Your faithful Jack isn’t what you’d call a numerate person, but this week’s UGM extracted a large quantity of urine when it came to that recurring problem of quoracy. A cheeky cry from an Anti-Racist-via-Israel resulted in ten solid, agonising, minutes of “Learn to Count with Aled-Fishy-Dill”. Even a brief cameo from Amish Paradise (here on a fleeting visit from Auckland), whose very mental arithmetic baffled virtually everyone in the [eventually quorate] crowd, couldn’t persuade Jack to hide his most bemused frown.
With the numeracy hour over, Fishy-Dill then treated us to possibly the worst recitation of poetry since Akpan’sWang’s last imposition on an open-mike night in the Underground. OK, Jack confesses that his sometimes-mute acquaintance Chewwy was behind the whole sadistic stunt, but he at least expected our “lame duck” GenSuck to make more of an effort. What emerged from his lips was akin to witnessing a dying walrus preaching the Nicene Creed.
Perhaps the best thing to have come out of the recent elections is the appointment of Jack “I’m actually a Tory” Tindale to the Democracy Committee, whose presence in the SU outer sanctum guarantees the requisite Northern-ness every students’ union demands. Resembling a slightly less animated Wallace (& Gromit), Tindale proved his improv mettle with a gem of a line, exclaiming, “Anyone who uses multiple exclamation marks deserves to be punched!” with a certain grim satisfaction.
Tindale also made it clear on numerous occasions how little time he had for theatrics – a tad hypocritical, Jack opined, considering a few minutes later, in a woefully choereographed stunt, the Deputy Irrelevant Manager of Pulse emerged from under Tindale’s chair to give the weekly update. The highlight of his personality-free speech was definitely the revelation that he was deputising for his superior because “Stuart’s massage overran” – Jack will definitely be asking the Scottish sex pest for his masseuse’s number.
After the monumental failure that was the previous night’s Executive BS Merchant Elections, Jack was fully expecting a shit-storm of a fight when talk of el Beaver passed through our Returning Officer’s lips. Killerman doesn’t mince her words, and the torrent of abuse she sent forth on the subject of Jack’s employer was pretty comprehensive. Nevertheless, to the weeping Beaver’s rescue emerged outgoing Editor Shibby Mutiny, whose fearless on-stage coupling with Pants-man Neck-less placed the ball firmly in Killerman’s court.
“We WILL carry out our own elections! We DO have the authority to elect our own editor! We ARE the independent socialist republic of Palestine!” shouted Mutiny, and the Killerman had no adequate reply.
She did, however, have something to say about the apeshit nature of the iCan iWill iCame motion. It passed, which means that the Sabbs are now mandated to spend one hour this week in a classroom, reading aloud the Constitution and Codes of Practice. Crazily, the Returning Officer can now be asked to re-declare the referendum results based on a requirement of super-majority, which makes another visit from the SU’s favourite Antipodean mathematician ever-more likely. Killerman’s response to this undeniably socialist conspiracy?
“The lady’s not for turning!”
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