any institution which could weather the storm, Columbia with it’s interdisciplinary approach to learning is suited to do just that. After first testing the waters of mixing literature

and ecology in theoretical schools such as Ecocriticism and Ecofeminism, the two disciplines of agriculture and literary criticism are finally joining together in glorious matrimony through a course on Avant-Gardening, a revolutionary new method of organizing plants. Françoise d’Eaubonne, leading ecofeminist, was overjoyed to hear about the new course, stating that this development was “a big step for finally removing the Earth-mother from the dominating and well-callused hands of paternalistic agro-capitalism. Finally

art and nature are joined together, and all the better through radically new forms of gardening. Have you ever seen plants hang upside down like that?!” Students too are excited about this new offering. June Lionel, CC’20, said, “this is the course I’ve been waiting for. I’ve always been torn between my love of Gertrude Stein and weirdly shaped plants. But now I don’t have to be.”

Best Discussion Section Ever? This Student Just Said “Modality” 800 Times By BEN GREENSPAN

Sweet Section Big, big news coming out of Hamilton 608 today. Apparently, Shelby Markegaard BC ‘20 absolutely floored her Introduction to Gender Politics in Slovenian Theater discussion section. “From 5:10-6, it was the Shelby Show, and by God did she deliver,” relayed graduate assistant Peter Clergen. “Usually, I lose interest in shows right after the first commercial break, but Shelby kept me in rapt attention the full 50 minutes.” Though a complete transcript of the conversation is not available, our sources can confirm that the section began with Shelby proclaiming a “modality,”

and the groundbreaking insights only continued from there, with classmates estimating that she repeated “modality” at least 800 times during her uninterrupted polemic.

“The word ‘modality’, it - it means something smart and wholly pretentious, so I like to listen to it.”

“When you see that someone is on like that, and really driving home a point, there’s no point in in-


terrupting her,” said Clergen. “The word ‘modality,’ it - it just definitely means something smart and wholly pretentious, so I like to listen to it.” Classmate Wilbur Granderson CC ‘19 echoed these sentiments: “She was just saying ‘modality’ so much that I went from kinda understanding what it means, to definitely not, to questioning if it was a word, to wondering why she couldn’t just say ‘method’ or ‘manner,’ to deciding that she was a genius.” At press time, Markegaard felt confident that she could stumble through a definition of “teleology,” and had informed her discussion section to prepare itself accordingly.


Intended Classics Major Says Fuck It, Not Worth Four Years of Hamilton Sixth Floor


Hamitlon Stairs Got My Hammies

HAMITLON HALL- Coming back from Winter break, Columbia College freshman Eli Klugman experienced a life-changing realization. After completing years of committed training in Latin and Greek, four highschool summers of intensive translation, and two drunken trips to Thessaloniki, Klugman came to the conclusion that he had no interest in pursuing a Classics major at all. Though he found himself enjoying his initial fall seminars, the simple fact remained that Hamilton Hall is a piece of shit building not worth consigning himself to for four years. “Honestly, fuck that place,” huffed a frustrated Klugman,

“My parents didn’t pay for four years of Exeter Latin just to see me take the stairs. If I wanted a hike to class, I would’ve gone to Cornell.” “The stairs are big problem,” added Alice Borlak, ‘CC 19, a friend and fellow wretch of the Classics department. “The elevator can’t even fit all the kids in my Latin class, and that’s saying something. You should see those emaciated Slavic studies fuckers on Floor Seven.” Klugman and his peers had no apparent regard for the historical significance of the building, which was built between 1905 and 1907 as per McKim, Mead & White’s original design for Columbia’s Morningside Heights campus, with the freshman giving a disinterested shrug when informed.

“Look, if it had vending machines like in Mathematics, or a bathroom on every floor, I might stick around,” said the erstwhile Classicist. “But four years is a long time, and we’re talking two to three classes in that hellscape per semester. Suffering like that is best left to SEAS students.” At press time, Klugman stated that he would spend the next week researching which majors were housed in NoCo, a building notable for its uniquely modern appearance on campus, as well as for not being a “depressing, shit hole death trap with worse temperature regulation than an Indian sweatshop.” Klugman also noted that there is a Joe’s in the building, which beats housing Deantini’s office any day.

ΑΕΠ Brother Comes Out As Goy By JULIAN PECHT Goy Toy NJB- Members of the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity were rocked this Friday night when Ben Weiss CC ‘19 revealed he was a goy. Eyewitnesses report that, when asked what his Bar Mitzvah project was, Weiss gave forth a small chuckle and said, “What do you mean?” Responding to the confused ripple around him, Weiss reportedly followed with, “You know I’m Lutheran, right?” The

members of the frat were astonished. “I just had no idea” said Judah Rosenfeld CC ‘20 to the Fed. “I mean, I don’t judge him or anything--nothing but love--although it did catch me off guard. Really, I hope I never offended him when I was ranting about the gentiles in my Rabbis for Historians class.” Not all brothers were as accepting. Sammy Cohen, also CC ‘19, was seen storming away from the kitchen, having barely touched his blintzes. “Yeah, I’m feeling a bit betrayed” he told us. “I really opened up to Ben, like telling him all about my relationships with

different rabbis over the years, and I thought he empathized. But was he thinking about priests this whole time?” Still, most of the brothers were happy for Weiss. Aaron Goldspan CC ‘18 told us, “I’m just really glad Ben can be himself. It must have been so hard for him, hiding his true identity like that. He’s so brave.” As of press time, Weiss himself provided no comment on the situation.

Rush to something great, Rush to something powerful, Rush to something momentous.

RUSH SJP Leave any critical self-reflection at home and meet the brothers and sisters-in-arms at the Sundial this Sunday at 7pm for a night of inconsequence. BID NIGHT


5 Way To Pronounce Niamh O’Brien (And What They Say About You) By LUIS VERA It’s Not That Hard Dumbass NEEM Not unlike the shrill keening of a newborn fox, your preferred pronunciation is a plaintive whine, held for slightly too long to sound right in casual conversation. You’re not afraid to show your sensitive side, and your favorite activity is listening to angsty middle-school music while looking out a car window with a mournful expression. You often think of learning to play guitar to complete what you imagine is your soulful image, but you actually have no musical talent. You overshare on first dates and wonder why you don’t get called back.

NI-am Straight and to the point. You’re a no-nonsense kind of dude—you see a word, you say it. You thought phonetics was the shit back in first grade, and it hasn’t let you down since. You think politics would be a lot more effective if we would all just sit down and talk to each other. Every Friday, you head over to Tom’s to

eat the same thing (a plain cheeseburger, pickle on the side) and by god, you like it. You miss the days before robots where a man could work an assembly line for eight hours and get paid a livable wage. Your friends aren’t sure you can read. They don’t think you’d really mind if you couldn’t . NEE-ahv The original Irish. You refused to say esteemed Niamh O’Brien’s name until you watched three YouTube videos and made sure you weren’t Anglicizing it. You think it’s super disrespectful of Americans to butcher difficult names. You complain a lot about whitewashing in the media, proudly eat at the Desi food truck three times a week (getting all the names right despite being a lily-white Wisconsinite), and tell everyone you’re learning Chinese, even though you haven’t opened Duolingo in two months now. Secretly, you lie awake at night worrying about whether or not you’re actually super boring, and dread being accused of cultural appropriation.

ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn The plan to return the Great Old Ones to glory proceeds apace. Soon, you will be elevated above mere mortals on the throne of eternity. Wien Mail Services is on your case for shipping a dead goat through the mail center. Nee-AM-huh You stumble through life one step at a time. Everything is honestly really scary, and you wonder why no one understands you’re trying your best. Sometimes people say really long words, and you’re pretty sure they’re making them up to sound fancy, but when you try, people just give you pitying looks. You ate glue and smeared things on the walls as a child, and sometimes you think you’ve never been as happy as you were then.

Beginner’s Mind Fosters Male Heteronormative Appreciation of Masculinity By CAROLINE LEE JEONG

I’m Still Straight HAMILTON HALL Reports of male heteronormative appreciation of masculinity on campus has increased, Rumor has found. “In high school, it was pretty clear-cut,” says Ching, a sophomore at Columbia College. “Attractive guys were supposed to be tall, burly, blond, and blue-eyed. I thought that was pretty much it—there’s really no other types of male attractiveness.” Ching, like any other Columbian, arrived at Morningside Heights as a dewy-eyed freshman expecting to do little more than avoiding his LitHum readings, taking occasional naps every day, and get enough recommendations to apply to law school. Even the moving speech during Convocation barely changed the expectations in his prepared mind. “Deantini said, beginner’s mind,” Ching scoffs. “I mean, I’m pretty clever, I’m pretty curious. I didn’t think twice about it. I was pretty sure that I’ve doubted all the things that I needed to doubt. But oh my goodness, was I never more wrong.” According to Ching, his appreciation for masculin-

ity has been developing steadily. “There were the usual ones—tall, carefully toned biceps, eye-catching colored t-shirts. But first semester of freshman year I had this awkward TA, you know, messy hair, dorky button-down shirts, slightly built and understated smartness hidden behind hipster glasses. At that time I didn’t think much about it. I thought it was just some college thing to notice your TA.

“Columbia’s all about global education and diversity. When I first applied, I thought this meant just meeting a lot of international students from Asia.” But I’ve recently found that there’s ‘the CC prof,’— you know, intellectual, well-spoken baritone, carelessly perfect hair with deep, soul-searching eyes. Couple that


with a slight accent, and you’ve got yourself a catch. TAs were just the miniature version of ‘the CC prof.’” Just the mention of his CC professor brought a dreamy look to Ching’s eyes. According to Ching, however, this does not mean that he has lost his original heteronormativity. “Look, I’m still straight. I really am. But I gotta admit, this was a pleasant surprise. Beginner’s mind allowed me to appreciate different types of masculine attractiveness that I never thought I would ever consider. Now I feel like I need to personally tell Deantini how Columbia has broadened my perspective. “Columbia’s all about global education and diversity. When I first applied, I thought this meant just meeting a lot of international students from Asia. But oh man, this is just a brave new world.” When asked to provide specific names for examples, Ching declined, hoping to save his CC professor the embarrassment. “He obviously doesn’t want to be judged for his looks alone,” said Ching, passionately coming to his defense. “He’s a professor at Columbia. He wants his brains to count for something.”


CU Health Services to Offer Salvation Through Christ By NICK RIBOLLA

Jesus Christ Super Star PEARLY GATES — Following a large number of complaints about the quality of student medical treatment, CU Health Services announced earlier this week that they will be offering a program of salvation through the Light of Christ as alternative treatment. “We feel strongly that being absorbed by our Lord’s purifying love is the new way to tackle this problem,” said CU Health Director Brenda Aiken. “It’s simply too difficult to treat 6,000 kids every time they get sick. This way, students can rest assured that even if that misdiagnosed strep throat becomes fatal, their souls will be preserved in eternal light.” Citing that the human body is only a “flesh prison” of God’s

creation and this world only a “passing illusion,” Health Services assured students that Christ’s interminable love is more effective than traditional medicine in treating sickness.

“Got a fever? Stomach issues? Sure, we

could prescribe you something for that. Have you considered you don’t love the Lord?”

Aiken added that, while they exist in this plane of mortality, students are encouraged to contemplate their sins, repent, and drink plenty of water. Under the new program, the only immunization record required by the school will be a baptism. At press time, a CU Health representative confirmed salvation will be included in a yearly Aetna Insurance plan.

“Got a fever? Stomach issues? Sure, we could prescribe you something for that. But have you considered that you don’t love the Lord?”

Family of Deceased IKEA Founder Struggling to Assemble His Coffin By W. Reed Simmons

Peace and Blessings STOCKHOLM- The family of IKEA founder Ingvar Kamprad, who died Sunday, has has expressed frustration at their inability to construct the Kamprad’s IKEA brand coffin in advance of his funeral, which is to be held in the coming days. “It’s just so hard to put it together,” said a visibly sweaty Mathias Kamprad, son of the deceased. “The instructions are entirely graphic based and the cute drawings of crying people in the background really are not doing a lot for the morale around here. We wanted to get her a higher end coffin but the

prices on those were just killer.” The coffin, part of IKEA’s “Kista” line, comes in convenient packaging, but is shipped totally unassembled, like the majority of the company’s products. The release of the coffin comes as IKEA moves to expand its control of the cheap furniture business by entering into the lucrative sarcophagus market. The Kista line has hit some stumbles though, as the instructions for the coffin’s assembly continue to baffle a number of bereaved families. According to IKEA, part of the Kista’s appeal is that fam-

ilies can use the construction of the coffin as a tool for emotional development, but Kamprad says the experience has done more harm than good. “Honestly, after spending twenty minutes trying to find the Allen Wrench I dropped under the couch, I’ve realized he was a terrible father,” Kamprad said, nursing a splinter wound. “I’m glad he’s dead.” As of press time, the young Kamprad was on hold with the IKEA helpline, while frantically counting screws on the floor of his Stockholm apartment.




My Shoelaces Aren’t the Same Length (And Other Problems We Need to Be Talking About) By JULIAN PECHT

Fucking Aglets Fresh from winter break and brimming with short-lived hope for a new semester, pairs of roommates across campus have made it their New Year’s Resolution to become less codependent. It’s hard to miss the tearful reunions of roomies who have been apart for three whole weeks; they run into each other’s arms in slow-motion, like military personnel coming home in airline commercials. In reality, sadly, these relationships are not the perfect symbiosis between Nemo and his anemone. When interviewed, one half-of-a-whole said, “Over break, I just couldn’t get out of bed. I only wake up—” “—to the sound of my voice!”, her parasite interjected. “And I just forget to eat and shower unless she reminds me to!” Both sets of their parents reached out to the university over the holiday to inquire about scheduling group

therapy at Furman to assuage their separation anxiety.

up for conflicting class schedules. They have also decided to stop showering simultaneously in neighboring shower stalls, as their floormates have mistakenly reported them to ResLife several times for breaking the “no intimate showers” rule. They are most nervous; however, about the deconstruction of the “superbed” in the middle of their room, made by shoving their two XL twins together. “I just like being able to hold her phone for her so she doesn’t drop it on her face while scrolling,” defends one of the codependents. Following the pleas of parents and peers alike, updates will be made public as the girls begin their journey to separate personhood, which they are embarking upon because, as 704 says, “At least now we can sleep naked.”

The two girls, who refer to themselves collectively as “704”, their room number, have resolved to take a big step by signing

Graphic by Amanda Ba

REPORT: Grandma Worried About You By JACKSON WATSON

Just Send Me the Money Already

GRANDMA’S KITCHEN--A recent study has rocked the world of your capacity to walk around without talking to anyone at family gatherings. The report, authored by Grandma, a powerhouse in the world of neuropsychology, said that “you’ve been looking so despondent this winter. Grandmommy can tell that you’re sad, please Joshua, you haven’t even touched your chicken. Is it depression? Is it drugs? Joshua, please smile a little.” While Meemaw was the head author of the study, noted psychologist Mom contributed some research and added this

to the conclusion: “You need to exercise more, or go see a movie. That always cheers you up, right? Or maybe you could go see Julie. You two got along so great and were such a cute couple! Joshy, chin up, you’re really scaring me.”

“Is it depression? Is it drugs? Joshua, please smile a little. ”

Grandma also inserted a series of diagrams and quotes from other revolutionary studies, like a seventy-year-old self help book that measures humans by their Marriagability and

Always Smiling-itude. She told the Federalist that “you’re doing so poorly in both metrics, Joshua, look at this! You’re at the very bottom of the scale of cartoon men. You’re like the man whose frown is literally touching the ground. If you want to be even considered in the Marriagability metrics, you need to get to at least to Often Smiling on the Smiling-itude scale.” Mom, in continued research, will be asking you at least once a day if you “r doing okay,” or if “u killed urself? Pls tell me no. Call tonight. Luv u.”

Op-Ed: I’m From California By NOAH HAROUCHE There Must Be Something in the Water As winter break came to a close, I did a lot of thinking as I put some farewell miles on my trusty Prius. I had a great first semester at Columbia, and I’ve made new friends that might last a lifetime, but as I packed up my bags and relished in some of the last bits of warmth I’d know for a while, I couldn’t shed a certain feeling of dread. I realized that amidst the hustle and bustle of New York City, I have started to lose an important part of my identity. Thus in preparation to spend 2018 at Columbia, I decided to make a resolution never to forget one core fact about myself: that I am from California. Back in September, I knew that, though I’d be living on the East Coast, my heart would always be back in the Golden State. In fact, I’ve never introduced

myself without explicitly mentioning it: “He/Him/ His, Columbia College, Burbank, California”. But after NSOP, I found myself assimilating more and more to my peers in some mislead attempt to fit in with the other first years. Sure, there are other students from California, but here we’re nothing but a scattered minority, a misplaced people. As I tried to make NYC feel like home, I inevitably wondered whether I should have attended UCLA or Stanford or Berkeley: places where I would never have to bite my tongue when I felt the urge to ask if anyone wanted to longboard down to the nearest Jack-in-the-Box, places where I could be myself The more time I spend in Morningside Heights, the more I know and regret that I’m being indoctrinated into East Coast culture; I don’t know how to resist it. Last week, I had to correct myself while sug-


gesting that my friends and I rollerblade over to Shake Shack after we finished shopping for brightly-colored sunglasses and tank tops. I’ve been eating In-N-Out Burger since I first learned to wax a surfboard, but that slip up made me realize that I am truly losing touch with who I am. I’ve traded in my Vilebrequin board shorts for a Canada Goose jacket, but I still eat an avocado before bed every night and always load up my dining hall food with sriracha. Thus I pledge that during my second semester, I will hold onto my California identity with a greater tenacity than ever before. And as the temperatures drop, whenever I need to put on anything heavier than a t-shirt, I may do so, but I pledge to use the opportunity to remind my peers of the fact that I am a Californian.

The Fed’s Top 5 Moments in Modern Olympic History MICHAEL PHELPS’ 2008 PERFORMANCE Perhaps the most memorable Olympics media frenzy in recent years was that surrounding now legendary swimmer Michael Phelps. Phelps took home a recording breaking eight gold medals at the 2008 Olympics. Many believe that he would have brought home even more hardware had he not been injured in an attack orchestrated by Tonya Harding’s exhusband Jeff Gillooly.

THE MIRACLE ON ICE Who could forget the 1980 US Men’s Olympic Hockey Team? The rag-tag team of amateur and college players was initially dismissed, but went on to shock the world with a stunning 4-3 defeat of the powerhouse USSR team in the semi-finals. Tragically, the American underdogs lost by forfeit in the finals after the entire team was beaten with a collapsible baton by two men hired by Jeff Gillooly, ex-husband of ice skater Tonya Harding.

MATTHIAS STEINER’S VICTORY CELEBRATION The biggest tear jerker of the 2008 games was certainly German weightlifter Matthias Steiner’s performance in the clean and jerk. Almost exactly one year after his wife passed away in a traffic accident, Steiner blew the competition out of the water and lifted almost thirty pounds over his personal best. Steiner’s heartfelt celebration was cut short when he was struck in the right knee with a collapsible baton wielded by a man who was later tied to Tonya Harding and her estranged ex-husband.

THE 1988 JAMAICAN BOBSLEIGH TEAM The Jamaican bobsleigh team may not have won any medals at the country’s first appearance at the Winter Olympics, but they did become crowd favorites, and were forever immortalized in the delightful Disney comedy Cool Runnings. The film faithfully recounts how the team’s brakeman was beaten savagely in a bizarre turn of events surrounding Tonya Harding and her ex-husband Jeff Gillooly.

1968 BLACK POWER SALUTE The Olympics have always been politically charged, but perhaps never moreso than during the 1968 Summer Games. During the medal ceremony for the men’s 200-meter sprint, Americans Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists in a black power salute. This incredible moment of solidarity was, of course, overshadowed after both men were “Gillolied” by Tonya Harding’s ex-husband.


Charlie and the Financial Aid Office By MIMI EVANS

Willie’s Wonker

Charlie Volkat was a high school senior visiting Columbia from South Carolina. She had just received her letter of admission to SEAS, and was waiting on her financial aid package to be released before making a final decision. The morning before the announcement, Charlie decided to take a tour of Morningside Heights (MoHi). Her guide was a mild-mannered old man named Joe, who pointed out various MoHi landmarks. They were right across the street from a chocolate shop and a shoe store that seemed forever in foreclosure when Joe abruptly stopped walking. “Let me tell you something a little strange.” Joe stood closer to Charlie, and lowered his voice to a soft, secret whisper. He pointed to the shop across the street. “Nobody . . . ever . . . comes . . . out!” “Out of where?” asked Charlie. “And . . . nobody . . . ever . . . goes . . . in!” “In where?” cried Charlie. “Mondel’s Chocolate Shop, of course!” “What do you mean?” “I mean anyone, Charlie.” “Workers?” “Workers, students, tourists. This store has supposedly been in business since 1943. But no one goes in or comes out!” “But there must be people working there . . .….” “Not people, Charlie. ... Nnot ordinary people, anyway.” “Then who?” cried Charlie. “Ah-ha . . .…. That’s it, you see . . .…. That’s another of Mr. Willy Valentinis’s clevernesses.” “Who is Willy Valentini?” Joe began to laugh. “Who is Willy Valentini? Only the Dean of Columbia, the mad genius who keeps this whole place running! He used to be a chemistry professor, but now he uses his chemistry skills to craft the most delectable chocolate in the world. The stories I could tell about that man!” Charlie wanted to hear the old man’s tales, but checked her phone and saw that she was running late for a meeting with the financial aid office. She thanked Joe, and they parted ways. II. Charlie couldn’t believe the coincidence. She doubled-checked the address for a fifth time, just to be sure. It seemed that the financial aid office was located inside Mondel’s Chocolate Shop. Since she was early, Charlie paused in front of the store, to look at the window display. Inside were gleaming racks of bonbons and slabs of fudge. However, Joe was right. There wasn’t a person in sight. “Hey, are you here for a meeting with the financial aid office, too? Why do you think they set all our meetings for the same time, huh? Think it’s some kind of a conspiracy? Name’s Violet, by the way.” Violet was talking very fast and very loudly , but it was not easy to hear her because she was chewing so ferociously upon a piece of gum at the same time. “Hi Violet, I’m Char—” “So, how’d you get in? Win the Intel Science Prize? Cure ovarian cancer? Me, I think it was my world-record in gum chewing that put me over the edge. I’ve been chewing on this piece for fourteen14 months solid. I’m ten10 days away from the world record.” Before Charlie could answer, a boy with a generically hand-

some face stopped in front of them, talking very obnoxiously. It took them a moment to realize that he was not talking to them, but rather the large phone in his hand. “What-up, Snapchat,? iIt’s Mike Sozal-Media here in front of the Columbia financial aid office. Are you ready to watch me get paid and laid? That’s right, I’m going to get a full ride to Columbia—and a full ride from one of these Barnard girls. HaHA.ha! Mikey out.” Just then, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. A young blonde woman in a shiny Canada Goose jacket stepped out. Her monogrammed Hermés bag said Veruca on the front. “Are we all here for the financial aid meeting?” Veruca asked. “How could you possibly qualify for financial aid?” Violet said, eyeing the bag. “Regrettably, my mother has cut me off. She says I need to learn how the other 99% lives. So I’m surviving on the spare change I found in my bags at the pied-à-terre.” Before Violet could reply with something nasty, an overweight boy with glasses crossed the street and approached them. “Hey guys, my name’s Augustus. Like, Caesar?” He smiled. “Like the salad?” Mike asked, debating whether or not to start livestreaming. Augustus shrugged off the insult. “So, I guess we’re all here to compete for the need-based financial aid?” “Compete?” Charlie spoke her first words to the group. “But Columbia said that it meets 100% of demonstrated financial need .” She wasn’t prepared to compete with these people. Suddenly, the door to Mondel’s opened, and a melodious flute-like voice carried out into the street. “Did somebody say need-based financial aid?” III. Mr. Valentini was standing all alone just inside the open door. And what an extraordinary little man he was! He had a black top hattop hat on his head. He wore a tail coat made of a beautiful Columbia- blue velvet. His trousers were a crisp white. His gloves were pearly grey. And in one hand he carried a fine walking cane topped with a solid- gold lion. As Mr. Valentini moved outside, his left foot caught on the threshold. Charlie gasped as he went careening forward, only to save himself at the last moment with a gorgeously- choreographed somersault. Not knowing what else to do, all the students began to clap. “Welcome, my children,” Mr. Valentini said. “I’m sure you have heard a lot about this wondrous place. Now, whom did I hear chirping about need-based financial aid? “That would be me,” Charlie said. “I think there’s been a mistake. I need this money, or I can’t attend Columbia. So I’m a little confused why I’m here, in this chocolate shop, instead of at the financial aid office.” “All will be explained in good time, my dear,” Valentini said, with a gleam in his eye. “Now why don’t we all step inside for a minute?” He gestured for the door, and the six of them made their way inside. It was like being transported into another world. The air smelled like cocoa and brown sugar. The shelves above the


display case were stacked with ribbons and gift boxes. And, in front of Charlie’s eyes, was the largest selection of chocolate she had ever seen. Marzipan and truffles and fruity-cremes, marshmallows and pretzels and nuts covered with shiny chocolate shells. No one stood behind the counter. Valentini seemed unfazed as he watched each student react to the bounty in front of them. “Go on then,: try whatever you want. Immediately, Violet rushed forward to pick up a peanut butter truffle, and shoved it in her greedy little mouth. Veruca daintily picked at a lemon crème.

Mike made a gesture to unlock his phone, but Valentini placed a gloved-hand on his shoulder. “No video in here,, I’m afraid. Wouldn’t want any sensitive information to get out.” Charlie chose a coconut square. Then all eyes were on Augustus, who was looking at the ground. When he realized all eyes were on him, he looked up. “I’m alright,” he said, “I’m on a diet. Thank you, though.” “Oh, but Augustus, I insist,” Valentini said softly. It still sounded like a threat. “I’d really rather not.” The look on Valentini’s face made Augustus reach for the nearest piece, a chocolate-covered orange peel. He took a tiny nibble. “It’s very good,” he said. Valentini clicked his tongue softly. “That’s too bad.” Augustus looked up. “What’s too bad?” “Only because you told me to.” “You took a piece of chocolate, Augustus,” Valentini’s voice was rising now, into a near-shout, “and of all the other children, you look the most well-fed to me. Which means you can’t possibly qualify for financial aid!” “That doesn’t make any sense,” Augustus complained. Charlie wanted to defend him, but she also didn’t want her aid to be taken away. “You see, Augustus, we here at Columbia University in the City of New York would have loved to offer you need-based financial aid. But it seems you don’t need it.” “What do you mean?” “Well, you took a piece of chocolate, didn’t you?” “Get out.” Valentini said, pointing his sharp-looking cane in Augustus’s direction. Augustus looked at the other students. They all avoided his gaze. With a quiet dignity, he grabbed a handful of fudge and walked out of the store.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely forward with you children,” Valentini said, “about why you are all here. You see, in those beautiful laminated brochures we send to prospective students, we say we ‘meet 100% of the demonstrated financial need for all first-years’. Unfortunately, this year, we only have enough aid for one student. So, to keep the word of our brochures, we need to raise the bar for what ‘demonstrated need’ is. That means that only one of you will walk home today with a need-based scholarship.” Charlie looked around at the other students. They were all eyeing each other with a new level of intensity. “But before all that, why don’t we take a trip to the Financial Aid Office? It’s just back there,” he said, gesturing to a hallway behind the counter. He hopped over the side and gave

them a wink. “Come along now! And bring all the chocolate you’d like. It’s not a trick, I promise.” IV. Charlie was careful to stay three steps behind Mr. Valentini. Every few seconds, he would reach into his deceptively large coat pocket and pull out a bottle of Chocolate Baileys, unscrew the cap, and take a sip. After the sixth time Valentini did this, he turned and looked at Charlie, who was trying to figure him out. “Are you drunk?” She asked. “Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker,” he replied cryptically. The hallway turned out to be an optical illusion. From in front of the counter, it seemed to only be a couple feet deep. But they had been walking forward for nearly ten minutes before they stopped. “Well, here we are,” Valentini said, gesturing toward a red door that seemed to appear out of nowhere. COLUMBIA FINANCIAL AID OFFICE – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY There didn’t appear to be any knob or handle with which to open the door. But when Valentini lifted his cane and rapped on the wood three times, . tThe door opened of its own accord. The students all peered inside. Charlie gasped. The financial aid office looked like a scene from a nightmare. The entire room was floor-to-ceiling grey. Stacks and stacks of loose-leaf paper lay scattered around the room. There was only one computer in the whole office, and it was running Windows ’97. Veruca screamed. All the students turned to look at her. “‘Look! Look over there!” She pointed to her right. “What is it? He’s moving! He’s walking! It’s a little person! It’s a little man! Down there by the paper shredder!’ “She’s right,” cried Violet. ‘It is a little man! Can you see him?’ The room appeared empty at first, but when Charlie fo-

cused her vision she could see them. Their pallid grey complexion matched the color of the room. “There’s two of them!” “There’s more than two! There’s one, two, three, four, five!” The tiny men and women— they were no larger than medium-sized dolls — had stopped what they were doing, and now they were staring back across the room at the visitors. One of them pointed towards the children, and then she whispered something to the other four, and all five of them burst into peals of laughter. “But they can’t be real people,” Charlie said. “Of course they’re real people,” Mr. Valentini answered. ‘”They’re Liar-Advisors.” Before Charlie could ask what a Liar-Advisor was, she noticed a beam of light in the corner of her eye. Mike Sozal-Media was recording a video. Mr. Valentini was facing the other way, so he didn’t notice. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie coughed. Mr. Valentini whirled around, and caught Mike red-handed. With surprising speed, he plucked the phone out of Mike’s hand. “What do we have here, hmm?” Valentini asked, scrolling through Mike’s feed. “Were you about to post this on ccolumbia buy sell memes?” He asked. “No—no, I wasn’t,” Mike stammered. “And it seems this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve posted in the group. Your insensitive comments on race are a violation of the Rules of University Conduct. And, even worse, your trash content is recycled from the Berkeley memes page.” He tossed the phone back to Mike. “I’m afraid we will have to rescind your offer of admission.” “What? No!” Mike cried, but it was too late. Two Liar-Advisors dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the room. Mr. Valentini gave a tight-lipped smile to the remaining children, but only Veruca noticed. Charlie was too busy watching Violet interact with a Liar-Advisor. The small grey woman smiled and nodded as Violet finished speaking. She placed a tiny hand on Violet’s wrist. “Of course, dear, we will do our best to make sure we explore every funding opportunity for you. Have you considered taking out a Federal Perkins Loan?” Violet tried to pull her hand away, “But a loan isn’t financial aid.” At this, the Liar-Advisor hissed and sunk her pointy teeth into Violet’s arm. Violet screamed, with such force that the piece of gum she was chewing flew right out of her mouth. Mr. Valentini walked up to the Liar-Advisor. “This is America,It’s 2018. yYou can’t eat children anymore,” he said gently. The Liar-Advisor nodded. “Sir,” Charlie said, “Violet spit out her gum.” “And?” Valentini asked. “Which means she won’t break the world record. Which is the whole reason she got into Columbia in the first place, right?” A look of understanding dawned on Mr. Valentini’s face, “I’m afraid that’s true, Violet dear. Now that you’re not a world-record holder, I’m afraid we have to reevaluate our admissions decision.” Violet stood up, holding her bleeding palm to her chest. “You can’t do that,” she said, “gGetting into Columbia has been my whole life.” “Rules are rules,” he said, “ifIf you don’t leave now, I’m afraid we’ll have to send you to a farm upstate.” “No, not Cornell!” Violet screeched. She was carried out



of the room by another two Liar-Advisors. Now, only the bite-happy one was left. Mr. Valentini ushered the two remaining children, Charlie and Veruca, to a nearby desk. V. Charlie couldn’t believe the competition was down to her, a first-generation student and a woman in STEM, and Veruca, a legacy who didn’t really need the money. Valentini pushed two chairs together and urged the children to sit facing each other. “Now,” he said grimly, “you must fight to the death.” “What?!” Charlie gasped. “Kidding, kidding,” Valentini chuckled. “But there has to be some way to narrow it down. A singing competition, perhaps?” Charlie didn’t know what to do. She appraised the perfectly coiffed-and-manicured Veruca, who was still wearing her Canada Goose coat even though it was quite warm inside. An idea began to fester in Charlie’s head. “Mr. Valentini, what does financial aid entail?” Charlie asked. “On the student side?” “Well, Charlie, you have to maintain a passing average, and make satisfactory progress toward your degree. We also ask that, in exchange for financial aid, you participate in our workstudy program.” Veruca’s eyes widened. “Work study? You mean, I’d have to like wash dishes for money?” “Not necessarily. You could staff one of our concierge desks, or perhaps re-shelve books at the library.” “That will not be possible,” Veruca said curtly, pulling out her phone. “Mother, I’ve decided the real world is too fraught for me. Have Jefferson pick me up outside Mondel’s in five.” Veruca swatted the Liar-Advisor’s hand away and walked out of the financial aid office of her own accord. As Veruca’s footsteps got quieter and quieter, Charlie became aware of a faint staccato noise behind her. It was Willy Valentini, clapping. “Oh, I do congratulate you!” He cried. “I really do! How wonderful this is! You are the champion. I will see that full financial aid is granted to you immediately.” Charlie thought she would be happy to hear that she was getting a full ride to Columbia. But it made her sick to think of all the other students, and the opportunities she’d taken from them. “I don’t think I’m the right fit for Columbia anymore,” she said. “Oh my dear girl, don’t kid yourself. I had a hunch, in the beginning, when you didn’t stand up for Augustus. And then that brilliant little cough, to alert me to Mike Sozal-Media’s infraction. But when you just threw Violet and Veruca under the bus like it was nothing, that’s when I knew for sure—” Charlie swallowed, waiting for Valentini to finish his thought. “You’re cut-throat and morally compromised—in other words, a perfect match for CU!” Charlie realized Willy Valentini was right—Columbia was filled with people just like her. Willy Valentini removed his glove and extended his right hand. “Now come on, Charlie. There’s a whole world for me to show you—but only if your ready.” Charlie didn’t hesitate. She took his hand. They both began to cackle. It was another normal day at Mondel’s Chocolate Shop. Graphic by Amanda Ba


Sad: Local Student Still Into Hamilton By ISAIAH BENNETT

It’s Quiet Uptown

COLLEGE WALK – Late Tuesday, crowds of passersby could be seen visibly cringing as a local student broke into an impromptu, off-key rendition of “Alexander Hamilton,” the leading number from the 2015 Broadway smash-hit “Hamilton.” Much to the collective dismay of the student body, rather than simply throwing it back to a bygone cultural craze, Casey Chabot, CC ‘20, was actively attempting to explain to a group of new acquaintances why the “like, super color-conscious, modern masterpiece of musical theater” was still “totally more relevant than ever” and definitely something that the group should be talking about. The frustrated sophomore, who still has a small shrine

to Lin Manuel Miranda up on her wall, could be seen wildly waving her hands in the faces of her embarrassed classmates to little avail. “Jesus Christ, it’s 2017;” explained a frustrated Jeremy Maltz, SEAS ‘20, one of the conversation’s suffering participants, “The show debuted over two years ago! If I wanted to hear someone ramble on about irrelevant garbage, I could just call my grandmother for once, or actually attend my CC section.” “Don’t get me wrong, Casey is a nice girl — I mean she’s from the midwest or something, right? She probably struggles to make conversation with members of the New England, Phillips Exeter Academy literati such as myself – but ‘Hamilton’...” sighed Kathy Newbart, CC ‘19, “She’s obviously really struggling to cultivate any semblance of a personality.”

Speaking personally, Chabot found herself both “surprised and insulted,” by the lack of interest from her classmates. “I haven’t stopped listening to the Hamilton mixtape since it came out. It might as well be my entire identity!” she explained, “I haven’t been this disappointed since I couldn’t get front row seats to Hamilton even though I tried that darn lottery system every day, am I right guys?” At press time, students across campus could be seen mentally annexing Chabot away with the rest of the students who still “do the whip” when dancing and post on Columbia Buy Sell Memes.

REPORT: Eric Looks Like a Josh By ALEX HORN Who is He?

room — instantly eliminating the possibility of his being an Eric, Richard, Jonah, or Ogedai.

SCHAPIRO HALL – Sources close to The Federalist confirmed this week that sophomore Eric Rowland, CC ‘20 and Schapiro Hall resident, looks more like a Josh. “Look, I know what Erics look like, and this poseur does not fit the bill,” said Georgia Taylor, CC ‘19, who lives down the hall from the mysteriously misnamed phenom. “Sure — well-pressed polo shirts, boat shoes — classic Eric, right? But Rowland can’t fool me. I saw him strutting down the hall with five o’clock shadow last week. I haven’t learned much at this school, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Erics are always clean-shaven.” Taylor went on to explain that her suspicions of Rowland’s possible Josh-ness began early in the year, when she noticed the smell of marijuana coming from his

“[The smell] was a clear tip-off this guy wasn’t quite an Eric,” said Taylor, “since a real Eric would lean more towards craft beer than anything else. But just smoking pot doesn’t narrow it down much: he could have been a Kyle, a Mason, hell, even a Chad. It wasn’t until I noticed the dry erase board taped to his door that the truth of his Josh-isitude was made all too clear. I just don’t know why he’s chosen to deceive us all like this.” Rowland’s peers have not been the only ones to no-

“A real Eric would lean more towards a craft beer than anything else. ”

tice his alarming lack of Eric-like features. Dr. Jose Garcia, Rowland’s Biology professor, told The Fed, “I have enough trouble remembering these dumb kids’ names without someone like Eric here coming along with a Josh face like that. When you see an Eric pop up on your roster, you have very specific expectations of what you’re gonna get, but now I have to deal with that blank Josh-y face staring back at me for the rest of the semester. Honestly, what were his parents thinking?” Despite the best efforts of The Federalist’s investigative team, we were unable to reach Rowland himself for comment: possibly because all of our interview requests were addressed “Dear Josh”. However, sources close to Rowland have confirmed that, as of press time, Rowland has taken a long, hard look in the mirror, promised to stop lying to himself, and logged onto SSOL to change his Preferred Name to Josh.

An Open Letter to the Columbia Spectator


You Good Bro? To our dear friends at our campus’ second-most-read publication, Recently, you re-published this infographic article, “Core Classes as Sex Positions.” We, the bottom-feeders of the Columbia journalism food chain, were impressed by the sheer amount of effort and thought that went into the jokes and graphic design. It served as a nice reminder that our entire endowment is probably a fraction of what you spend on bagels annually. But it also raised some questions amongst our editorial board, namely: Is everything alright?

You’re making funnies now — that’s cute. We’re not mad you guys are “stealing our thing” or anything like that. We just want you to know we’re here to talk. That’s it. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s so okay. But forgive us for being concerned at your bringing back sex-related content from the first cycle of 2015. Do you guys really have nothing else to write about? In 2018? Okay, okay. We’ll stop asking. Sorry. It must get hard being Columbia’s only independently financed paper. Spending so much time raising money is probably what led to articles like this, this, and this slipping through the editorial cracks. We here at the Fed are more than familiar with that feeling and can totally sympathize – no, no, not publishing garbage content as “real” journalism,


but slipping things between our cracks. But what do we know? We’re a lowly satire newspaper founded by a Supreme Court Justice, which recently published this with the meager sum given to us by our benevolent administration. Also, what the fuck is wrong with Cowgirl? Sincerely Yours, The Federalist


Guy from the Midwest Wants You to Know It’s Still Colder in Midwest


Cold Little Heart

COLLEGE WALK- As the seasons shift, so does the fair landscape of Columbia University. The quads are shrouded in thick plastic, College Walk’s phallic fountains cease to flow, and Alma’s shining head is coated in snow. These changes are the most noticeable; but venture a little further to the doors of Butler library and even in the most frigid of weather you will see Lance Gruber, CC ‘19, preaching loudly to his pampered East Coast audience. A junior hailing from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Gruber witnessed his first East Coast winter two years

ago and has since committed himself to informing his peers from more geographically fortuitous destinations that New York City’s chill “doesn’t even fucking compare to an afternoon on the banks of the Big Sioux.” Dressed in little more than a burlap shawl and some Tevas, Gruber sneers at Canada Goose-clad passersby, condescending students and tour groups alike. “He’s clearly cold,” noted bystander Linda Harman, SEAS ‘20, “so I don’t know why he has to be such an asshole about it.” Other concerned students have approached Columbia administrators about Gruber’s disruptions; but collectively, Gruber’s critics have re-

ceived only the reply to ‘let him be’. “In the absence of any real personality, sometimes our midwestern students struggle to find their niche on campus,” pointed out Dean Kromm of Undergraduate Student Life. “While this is certainly an extreme case, Mr. Gruber’s actions are nothing we haven’t seen before.” At press time, Gruber could be seen visibly shivering as he attempted to convince a crowd of Tibetan international students that they “hadn’t seen a real wind tunnel” until they walked from Sioux Falls Highschool to the Pizza Hut on Main street.





Terrorist Sacrifices Life for SeventyTwo Virgins, Revives In Art of Engineering Classroom By BENJAMIN MOST

Virgin Larry MUDD BUILDING- After perpetrating a suicide car bombing in Brooklyn in hopes of meeting the 72 virgins promised, terrorist Amir al-Nasir was revived in an Art of Engineering classroom. His supposed cadaver, donated to Columbia shortly after the incident, came gasping back from flatline halfway through the lecture. “I was definitely pretty upset at first,” al-Nasir said. “But after taking a closer look, there were two or three virgins with some potential in there if I lowered my standards a little. And there were at least 90 virgins in that room, so I do feel like I got some decent value.” When asked to compare the situation with his

expectations, he said the main difference was “acne, lots and lots of acne.”

“I was definitely pretty upset at first, but after taking a closer look, there were two or three virgins with some potential in there if I lowered my standards a little.”

tution. “At first, I was excited to attend an engineering core class, but the lecture quality was just poor,” al-Nasir said. “Honestly, I would have taken a Lit Hum class over this. I’ll give it a couple weeks, but I don’t see myself attending lecture much after that.” So far, al-Nasir’s efforts to interact with the Art of Engineering virgins have been met with rejection, as the students awkwardly avoid eye contact or walk in the other direction when he approaches.

Despitecoming to terms with the virgin supply, al-Nasir said he found the class disappointing and not what he had expected from an Ivy League insti-

Experts Unsure if Town Dystopian Wasteland or Just Upstate Suburb By MAX ROSENBERG AND ANI WILCENSKI White Flight Am I Right? Recently, after hearing countless low-budget local news reports of disturbing activity, a team of scientists, researchers, and other urban elites was dispatched to the town of Linden Springs, New York. The team relayed the following unsettling report.

“I haven’t seen a book or newspaper in weeks- the only source of information from the outside world is Pitch Perfect 3”

“It’s a desert out here. All culture has been stomped out, replaced by a barren landscape of Applebee’s and strip malls consisting of a European Wax Center and a Sbarro’s. I haven’t seen a book or newspaper in weeks—the only source of information from the outside world is Pitch Per-

fect 3,” said Linden Springs resident Erin Parker. “It’s considered journalism here.” Tyler Yowell, who recently fled Linden Springs, recounted his harrowing experience. “You’ve got to constantly be vigilant about avoiding enemy fire to survive out here. Just last week, I was caught in the crosshairs of a conversation with my Uncle Gary about how Mexicans are forcing everyone to learn Spanish. And, even worse, when I came home for Christmas, I was cornered at Buffalo Wild Wings by a random guy from my tenth grade English class who kept talking about a kickass goal he scored on the JV lacrosse team.” Conducting research has been a dangerous task, as over half of the original research team has now been hospitalized for Lyme Disease-related complications. Almost everyone the team spoke to mentioned the town’s vicious social hierarchy . “Soccer moms with bad highlights and overweight Little League dads rule the roost around here. Anyone who doesn’t drive a Honda Odyssey or scream at scrawny eight-year-olds for striking out is relegated to the margins of society,” said one resident, who asked to be nameless to avoid facing the inhumane punishments–namely multi-hour passive-aggressive meetings with Jean, the head of the PTA–Linden Springs doles out to


insubordinate citizens. While they couldn’t yet draw definite conclusions, the researchers were unsettled by their findings. “We’re not yet in a position to deem the town a blighted wasteland,” said lead scientist Allen Goldberg. “But just by the sheer density of vape stores in such a concentrated area, it doesn’t seem there’s much hope for this God-forsaken land.”

“Soccer moms with bad highlights and overweight little league dads rule the roost around here.”

As of press time, the research team reported they had gotten “blitzed” off of $7 vodka and had just purchased tickets to a Dave Matthews reunion tour show.


TA Analyzing Handwriting of Brutal Student Evaluation in Order to Fail that Little Shit By W. REED SIMMONS PhD in Graphology Angela Franklin, a TA and 3rd-year graduate student in the history department, has spent nearly four days doing a comparative study of the handwriting in each of the finals she half-heartedly graded to find out which of the little bastards in one of her discussion sections submitted a teacher evaluation which called her, among other things, a “stupid, inarticulate, pee-wee.” Franklin, who has been a TA for the same course twice now, stated “I can’t believe the audacity of this kid. Do they even know the amount of effort I put in to making sure he or she has to waste an hour of their time weekly in my room? It’s honestly an affront to the whole system. You best believe that they’re going to get what’s coming to them.” When questioned about the situation, the history department was surprisingly open about the nature of the evaluation. Barbara Fields, tenured professor

in the department and recipient of the MacArthur Genius Grant, said “I’ve read hundreds, if not thousands, of these evaluations over the course of my time at columbia, and let me tell you, this one was cataclysmic. There is almost something to respect in whoever wrote it as it borders on poetry at times, such as when they refer to her classroom demeanor as, and I quote, ‘that of a baboon who has reached the third grade for the fourth time.’” After sending out a survey to find the author of this evaluation, The Federalist has been able to identify the student as Richard Pierce CC’ 19. Pierce is a known loose cannon on campus, and he has been confronted by many student groups for his callous behavior. In response to questions about his evaluation of Ms. Franklin, Pierce claimed “I wrote what I wrote and I don’t regret it. That bitch was a total drag and wasted countless hours of our time with her pedantic ramblings. It was also clear that she was a total weir-

do. She looked like Ms. Frizzle and tried to explain almost everything in the context of a magic school bus episode. I really don’t feel bad about how badly I shattered her with that eval. I’m really almost proud of it.” Franklin, less amused by the evaluation, is taking her time to replicate the handwriting of the eval and compare it the the 50 different finals she has been grading to make sure he gets the ‘F’ she feel he deserves. Paul Chamberlain, the class’ professor, had other ideas, stating “Yeah, that kid did really well in the class, I read his final personally and don’t have any problems with it. Also that eval was one of the funniest things I’ve ever encountered. He called her the “kids choice awards of TA’s for god’s sake.” Chamberlain then took a break to let out a hearty laugh before continuing to say, “She’s a weird one for sure.”

(Another) Open Letter to GS’s New Dean ANONYMOUS Dear Dean Rosen-Metsch,

You’re Tearing Me Apart Lisa

Lisa, baby, please take me back. What I said was wrong, I know that now. I was selfish and wanted you for myself. I’m sorry I tried talking you out of applying for your current position. I’m sorry I said that being the dean of General Studies was a waste of time. I’m sorry I said that you weren’t good enough

for Columbia to want you back. “Luscious Lisa,” I’m so proud of you right now. I’m even getting this letter in the Federalist, the only esteemed Columbia publication whose members include GS students, because I love you so much and respect the students in your domain. I cannot stop thinking about you and how happy we could be. I need your love as much as your students need money. I sincerely apologize for what I’ve done to you this past year. I promise I will never doubt or hurt you

again. We had such a great run these past few years, and I deeply regret letting my possessiveness ruin what we had. I have never and will never find another who can satisfy me as you can. I know you feel the same. From the bottom of my heart, From, “Delicious Dave”

Columbia Football Success Rocks Physics Department’s Understanding of Universe By JACKSON WATSON Hard Rocks PUPIN HALL- The Physics Department of Columbia University has gotten little rest since Columbia football’s recent winning streak. They have been frantically attempting to reconfigure their understanding of physics, as this streak breaks some of the few “fundamental principles of the universe,” as reported by Chair of Astrophysics David Helfand. Department of Physics Chair Robert Mawhinney said, “There are only a few principles and limits modern physics relies

upon the speed of light, the equivalence principle, and that Columbia Football can win once, maybe twice in a row. But now all that’s gone crumbling down.” Professor Janna Levin was seen trying to formulate a few ways that this could make sense within our current conception of the universe; she provided theories as varied as “the team has bulked enough to essentially bend the fabric of spacetime like a black hole, allowing them an unparalleled advantages in terms of time and motion,” to “just straight up magic. Magic could also be real and Physics could have wrongfully


disregarding it.” At the time of publication, no satisfactory explanation has been reached, but researchers into quantum physics suggested that no matter what, such a winning streak goes beyond any level of uncertainty previously considered in physics. “Anything could happen and nothing can be measured,” said Boris Altshuler. Until this is resolved, Hefland and professors will be cancelling classes and only responding to Frosci inquiries with “fuck off, this is more important.”

Sleepy Joseph Massad Asks Mother How Many More Days Until Israeli Apartheid Week

Graphic by Natalie Arenzon

The Federalist February 2018  
The Federalist February 2018