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In This Issue

• Students Wrestle for Squid God
• Summer Job Pays to Choke Chickens
• Dolphins: Not Just for Sex Anymore
• Letters to the Feditrix
• The Confessions of a Burgeoning, Fecund Fury
• Suicides Are Fun for Those Who Don't Participate
• Military + Animals = Hours of Deadly Fun
• When Will Columbia Girls Go Not Ugly?
• You Wouldn't Know Hot Ass Even If You Bit Mine
• Necrophilia: Hey, It's Not Like They Mind
• Columbia Hipsters Leave Brooklyn to Strut Stuff
• Want Me!!!!
• I'm Still Drunk After All These Years
• He's Like Larry Flint, but Super Gay
• At Least the Fed Thinks I'm Cool...
• An End to the Planet
• Steve and Cornelius Are Now Chicks, Like to Play with Own Va-Jay-Jays
• Building a Bomb to Put in the Fed's Open Arms
• Oedipus Family Circus
• The Staff of 18.9
• THEY WATCH

Ben S.

This past January, I felt a pain that many college students feel over winter break. I was separated from my girlfriend and friends and doomed to the loneliness of dreary Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. I had nowhere to turn during those long winter nights. There was no outlet for my natural desire for human contact, both social and sexual. I'm afraid one too many lonely nights of five back to back episodes of Law and Order on TNT changed me.

With no hope in sight, I became curious about an alternative lifestyle that apparently was not only wonderfully fulfilling, but relatively cheap and easy. According to the many helpful websites I found, my days of buying flowers and candies or expensive dinners and movies were over. No, I'm not talking about masturbation. That's right, like countless lonely twenty-something's before me, I sought out the exciting world of necrophilia.

Fueled by the fires of curiosity, I did endless research into the darkest of desires. On the way, I learned many things that any aspiring necrophiliac should keep in mind.

When going to your local graveyard, you can't just go picking out lovers willy nilly. A mound of dirt with no grass usually signifies a fresh burial, but by no means should you just jump on the first one you see. If morbid people dressed in black are hanging around, don't assume they're fellow necros or your local town goths out for a stroll. Chances are the death has been too recent, and those ebony-clad weepers would be a tad annoyed if you started copulating with their beloved. Just the same, you should keep away from slightly older graves covered in wilting or rotted flowers. Their condition gives you some indication of what your lover below will look like. Try to be like the Goldilocks of Death: you have to find the grave that's just right. All of this assumes you're relatively tame like a large number of necrophiliacs. But, hey, if you enjoy fucking the bone, like some necros do, go ahead and dig up any grave you want. Just make sure you use plenty of lube.

Now, there are few things more embarrassing than getting caught in a six foot deep hole in the ground with your pants down and your dick in a rotting orifice. So it might be in your best interest to get your morbid love snack to go. "But, Mike," you say, "lugging an entire body home is difficult, not to mention conspicuous!" Well, you might not realize this, but here's the revolutionary thing about necrophilia: unlike your typical living person, a corpse won't freak out if you take a hacksaw to it. Fan of a nice hand job? Take home an arm or two, and leave the rest of the mess in the ground. Hankering for a blow job? Cut off a dead head (sorry, but you'll find it's impossible to get that tongue moving). Hey, if you're a devout Catholic and missionary is your thing, then there's nothing wrong with just bringing home the torso. In all of these cases, though, you shouldn't forget to practice safe sex! Who knows what shit might have already started to grow in your deceased playmate? Worse yet, you could catch whatever made them croak.

A few lucky necrophiliacs find themselves at death's ground zero: the morgue. I imagine it must be impossible for them to walk down the rows of morgue freezers and avoid getting stiffies for their stiffies. Though it might be a slight turn off to make love to something so hard and cold, the benefit of a frozen corpse is that their limbs will stay in whatever shape you bend them to, making your dream of necro-pretzel sex a reality. And for the female morgue workers who can't afford their own penis pump, there's always the hope that a man who died with morning wood might show up. Rigor mortis is a wonderful thing.

Of course, corpses are useful for many more things than just sweet love-making. Ed Gein, the inspiration for several Hollywood murderers, revolutionized the world of fashion with his strange obsession with his deceased mother. Unable to cope with her death, Gein exhumed her corpse, removed her skin and made himself a nice suit and mask so that he could always be in touch with dear ol' mum. While Gein contributed to necro-fashion, Jeffrey Dahmer, was renowned for his advances in the world of necro-culinary sciences. But Dahmer did more than just eat his victims. Desiring a zombie servant to do his bidding, Dahmer would often drill holes in the heads of unconscious men and then fill them with acid or boiling water. Unfortunately, most of these experiments resulted in quick deaths, but one zombie actually survived to stumble through the streets before quickly succumbing to the contents of his noggin.

As for me, I never made it down that road to dead-sex. But I still respect my lonely brothers and sisters whose lust for corpses is no more disturbed than any other person's sexual habits. Whatever gets 'em through the night: as French necrophiliac Henri Blot said, "Every man to his own taste. Mine is for corpses." I won't judge Henri, or anyone else, for his or her personal taste.

Unless its munging. That's just gross.

[Ed. Note: Mike Noble really is a little too obsessed with deathporn. His website is http://deathp0rn.for-kids.com.]

[Ed. Note 2: Don't even ask what munging is. That's just gross.]