Dec. 5, 2001:  The last column: My dirty little secret

Nov. 21, 2001:  Frank Haataja will die a cold, dark death when I kill him slowly with my own angry, shaking hands . . . and then everyone but Frank will have pie

Nov. 7, 2001:  Let the final battle begin!

Oct. 24, 2001:  An open letter to the guy who stole my checkbook

Oct. 10, 2001:  This column is way gooder than your bestest column

Sept. 28, 2001:  I don't want to be the poo guy anymore

Senior year

May 9, 2001:  Chancellor Julius Erlenbach: Hot or Not?

April 25, 2001:  Please stop discussing my magnificent ass in public

April 11, 2001:  Vote me, Paul Ryan, as your next student senate president

Mar. 14, 2001:  Please try this at home

Feb. 28, 2001:  A conversation with my roommate's dog

Feb. 14, 2001:  Use of profanity extremely underrated by 2000 WNA awards committee

Feb. 2, 2001:  Things I would do for money

Dec. 15, 2001:  My Christmas newsletter

Nov. 24, 2001:  Guess what . . . shut up! Things I hate

Nov. 10, 2001:  Tipper Gore put roofies in my mint julip, and now I can't find my pants

Oct. 27, 2001:  Get out of my parking space . . . punk

Oct. 13, 2001:  Touch Paul Ryan and get a damn quarter

Sept. 22, 2001:  What the hell? You mean I have to write this damn column twice a month? Without profanity?

Junior year

May 5, 2000:  Some new legislation

April 14, 2000:  Questionnaire

Mar. 10, 2000:  A drunk conversation I had at a party last week

Feb. 18, 2000:  Paul Ryan declared athlete of the century by all

Dec. 10, 1999:  The editor-in-chief smells like Cheez-Its

Nov. 12, 1999:  Walter Payton is friggin' dead - and other profane observations

Oct. 15, 1999:  Reading is fun - unless you're dead or blind

Sept. 15, 1999:  Good for reading in the can

Sophomore year

May 6, 1999:  You know better than to read this

April 7, 1999:  The steaming poop

Mar. 17, 1999:  Hooray for random beatings

December 1998:  I'm a big fat liar and you love it

November 1998:  All the crap goes on the back page

October 1998:  News so phat, you'll split your pants