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Salient: Victoria University Students' Paper. Vol. 25, No. 3. 1962.

Confusion Reigns!

Confusion Reigns!

You are about to be informed of a sad case of mental physical and moral degeneration. Never in the history of this institution of grasping ivy and rotting brick has such a pitiful example come to the notice of the dedicated Salient staff.

From a certain room in the S.U.B. staggered forth an emaciated figure, only to collapse into the arms of a beautiful Salient reporter. ("Damn" said the editor, "a perfect stranger, and I've been trying for weeks.").

After the application of restoratives this unfortunate cast aside from the brutal way of authority, managed to croak out his story. (Gazing the meanwhile into the teardimmed eyes of his luscious benefactor).

I started in a sane condition (pause). Then they threw a sheet of incomprehensible instructions at me and forced me to begin climbing a crowded and torturous stairway. Halfway I leant over the balcony to rest but finally came to the conclusion that I had better wait until the enraged screams from below died down before I went back to collect the satchel I had dropped.

Having climbed to the terrible height required I joined a long queue of young giants who looked at me with pitying stares as I squeezed my way to the end of nowhere to begin solitary confinement No. 1 (long pause for visual recuperation).

I finally came within sight of the desk where it appeared that the waste paper of the last decade of university administration was being distributed. I began to object and promptly received a mouthful of sharp cornered cards. (At this point the poor fellow made gasping sounds and sank even further into the warm compassionate embrace of our reporter.)

When I had regurgitated the material so generously provided I felt obliged to imitate those around me and put my mark in the appropriate places—having decided to take "Extrav" stage I and "Methods of Entertainment stage 2".

I got the gardener to sign my course card and proceeded with renewed lightness of heart to what I now realise were cremation ovens in the S.U.B.

You would have thought that such a painful process as now came my way could have been completed with some degree of alacrity—not so.

After being ejected several times from hard-won chairs I found that no more information, relevant or irrelevant could be fitted on my forms. I joined the inevitable queue for solitary confinement No. 2 (long luxurious pause).

Finally I stood before the throne of the almighty who proceeded to deface my forms until I was sure my livelihood for the rest of my working (?) days had been signed over to the government. As a final degradation, just as I reached for my form I received a bone-breaking blow on the back of my hand by a rubber stamp.

I didn't give him a chance to do better with a branding iron and managed to overturn the checker's table in my flight. Then came the addition ...

And there ended our story and it took nearly an hour of most earnest persuasion before our female reporter could ascertain what novel method of disposal our informer had used to get rid of the collection of literature made through the last chambers of this man-made hades. His solution ... "you take one of those wicker baskets ... shove the paper inside and light a match ..."