Freshers shocked to find that they should’ve been looking for second year housing when they were in the womb
Doe-eyed 18-year-olds settling into their borderline catatonic, comatose, culturally valid alcoholic lives for the next nine months have been shocked to discover that they should have started looking at housing before being expelled from their mother’s body.
The harsh reality of Exeter’s student housing situation is beginning to drown freshers in a veritable sea of hatred and loathing for estate agents, landlords and humanity in general.
We spoke to fresher Leora Paisley, who regrets not having started her search earlier. “Realistically, to ensure I don’t end up roaming the plains of Dartmoor with a bunch of mature students who look about as old as my grandad’s left bollock, I should’ve started looking for a house before I was conceived. It’s f***ing brilliant.”
Landlords and estate agents across Mount Pleasant, St David’s and St James Park have braced themselves for upcoming viewings from groups of people with about as much knowledge about each other as University Challenge viewers feel they have about the world by the end of a show.
We reached out to estate agent Barney Stamper, who admitted to us that watching freshers sort out housing acts as a kind of substitute torture porn for him. “They come in with their wildly different budgets, en-suite needs and walking distance restrictions, looking all serious and intelligent… then one of them lets off a cheeky fart.”
“A proper fruity guff. That’s when you see them all look at each other, thinking about the pungent contents of the perpetrator’s body after a curry night after night, and you just see the light die from their eyes. Something about that unexpected pain gives me immense sexual gratification.”
Who knows what they’ll end up with: necrophiliacs house-hunting based on proximity to the nearest graveyard, start-up serial killers looking for a garden big enough to bury their first kill, people who unironically enjoy the music of Robbie Williams, law students; the frightening possibilities are endless. We can only hope they don’t end up on Sidwell Street.
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