A Letter from the Editors

Alright, you little piss-antes, here it is: something's missing on this campus. Something's off. You're all sitting home right now watching the world happen around you. Stop it. It's 5 am and we're strung out, doped up, blown down, and hangin' tough - three hours from press time and all we've got to show for it is a couple thousand words and a whole lot of hope. Hope that something's gonna happen - something worthwhile, some-thing to scream about, something to rejoice for, something to shelter old dreams and foster new ones. But hope's not enough; you've got to want it. You've got to get out there and search for it.

We want you to juice it up - check your email in your skivvies, go to a party sober (!), start a damn food fight if you have to. Now, we've been here four years and we're part of the problem. The only time we do anything crazy is 3 am on a Tuesday when we wander around campus drunk off our faces, leer at girls and jack pizzas from Musser.

But we're sick of it. We want something to care about, something with meaning, something that's worth fighting through all the bullshit and we're gonna search for it and we're gonna drag you with us and when we find it you will thank us. No more talking heads, no more critiques and analyses and no more excuses.

We battled the Carl, the Senate, the Budget Committee, broken computers and a whole lot of ineptitude just to get this thing up and running. And we're giving it to you to play with. This is bigger than us and bigger than you and it's right here in your face. Anything you want to write, draw, conceptualize, or think about late one lonely Friday night, we'll print. Talk shit about us - we don't care - just make it shit that people will read.

So sac up, buckle down, get out your crayons and start scribbling. Let's fuck some shit up.

Chuk and Nico