How To Pull In The UL
Where have all the fitties gone? DAVID DRAKE tracks them down.
Having never been to the UL prior to exam term, putting a foot through those perilous swivelling doors was an education in more ways than one. Primarily, I was astounded by the extremely high quality of totty on show. These hotties are subconsciously twiddling their hair, running a flash of tongue along their lips and carrying out provocative stretching in their chairs, all whilst straining their darling brains reading Nietzsche. Forget the caffeine shakes – I’m getting high off their gold blend of pretty and witty.
How on earth does a man smash that kind of gash? Obviously revision had gone on the back burner as I sat in the Reading Room desperately trying to solve this conundrum.
And then last weekend, out of the ether, an angel (who was incidentally, pretty buff) appeared before me and delivered the gospel according to the World Wide Web, a new covenant in the form of The Cambridge Fit Finder, saying: ‘go forth and multiply’. This heavenly website was the answer to my prayers; I ditched the passé long-distance ball and chain (New Hall is pretty far), and started the (search) engines. And now you too can update your Neil Strauss tactics (‘The Game’ is so Michelmas ’09) and prepare to find yourself knee deep in the proverbial, shagging your way round every sex-crazed workaholic that litters the libraries of Cambridge at this festive time of year.
You will need: One Crackberry/I-Phizzle/Smart-Arse phone, or else you fall at the first hurdle (the first cock-blocker to contend with is the University Firewall, which apparently is about to ban the FitFinder any day, and as Andy McNab of SAS fame once said, ‘Prior planning prevents piss-poor performance’), various shreds of paper, a calligraphy pen, a number of weighty, intellectual looking tomes.
First, select your victim. Do a provisional sweep of every nook and cranny (those peng galdem like to hide) and remember to check the Tea Room (because you don’t want to bag an absolute loser). Position yourself on the opposite side of the table, two or three seats down. This way you can see her, but she can’t see you. Eyes on the Prize.
Hope that this sexy bitch has a weak bladder, because unless you’ve wisely leafed those books with pages from FHM, it won’t be too long before you get bored and bottle out. Seize the moment when she’s away from her desk to slip a cheeky note at the start of chapter two of All Too Human, and return to your post.
Zoom onto www.thefitfinder.com/witnessthefittness and put that pussy on a pedestal. See below for a template for your post with the most-est:
‘UL, Reading Room, Female, Blonde hair. Wearing pink Abercrombie hotpants, looking pretty stressed. Turn to chapter two to find your ticket to the love train…’
Hopefully you will have heard of the infamous UL Paperchase; something that some total lameass nerds made up when they realised that getting laid in the stack rooms was an impossibility. The Paperchase, a way of leading people around the library by leaving a treasure trail of notes left in books, was the only adventure these geeks could envision. They left a clue in a book, which led to another book, which led to another book, and so on. Apparently there is no end to this trail of virginal larks. Years could be spent living out the real-life quest, pretending that one is in fact a medieval knight searching for one’s damsel in the top of the UL tower, not a middle-aged academic who hasn’t heard of the fit finder. Fools.
As is so often the case with nerds and sex, they haven’t quite realised the potential of the Paperchase. You’ve got to be canny if you want that fanny. Taking inspiration from the geeks of the UL, your first note should read along these lines:
Hey Gorgeous. You must be tired from running through my mind all day. I happened to sit on the table across from you and noticed your sweet ass. Wanna be digitised by me? Follow the clues to my disco stick! Your sexy admirer xxxxx [Followed by a stack mark of your choice.]
Now, being a silly little slut, this hot babe will no doubt take about half an hour to understand all those confusing numbers, so keep the amount of clues to a minimum. Don’t be a retard and give her a book that needs to be picked up from the West Room, as those librarians can kill your boner in a millisecond. Go crazy with the final clue; put your dick where the book should be, sit crying in the corner and await consolation, or just finish her in a dark corner and hope she never saw your face.
If, however, you see yourself as more of a Hugh Grant than a Stiffler (Bad Lad), this could of course be quite cringingly romantic. Take her on a tour of your mind; start with your favourite novel (a little bit of Brontë never goes amiss), make sure to include your favourite line in the next clue (channel your inner Heathcliff), the next book being the philosopher that just completely changed your outlook on life. Chuck in a Shakespearean sonnet if you’re low on the personality, or a travel guide if you want to show off your Gap Yar chat.
But let’s face it, Romantics and Lads alike – it’s exam term and you want to leave Cambridge with a First; the wife can come later.
Capitalise on revision desperation and get your end away while you can.