CUSU Probed Me

Tab undercover reporter GROAN HARDSLEY can’t feel his “man glands” after a tumultuous encounter at the CUSU offices.

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Last time I showed you how I managed to overcome the odds and get History of Art students to respect me. After I realised they were all really wanky I moved on to my next target. CUSU.

I read the manifestos of all the presidential candidates and didn’t really get what they were talking about. I knew if I could get in with them I could implement a string of much needed changes. I really wanted to make a difference to students and if it was going to take a violent assault on CUSU HQ, then so be it. Here’s what I proposed for my inevitable and violent takeover as the first Emperor of Cambridge:

–          Ban bikes and implement a ‘unicycles only’ policy around Cambridge.

–          Turn Churchill into a multi-storey car park and use the money made from it to pay for a herd of screaming goats to be placed at various points around town.

–          Turn rugby into a half blue sport.

I approached the CUSU offices with much trepidation. I feared what I’d find behind closed doors. The whole building smelled of dead bodies, with a particularly heady stench coming from the TCS offices.

I bumped into a rather disgruntled looking chap and asked him for a bit of help. I needed to learn the basics to get a foothold in CUSU. I started off with a simple question: “So, what does CUSU actually stand for?”

“Cunty, Useless Students Unite.”

What the logo would look like if that guy knew his stuff

I didn’t think it stood for this. I thought it was “Cambridge Uni Sexy Undergrads”. It wasn’t that either.

What the logo would look like if I knew my stuff

Apparently it stands for Cambridge University Students’ Union. I didn’t really get why it was a ‘union’ when it involved so few people and when so few Cambridge students actually even knew what it was.

But, undeterred I proceeded into the deepest, darkest depths of the CUSU offices. I took my ideas straight to the head honchos and demanded they vacate their positions and hand over Cambridge to Emperor Hardsley.

They told me to have a cup of green tea and think about what I was saying. They told me I’d regret any rash decisions.

“Unicycles? That’s discriminating against bikes. Are you trying to suggest one wheel is better than two? Really?”

One of them proceeded to phone up Cambridge Defend Education to rat me out to the extreme left, but I managed to knock the phone out of his hand by hurling a loose guava that was on the floor right in his nose.

Reconstruction. Not to scale.

They then all started arguing about their tropical fruit policy.

“THE AIR MILES, EUSTACE! WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU. ONLY EAT FRUIT YOU HAND PICK.”

Not shy to carry on this tropical tumult, I smashed a passion fruit over the President and made my intentions clear:

“Churchill has to be a car park!” I yelled.

Before I could say the word ‘irrelevant’ I was trapped under a mass of student activists: “WE DON’T LIKE CHANGE.”

Their eyes all simultaneously became red and a copy of The Communist Manifesto flew into their hands out of thin air. “We’ll beat that populist mentality out of you, Hardsley.”

“How do you know my name?”, I yelled, clinging onto to my man-glands for dear life.

“We read The Tab, Groan. We don’t like the ideas you’ve been promoting. We’ve been expecting you.”

Things were starting to kick off, so I decided to get out of there. Well, I tried to, but I tripped over a stack of Varsity and then felt a sharp stabbing pain.

What happened after that, I’ll never know. I woke up in knitwear and started to have opinions on lots of irrelevant things, like the National Union of Students and the best places to muse on Cambridge’s Access problems.

I think they probed me.

I’m now filled with an overwhelming urge to tell you to vote in the upcoming elections. They’re really important and whoever wins is most definitely going to make a difference to your university experience.

Just don’t try to find out about what CUSU actually do, they don’t seem to like imposters.