Taboo-ya! House of 6 accurately recreates rammed night in triangle club

The Whip presents an excerpt from Days After, borrowed from our literary counterpart, The Pen.

It was a dark and stormy night in East Clifton. Shoppers scurried to and fro in the Down’s Sainsbury’s, mindlessly ignoring the one way system, clawing facelessly at each other to secure the last can of peeled tomatoes. Fate looked on with a weary eye.

One shopper, young in age but bold in eyeliner, looked forward to their friend, sniffling over the spices. ‘You know what. I think we should do it. Tonight.’ The friend, engrossed in harissa, glanced up in fear, in awe, in gingham. ‘Are you- are you sure- I mean Sarah said she didn’t like the idea, I think- she- I heard her say she’s got football tomorrow morni-’


And so the stage was set. The actors knew their lines, and our nameless protagonist was the director: defiant, eager and morally dubious. 

First they plugged in the speaker, Sarah keeping her beady Surrey eyes on the electricity meter. Then they dimmed the lights, apart from the naked bulb in Ziad’s room they kept on as an excruciating strobe. Lin couldn’t find any electro thick enough so they combined Macbooks, each playing a different genre of new wave. Emilia’s white noise machine was also thrown into the mix as she felt left out. 

Thirty Jägerbombs in and they were there, caffeine in their veins, rage in their hearts, giving eachother stares that would surely have lasting consequences for the group. Our protagonist looked on in thought. What could this mean? If clubbing could be done in the same room as seminars, if they would all be here, hungover, on this stained carpet tomorrow, what did it all mean? Time was the only divider. 

They smiled and glanced at the walls, pissed on in preparation. They had sold out, at least. 


Bristol UK

Student goes on to infect millions after being told by Mental Health Services to ‘keep positive’

Student Mental Health Services have been the artisans of questionable psychological advice for many a decade. Helpful suggestions such as “maybe you should drink more water”, “have you tried breathing”, and “pretend your sertraline is a pinger” have, surprisingly, done absolutely fuck all to assuage the worsening mental health crisis.

In the case of one poor little consumptive, these therapeutic ramblings have led to plague, contagion, and a legion of oozing nostrils, for once, not caused by equine tranquiliser. The Whip went to investigate.

‘Well yah I feel like bare people are sick here’ croaks Badock socialite, Letty Gesundheit. ‘And also some people are ill. Like, Tilly is a haemophiliac which is pretty bloody jokes. Charity, well she’s bare vintage, and contracted rubella.’ She pauses to splutter.

‘Anyways, one of my gals recommended the Crystal Girl CBT™ method to alleviate my stress. But when gargling hemp oil whilst hula-hooping a ring of white dreads didn’t work, I decided to turn to the uni mental people’. Letty hacks away. ‘And basos they told me to keep positive’

‘Catching covid was the easy bit — maintaining it is the challenge. But after loads of trying, I’ve found bare ways to remain positive! I’ve got two cardinal rules. Firstly, use your mouth to complete every task: opening doors, carrying the shopping, playing a cheeky game of virtual lacrosse… Secondly, start snogging as a standard greeting. A bit awkward when mummy and daddy come to visit, but after the first oedipal lips you sorta get used to it. We all love a game of tonsil tennis really!’

It seems Letty’s rules work. At the time of writing, every single one of her friends houses the virus. In response, Digs has converted their student property into a massive iron lung. But whilst her bronchial tubes may be suffering, her mental health has never been better!