Fake News: Aristocracy runs amok at Caesarian Sunday
Simon West sees C-Sunday through the eyes of fictional reporter, Dale E. Male
In a practice known as ‘Caesarian Sunday’, hundreds of BILLIONS of satanic privileged youth-monsters have descended on the pleasant green of our Lord Jesus to engage in heinous crimes – beyond the pale of which this reporter feels willing to describe.
Following traditions dating back many millennia, students at Cambridge so-called-University engage in the day of vile intoxication as revision for their final exam upon which their degree is entirely based: ‘Suicide Sunday’.
“These reprobates were all whooping like savages. Obvious Remoaners if ever I’ve seen any”
As I crawled into my hiding bush in Jesus Green at 5:35am (I use the same bush every year, please do come and say hello, it gets awfully lonely) I prepared myself for what the day was to bring. Last year, a drunken reveller dressed as a sheep accidentally set fire to the entire Eurasian continent and it cost BRITISH TAXPAYERS vast sums to resolve.
This year, the dastardly scum-foolery was no less extreme. I witnessed students causing global warming, committing high-level insurance fraud, defying a UN ban on nuclear weapons testing, and driving above the speed limit NEXT TO A SCHOOL. You’ll have to take my word for it, though, because all the pictures I took show people sitting on picnic blankets calmly drinking budget cider.
To make it worse, these entitled vagabonds engaged in all these unspeakable commotions in the presence of FAMILIES with YOUNG CHILDREN. I thought to myself, “this country has gone to the dogs!” as I watched 12 students steal the child from their parents and eat it raw. These reprobates were all whooping like savages. Obvious Remoaners if ever I’ve seen any.
Many of these devil-incarnates were drinking foreign alcohols, which is equally as unpleasant as actually being foreign. They should be deported from this Great British nation with immediate effect. British people should only consume hearty British beverages, like Stella Artois or a small glass of Chardonnay for the gentle-lady.
Speaking of which, the women-folk were an even greater disgrace to this fair nation with its proud traditions of institutionalised misogyny. I saw women with clothing which revealed not only their ANKLES but also their KNEES. Upon comprehending this orgy of horrific licentiousness, I immediately fainted.
Two hours and fourteen minutes later, when my body recovered from the shock and I again awoke, I was further horrified by the thought that if these girls were engaging in student activities, this meant that they were receiving a university-level education. Sickened to my core, I prayed for these souls to be soon returned to their rightful roles of placid motherhood and fluffing up the cushions in the front room.
As if this were not ghastly enough, these young elites were actively encouraged in their hooliganism by their elders. One Senior Tutor wrote letters to all the students in his wolf-pack advising them to “go hard or go home, you legendz”, with another college threatening to expel any student who refused the dirty pint in ring of fire.
As I sat in my bush watching this nightmare unfold, I made two mental notes. Firstly, that I shouldn’t sit in a bush again next year because I was getting frequently urinated upon. And secondly that I desperately hope my son passes his Oxbridge entry exams
