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Around The Campus

By El Crud

Well this is the last issue of the year and I am in danger of becoming nostalgic. It seems fitting that this column which has chronicled so many varsity parties should be written on the eve of what promises to be the wildest and most shabby of all. Benign Dave Campbell and bland Barry Finch are holding a combined 21st complete with 63 gallons of grog. With Weir now as dry as an Alliance committee meeting this could be the last fling before finals.

Finals, that magic warden, so laden with ill portent. I calculated that since starting High School I have sat 154 exams varying from the academic sterility of Scholarship to a music exam in the third form which I failed ignominiously. Few things in life are as horrible as that first glance at the paper; the sudden numbing realisation that you haven't done enough work. Due possibly to the debilitating quality of Weir food, I have, over the last couple of years, been afflicted with an unshakable lassitude which would suggest I was a victim of the dreaded yo-yo disease.

To my surprise I found myself the winner of a sweep on the All Blacks and I would like to thank the selectors for their kind cooperation.

Went to see "Boccaccio 70" last night. Man what a film! It's the first film I've seen entirely on sex and I must admit I liked it. In the foyer a cop came up to me and asked if I had been in the vicinity of the Manners Street Post Office. When I said I had he replied that someone had seen me put something into the box and what was it? A letter to my father Whereupon he seemed satisfied and we had a pleasant chat about the constabulary in Dannevirke. It was unsettling though and my companions said later they hoped I would be taken away for questioning. The next move will be to post an armed guard inside each post box and a set of automatic handcuffs will restrain any would-be lawbreaker, while a voice tells him that anything he says may be taken down in duplicate and used against him.

Some days ago I was given a white mouse, the former owner informing me that it could not walk or run at an angle less than the angle whose tan is to the vertical. Nevertheless, the little devil comes and goes at will. Yesterday it was retrieved from the canteen and placed in an empty biscuit tin, but when I came back after lunch it had van shed. I saw-it later on, heading due east across the carpet at about 10 knots, but it was far too clever for me. It has now settled into a war of attrition though I have an uncanny feeling that the mouse is intellectually superior to me. Mice are quite intelligent you know. Perhaps it was trained by George Wilder.

I now have a growing respect for the rodent intellect, and I consider them to be brighter than most of the humans they meet. A certain Mr. Kleib, of Arkansas, has demonstrated conclusively that mice are less susceptible to subliminal advertising than are humans. He has also produced a rat which he said had an IQ equivalent to that of John Stuart Mill, but unfortunately it died from 1080 poison, thereby depriving the world of a genius. My mouse has responded well to the Rorchach ink blot test and through long periods alone is learning to sublimate his sex drives.

And, finally, I must close my column for the year. I have taken a swing at many people, important people like Peter Blizard, Bruce Maclennan and Max Bullock. I have been abused, threatened with libel action, cold shouldered and praised. I was nearly flattened at a party when my identity was revealed; I was amused by the little girl who so badly wanted a men-ten but would not tell me her name, intrigued by the look of vague disbelief on people's faces when I am introduced, because let's face it I don't look like a columnist. I have not the brash earnestness of Tony Haas, or the business elegance of Ian Grant. They invariably seem disappointed that I don't look the part.

Finally, and in conclusion, let me say this: If, in any way I have offended you or caused you hurt . . . Thank You and Good Night!!