‘When I think of tragedy I think fuck it/ Shaker’s mum can literally go suck it.”
‘When I think of tragedy I think fuck it/ Shaker’s mum can literally go suck it./ Oedipus couldn’t see/ the wood from the trees,/ oh, and Cordelia’s a massive cum bucket’. This was the delightful lyric I found in my pidge to wish me luck before my exams started. Doing English, being a fan of neither Cordelia or tragedy, and having no sense of loyalty towards Shakespeare’s momma, this obviously tickled me. And pushed me into a mad panic that I’d totally got King Lear wrong. I hadn’t. Cordelia is in no way a cum bucket. Annoying self-righteous pedant, yes. Cum bucket, no. If anything, she’s frigid. Not that there’s anything wrong with that: she’s just not a sex kinda gal.
It was a nice release from an otherwise unendingly horrendous term. With Varsity jibbing on publishing every week, there’s just nothing to read in those spare moments I have to myself, on the toilet. And you just can’t wipe your arse with The Tab.
So, limericks got me through that first exam. But, no one provided me with another one. Apparently they’ve got better things to do too. So the pressure begins to build; and, marvellous prose writer that I undoubtedly am, I can’t write limericks for shit.
Now I could’ve put all of this tension into the exam, I could’ve nailed that paper to the wall. But it didn’t quite work like that.
It had to come out at some point though. It’s just a shame that the poor cow also sitting that paper had to bear the brunt.
Let me explain.
It’s been just lovely weather, as I’m sure you’re well aware. So obviously there’s been a proliferation of leg and breast, neither of which I enjoy. Men pretending pasty legs are excusable just because their thick black hair makes the skin barely distinguishable should learn that this is not the case. However, it was not one of these beasts, of which there are many, that got up my goat.
Gliding into my sight, with her schexy pink fake Prada bag, was a girl who had seen the sun and decided to go all out. But it would seem the sun had got to her head. The bitch had decided to go all matchy-matchy with a pair of pink stilettos to compliment the bag that was drawing no compliments from me, thank you very much please.
I bit my lip.
‘Take it out on the exam,’ I whispered to myself with an alluring husk. But I couldn’t. ‘MATCHY-MATCHY?’ I blurted out.
She looked at me, hurt. But the knife was still only half in.
‘I’m sorry love. But this isn’t Ascot, and you ain’t the queen!’
Bam. She was down. People gasped.
The invigilator ran to her aid but tripped, taking an otherwise mild mannered old lady with her. The clock fell from the wall.
It was bedlam.
Needless to say, the exam went on, and the university was generally unconcerned about anyone’s welfare.
Enjoy your exams guys, and do let me know if you emulate my hilarious shenanigans.