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Requiem for Vic

One of the depressing truths about our dear university is that it is slowly, but surely dying. And just as the ailing and terminally ill man will thrash feebly about on his deathbed, trying vainly to elude the icy hand of death, so to does the university make weak uncoordinated movements against crushing forces. We have increasing finanical hardship to face, overburdening workloads to handle and dwindling job prospects, all combining to squeeze the life from the student.

Yet these pale in comparison to the real killer in our midst — the accountancy students. These are the sickly thin entities with the gaunt, emotionless faces that stare at you over the toilet door while you're having a crap. These are the droning, monotone voices that elbow into the middle of sparkling conversation, killing the wit and imagination like a fresh cowpat that's tipped on a fire. These are the noisy hordes in the library, muttering endlessly a— way about their work that nobody else is interested in, like clockwork slugs they wheeze past you in the corridors, their eyes glazed, their breath offensive, stopping only to leave some foul deposit on the stairs. Their contribution to the university ends there.

And when they leave they move in quiet ranks, without fuss, into, their lowly stations in life, accepting the office drudgery and pettiness without question because they are incapable of thought or understanding.

Surely we should look to relocating these undesirables and their department downward, and two miles east, to Soames bland. There, they can roam with the animals and interbreed, and we will have given the university the kiss of life by being rid of them.