The Tattler

Lost in the dingy confines of Wetherspoons, The Tattler is in need of assistance.

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Please help.

You’ll probably find me in Weatherspoons renegotiating last orders.

I need you to take me home.

My cheeks are unshaven, my eyebrows unplucked, my teeth unbrushed, my bush unshaped, my mind unclear and my cock untreatable. Really. It’s like a fucking rainbow.

How did it come to this? My introduction to ‘real’ student life started out well. I was very taken by the sweaty nights out and soon found a niche for fingering everyone and anyone in dark corners. I really don’t know why more privileged students don’t spend their time here denying their backgrounds…

But then it all went wrong.

Vicki got me hooked on ale, stole all of my possessions and buggered off.

Having briefly rubbed shoulders with common students as planned, I now appear to be breaking bread with local drunks. What wasn’t stolen from me has now been sold.

As miserable as this may be, there is one thought that is giving me the strength to go on: “Fuck, this is going to look good in my memoirs.”