all porn, all errors, all the time volume 18 • issue 9 • DOOM

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t long last the time has come for me to join the ranks of my bitter, burned out, alcoholic, unemployable predecessors and bid Columbia and the Fed adieu.  The farewell article is traditionally a place for fond reminiscing, self-deprecating comments about how much better the paper will be without the author, and especially for whiny bitching about how hard it is to find a job.  However, I suffer from a memory ravaged by teenage drug abuse, have not only a job but another semester of college in sunny California waiting for me after graduation, and fully expect this paper to collapse without my support (despite the fact that the past two issues, to which I contributed essentially nothing, were among our best ever).
    That being the case, I intend to use this space to spread outrageous lies about myself, lies like "I am not seven feet tall, do not have eerie psychic abilities, and have not come from a faraway planet to enslave your race."  Additionally, let it be known that I have never raped a puppy, nor do I have any desire to.
    Upon transferring last year to Columbia from the idyllic and Econ-Accounting major-ridden Claremont McKenna College, I was thrilled to find myself at a school where everybody was just as cynical, pseudo-intellectual, and filled with hatred for jam bands as I.  I discovered that my new Alma Mater even had a humor magazine – The Jester!  And that it really fucking blew!  Thankfully, I came across the Fed, and since then it’s been nothing but angry letters from the transgendered community, Crisco Twister, blood wrestling, heavy drinking, and buttsex, buttsex, buttsex.
    Now I depart for a summer working with the jingle geniuses who brought you such classics as "Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut," "Just for the Taste of It:  Diet Coke," "The Joy of Cola," and "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, I’ve Got Love in My Tummy," to be followed by a semester living out of my car in L.A. and finishing a second bachelor’s degree in Hotness Science, a year of common-law marriage to Harvey Weinstein, and eventually graduate school.  Farewell, Columbia.  I leave confident that, though I am gone, the next generation of Fed staffers will provide you with the anal rape and aborted fetus jokes you’ve come to expect.
    We’ve had some fun here, but now I want to take a moment to talk about something that’s no laughing matter:  chimp retirement homes.  Chimpanzees serve mankind as pets, research subjects, butlers, astronauts, and mutant shock troops, but most lack the foresight to invest in IRAs or a 401(k).  Please, give generously to Chimp Haven (www.chimphaven.org) or the chimp retirement community of your choice, and help these lovable apes live out their golden years in the comfort they’ve earned.  Thank you.