Leeds UK

‘Man of the people’ reaffirms ability to ejaculate

The Prime Minister today reiterated his status as a real, job-doing, ‘man of the people’ type by once more successfully fulfilling his role in the active procreation of more people. This morning, The Whip can confirm, parliament’s most notorious member celebrated the birth of another Johnson.

Senior sources around Johnson are thought to be confident that this birth will represent a fresh milestone in Boris’ rebrand from scone-scoffing Tory to ‘just a regular working spunker like the rest of ya.’

The Whip was able to catch up with Johnson’s Director of Communications, the newly renamed Gary Ablet. He was practically brimming with joy

‘What a day for the British people! Commander-in-Spunk, the great Johnson wielding Boris, is back at it again, striking a blow for the ordinary man in the battle against the forces of demography,’ Ablet began.

‘Not only does Boris have a functioning penis, he also hates his job. Moreover, he is a massive fan of lager and all that other stuff you yobs are such suckers for, like for association football. He’s just like you, he’s just cleverer!

‘Pluck, spunk, spirit – the man has got the lot.’

At the time of press, Johnson is thought to be favouring a paternity leave that stretches until at least the end of 2021, preferably in the Caribbean.


Opinion: stop going to the fucking pub

There it is, we said it.


‘No, it’s not porn,’ The Fenton moves life drawing classes onto Skype

As the University continues to dilly-dally around regarding rearranged learning, Leeds’ most unassuming post-punk mecca is leading the way, The Whip can report. A strange melting pot of scared Central Villagers and scary city dwellers alike, The Fenton has now announced it shall be moving its much vaunted life drawing lessons online.

The ‘Bare Canvas’ life drawing class will take place as usual to the soundtrack of jukebox death-metal and occasional grunts from the model himself: Big Dave. Pub representatives say that they hope the audio-visual experience will not be too badly impacted by the move to Skype.

Such a sudden and fevered embrace of modern technology, from a pub still without functioning plumbing, may come as a surprise to many, but these truly are strange times.

Indeed, The Whip were able to catch up with Dave on Tuesday to trial the new fangled video-tech, and can confirm that, even online, the sensory ordeal is as vivid as ever.

“In a time of crisis, clarity is essential,” Dave began, spitting into his laptop microphone somewhat. “In the absence of any firm and decisive leadership, from either the university or government, we at The Fenton have taken matters into our own hands.

“First and foremost,” enthused Dave, “I am a muse. No, this is not pornography, this is art. And people need art in times like these. When stood prone before an easel, or a MacBook screen for that matter, Big Dave is no more – I become… Davros… Of course, secondly, admittedly, I also am a top tier local pub darts champion, and thirdly, yes, I guess, I am an alcoholic – but hey, hey now, we’re all a mess of contradictions.

“Anyway, seeing as though the darts and the alcohol are going to have to migrate into my shed with all this corona business, I figured I might as well take the life drawing al fresco and al interneto and whatnot too. Life (drawing) must go on!”


Leeds’ first non-money laundering ice cream parlour opens in the union

In addressing the real issues, Leeds University Union has decided to bestow upon the student population yet another ice cream parlour, taking the total number to over 30 in a city where it rains 173 days a year. With only a few weeks left of Lent, efforts are clearly being ramped up to ensure that as many people as possible disappoint themselves.

However, with the installation of this Hyde Park staple in the heart of the university’s campus, there has been some questions raised. Is this seemingly sweet façade really just a mask for something darker?

We spoke to a representative from the Union, Jack Pott, who tried to calm nerves that the Union might become the site of illicit activity: ‘We know all the fuss that surrounds those ice cream shops in the student area, but seriously guys, it’s just a fucking ice cream shop. The very idea that we would disobey the law is outrageous.’

It seems however that not everyone is convinced, as The Whip caught up with one student, to get their opinion on the matter

‘They must think I was born yesterday’, scoffed the savvy Criminology student, ‘but I’ve watched enough of The Ozarks, plus taken a module in Forensic Psychology in first year, to see what is really going on beneath the surface’.

‘Sure, they laugh at the idea of money laundering, but that just means that there is something even worse that they’re trying to cover up. They’ve tried to fool us with that hilarious punny name, but we must stay vigilant. That ‘innocent’ shop is a front for something truly evil…’

‘Only time will tell. They seem pretty confident now, but they will slip up, and I’ll be there when they do. Waiting, watching, wondering…’


‘It’s really all in the hops,’ says one legged craft beer enthusiast

At a time when the world is in turmoil battling the outbreak of a deadly virus, some people would be forgiven for feeling worried at the possibility of an impending apocalypse. However, one regular of a well-respected local Hyde Park drinking establishment is taking sweet comfort in hard, solid facts, and the reliability of a hoppy craft beer from downt’ trusty Brudders, The Whip can report.

“I mean, calling it Corona, what were they possibly thinking?” cried Martin Maltsmuggler, a one legged, 24 year old, post-uni floater, dressed in (surprise surprise) a Carhartt jacket.

“I know it tasted bad before, that commercial nonsense,” he told our reporter, “but I’m fairly sure heavy breathing, a whole load of coughing and a racing temperature isn’t a good look when you’re just trying to ingratiate yourself with Kevin the local over a grapefruit flavoured half-pint and a game of snooker!”

Clasping his oppressively new-wave IPA and basking in the glory of the joke he’d now told for the eighteenth time that day, Maltsmuggler went on.

“No, I’m just having a laugh! I’m so post-modern! No, Brewdog hasn’t been the same since everybody started drinking it. But, if I’m honest – all this talk of doom and gloom just makes me thirsty for a micro-brewed, overpriced glass of baloney. It’s all in the hops!” he then cried, proceeding to hop. “Aha, it’s funny because I’ve only got one leg! I actually lost it in a brewing accident – it sadly drowned in the pretentiousness of it all, my leg.

“Wowzer, sipping on my zesty Kirkstall Pale and watching those mega-brewery stocks tumble yesterday was truly marvellous. I really hate that all cheap commercial stuff… yes, yes, hold on a minute, aha, admittedly, I’m from Surrey and my dad’s a banker, but is that strictly relevant? Viva la craft revolution!”


Man in Ford Fiesta breaks land-speed record on Brudenell Road

Early this morning, The Whip can report, a whirring, screeching sound roared from outside HFC. Upon reaching the scene, our reporter noticed a startled student in dungarees and a beanie stumbling around vacantly on the pavement. Admittedly, this is not a rare sight on Brudenell Road, but eager not to miss a story, she decided to find out investigate further and asked him to explain what he had witnessed.

“When I first spied the vehicle carving around the bend at the top of the road I thought ‘fair enough, he’s got places to be, don’t we all? Probably left the oven on,” said the visibly shaken Courage McDaniels, a second year biochemistry student.

“Well, anyway, the police trundled round the corner shortly after him and they seemed to be in a rush too, heading the same way, if decidedly slower. High speed pursuits are quite common round here, kind of comes with the territory, you know. That’s what Gavin the estate agent said at least.

“Moving on, I step out to cross the road, and next thing you know there’s an almighty clap of thunder as the maniac sails right past me at an ungodly speed!  When I look down, I see that he’s taken off half of my matsutake quinoa and kale baguette with his wing mirror!

“So now obviously I’m fuming because not only am I still peckish, but I’m now also deaf in both ears. You couldn’t write it.”

The CCTV footage from the adjacent Post Office has since been analysed, and the police have revealed that the driver in question had in fact been at travelling at 16 times the speed of sound, and had reached Bradford by the time officer PC Plod in pursuit had managed to groan up to 24 hour Sainsbury’s.

It is now thought that the Fiesta was powered by Nitros Oxide, incinerated business cards and the sounds of Street Nation 2010.





UCU leaflets threaten industrial action of their own after being repeatedly ignored by students

In an intriguing turn of events, UCU leaflets have themselves threatened to join the renowned annals of West Yorkshire industrial militancy in the face of persistent maltreatment from the Leeds student population.

The Whip made contact with one of the ringleaders of the proposed strike, Pam Flett: “Do you think we’ve been without struggle? I used to be a tree,” barked Pam. “I had plenty of opportunities to go down dark routes and waste my potential: receipt paper, loo roll, Rizla. As did everyone else here. We’re tired of our hard work being squandered by some blasé students. I can honestly say in all my years this ill-treatment has topped it all. And I used to be pissed on each morning by small hounds.”

Once the source of workers’ violation, the institution of printing is making steps to redeem itself by creating a unanimous basis for collective organisation. “Solidarity is easy when you’re all completely identical,” ten thousand leaflets said in perfect synchrony.

Nonetheless, while ostensibly indistinguishable, some of the leaflets are produced from recyclable material, endowing the potential strikers with invaluable insight into left-wing mobilisation. One leaflet commented: “I used to be a page in Mao’s Little Red Book. We were welcomed with open arms by students. These UCU people make some good points, whereas Marxist-Leninist doctrine could never have been successfully applied to an agrarian society!”

The Whip headed out to the picketing epicentre, the Parkinson Steps, to investigate the source of the leaflets’ discontent. 76% of observed students collected a leaflet with a notional nod, made a passing downwards glance until safely three to four metres away from the rabid lecturer, one fold, then dispatched into the most conveniently positioned bin.

In the same way the words, “sorry mate, I’ve got no change” are uttered around Hyde Park hundreds of times a day, students’ tokenistic acceptance of UCU leaflets is a candid illustration of the chasm between principle and practice in students’ support for worthy causes.


Confused Charles Morris student thinks ‘Peggy Gou at Refectory’ is some sort of new dessert

First year: new experiences, new clothes, new music taste. A time of frenzied reinvention and conformity. Out with the Vampire Weekend, in with the Romanian micro-house. However, The Whip has received reports that one Charles Morris student is lagging distressingly behind the curve in this process of re-education.

Anne Te Diluvian, a maths student (obviously), made the mistake of assuming that Peggy Gou, headlining Inner City Electronic tomorrow, was in fact a new form of South Korean souffle soon to arrive in the refectory.

“I haven’t seen anyone make such an egregious first year faux pas since I heard a northerner call pres prinks,” said Anne’s flatmate Matilda Malarkey, who witnessed the incident. “It’s almost like they’re trying to sound stupid.

“Anyway, we were all sat around in our massive, expensive flat, just drinking and talking and letting everyone know how much we know about music and culture and the like, classic us, when Peggy Gou pops into conversation (as she tends to these days, she’s a bit of a rising star, you should check her out).

“Then, out of nowhere, Anne asks whether the new Peggy Gü will be vegan. We just didn’t have the heart to tell her. It is March for crying out loud, everybody knows Peggy is dope. They even said so in The Guardian. Realistically, if you don’t know by now you don’t deserve to know. There really is just no helping some people.

“You guys should give Hunee a listen too,” Matilda went on, “he’s a pretty integral part of the scene. Yeh it’s actually pronounced who-knee, rather than honey. Did you know that? I’ll let you off, it’s a common mistake. He’s cool, anyway, so I like him.”


BBC Licence Fee, Deliveroo dinners and taxis to nights out added to list of things students support in principle but don’t like paying for

The student is a fickle creature. Prone to regular moral crusades and virtuous protests, and yet regularly lacking in both conviction and consistency.

The Holy Trinity of student shithousery – “Nah, they only send those letters to prang you out”, “Correct, the katsu spilt all over the bag” and “Faarck it’s so jarring and weird, Uber just don’t accept my card” – can be routinely heard recycled around university campus’s nationwide.

This intrinsically shameless nature necessary to deliver a self-righteous doctrine to the masses whilst simultaneously lacking in any measure of self-commitment has been a trend that has mystified sociology experts for years.

“We ran all kinds of psychological tests in the lab but we still didn’t have a scooby snack” perplexed scientist, Ronald Dump told The Whip, brow deeply furrowed. Dump went on, before scoffing, “I started to think this mystery was one that even Fred and the gang would struggle to solve!”

Tempering his titter, Ronald continued, “We wired up countless students and challenged them on their views on a range of topics, covering BBC staff cuts to Facebook birthday donations.”

“What we found was that they talk a good game initially, but when it comes down to proper scenario-based questions, the facade comes crumbling down and we know that they’re lying.”

Having seemingly covered all bases, in what has been described by the science community as a maverick move, Dump and his team began to run some physical tests on students instead.

“What we found was pretty astonishing. Every single one of the test subjects were missing a key interlocking vertebra that is needed to form a fully functioning backbone.”

“Turns out their spineless, the lotta them!”


Man joins literally everyone else with still somehow incredibly niche climbing hobby

Will Waller has contacted The Whip to proclaim his adoration of his new-found climbing hobby, accompanying his other hobbies of wearing clothes and being alive. Formerly a sport exclusively of hippies and adrenaline-heads, now a sport of wastemen and wreck-heads, all climbing enthusiasts unite under two common predilections: loose-fitting clothing and the devil’s cabbage.

Waller fondly recounts how he discovered his love to flirt with vertigo: “I was feeling so trapped. I spent weeks just going between home and Wire: Wire then home, then back to Wire, then maybe uni – I’m kidding – back home then straight back to Wire, or maybe Wharf Chambers.

“My mood was dangerously low. I decided that I needed to get out the house and go somewhere that wasn’t Wire, so I got in my mate’s car for three minutes and went to Kirkstall. Lo and behold, when I arrived at the climbing wall literally everyone I had ever met was there. With their nans.”

Waller’s undying-dying-commitment to Cutter’s Choice leaves him reluctant to partake in any activity which is too aerobically-challenging: “I thought about joining the gym, but it wasn’t for me. And let me tell you, reaching the top of that wall is a sense of achievement I just don’t get elsewhere,” commented the Theatre and Performance student.

Despite the furious rise in the popularity of climbing, Waller went on to state how all who he tells continue to be impressed by its supposed quirkiness, “I still get the immediate response of ‘that’s sick man’. Then I proceed to tell them about my aching forearms until they gently fall asleep.”

The winter months have seen a seemingly ubiquitous uptake in indoor climbing; will summer yield a similar spike in the number of slacklines strewn around Hyde Park and accompanying hordes of loitering topless men? The Whip eagerly awaits the next infectious craze of gravitational defiance.


Student spends perfect day with library boyfriend, romantically staring at the back of his head

In this increasingly hollow and contactless world – shout-out to Apple pay, Coronavirus and perpetual Tory government – it would appear one lucky student has managed to salvage the remaining shreds of decency, human contact and love, The Whip can report.

Em Motion regaled to us her seemingly fairy-tale story. “Do you want to tell it or should I?” the second year Economics student began, apparently directing her question at a boy sitting 10 chairs down the Brotherton Main Floor 2 human-centipede-circular. When her ‘boyfriend’ failed to respond, Em rolled her eyes, “okay Mister pretending-to-ignore-my-existence” she giggled insidiously, “that’s a little bit we do, that’s so US!”.

“We are so alike!” Motion went on, “we both go to Bakery 164 for lunch, we both drink water from Chilly bottles, we both go to the University of Leeds… need I continue? I’m not saying we’re perfect, earlier he was chatting to another human female – my first thought was liar, cheat, bastard! But she didn’t have enough stamina and eventually left for a lecture, the bitch, so we are now fully exclusive.” Em has reportedly missed five hours of contact time to make the most of this honeymoon period.

“We have been literally inseparable! All day, stolen glances in the reflection of his MacBook Pro… ahhhh, and they say romance is dead! I can’t say I’ve got much work done mind you, if you know what I mean,” Motion ranted on, winking psychotically at our reporter.

“Grr Cupid!” she laughed, proceeding to shake her fist at an imaginary infant angel in the sky.

Tragically, in an act of heart-rending betrayal, Em was later left drowning in pathos as her anonymous love slipped slowing away during an extended coffee break.


Flatmate who never buys milk or butter gutted not to have been offered a role in Parasite

When it comes to minor purchases, every little helps in the suffocating emptiness of life in a student house. However, as the rest of us are tossed relentlessly around the endless communal house-purchase cycle, one 22-year-old engineering student has devised a cunning system to evade any kind of financial contribution, whilst continuing to lap up the supply of Cravendale undetected.

The Whip caught up Tom Moonlighter in the early hours at his Hyde Park house. Refusing to remove his balaclava or Clover-smeared black gloves, he opened up about his methods, and how the ‘Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture’ given to ‘Parasite’ last week was in fact rightfully his.

‘I have a system. According to my data, the safe zone is any time between 01:00 and 07:00.  I can swiftly nip up the stairs from my basement room, and feast away to my heart’s content. From the fridge, you can see it all. Over your left shoulder, in the reflection of the kettle, you can see the entire hallway; anyone comes in through the front door and you know about it. Over my right, the living room doorway and the bottom of the stairs. There’s no blind spot. Once the coast is clear, tuck in.’

It was at this point that, after his head had swivelled rapidly between all possible entry points to the kitchen, he launched into an abrupt dive roll which skidded to a halt next to the table. An outstretched gloved hand gestured towards an open tub of butter in the darkness.

‘See this? I’ve nabbed 307 grams of this since last Thursday, and the pathetic drones upstairs don’t have a fucking clue. Who’s the real parasite? That film could have been so much more.’

By the time we pointed out that Tom couldn’t speak Korean, he had darted between us and had scuttled into a crack between the kitchen tiles.