Long live lad culture, tits, bevs and banter

TW: Sick banter ahead.

It would be safe to say that it has become somewhat a la mode to trash the lad. And while lad culture in Cambridge has been under attack for some time I believe extremist factions intent on destroying masculinity are, in fact, endangering us all.

“Fuck lads – bevs, tits and bants belong in the past” was the title of the most recent feminazi splurge and when I heard it I felt attacked, threatened – the previously safe space of my university (Hugh’s University that is) couldn’t have been more violated if they’d shat in my barbour.

The human cost of feminazi oppression. Lad bashing is not a victimless crime.

The shock it induced was enough to put me seriously out of sorts. Your man Hugh’s laugh didn’t have the same boom as it echoed through the Life smoking area; VKs didn’t taste the same; I spoke entirely in the first person; and when boozing with the boys I didn’t even want to exaggerate the details of last week’s threesome with three Medwards girls (all Swedish) in Trinity Great Court.

That spell has now passed, and while I have, with the aid of much scotch, regained my mojo and capacity for three-minute intercourse (form an orderly queue, ladies), I have not lost my sense of outrage and concern invoked by those words.

For bevs, tits and bants are important. More than just the key components of lad culture they were the key ingredients of the primordial potage that spawned British society. Without them, you simply wouldn’t be here.

Props to Tab illustrator Ben Brown.

My godfather is genuinely Dom Perignon. Without him, Hugh senior could never have roused the courage to even speak to my mother and I guarantee that without the sauce your father would, likewise, have remained clueless as to how to approach women. Alcohol is a prerequisite for relationships and for intercourse. Is sex even sex if you haven’t had two bottles of wine and a curry beforehand?

Ever wondered why ‘Life’ was named ‘Life’? It’s because every drink they sell literally aids in the creation of actual life. Truth.

As for bants – women fucking love it. They say they don’t but Marilyn Monroe was definitely a woman, and she said “If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.” Put simply, bants get you into pants. Without bants your father would have stumbled home alone and you would have merely been the contents of a soggy tissue sliding down the inside of a bin liner. #stickybanter

And tits? Well, seeing as most feminists are probably lesbians I think we can – all of us – put aside our differences and agree that tits are bloody superlative. Or, to put it in a way they’d understand, they’re better even than a pair of brand new Doc Martens.

But Hugh isn’t just here to refute the hitherto mentioned, ludicrously unfounded claims of the oppressor. Lad culture is precious, it is something to be cherished.

So many ladpoints.

Though he founded socialism – thus making him the original unwashed leftie loon – Marx’s clear foreseeing of this grave situation of oppression and ostracisation that has befallen the lad deserves a fuck-tonne of ladpoints. And as our behaviour is increasingly analysed, policed and condemned, his words are as poignant as they are haunting: “in modern society mans is only free in his functions of fucking, eating and getting lashed.”

Now even that is being threatened by the liberal, feminist dogma.

Getting binned is a classless, timeless quality. To chug is to level, to chant is to engage in something so primitive, so ethereal that for one beautiful moment even the lowliest hill-college student can find himself at one with a BNOC (Vote for me here BTW).

Remove lad culture, loutishness and general boozing from our existence and we lose the one thing that all our disparate communities, the povvos, the new-money pricks and your esteemed friend here, have in common.

We are the glue that holds Cambridge – nay, society – together and that is what truly inspires the jealous wrath of the feminazi. So lads, fill your glasses, roll up your t-shirt sleeves (unless your guns are peak), and let your dreams soar as high as your voices over the van of life.

We are strong, sexy, independent(-ly educated) white men and we will not be dragged down.

Hugh out.