Bristol UK

Police use confiscated DJ gear to host “fat fuck off rave”

At 4 in the morning last Sunday, Tyndalls park resident revellers (and plague vectors) were greeted by the warm embrace of everyone’s favourite oppressive governmental force, the Avon county police force. The ravers were happy to bring the swine into their drove assuming that they were there for the shindig. Bodycam footage of the event lets us hear joyous screams of “POLICE, POLICE” as the party goers welcome them. However, it soon became obvious that they were not there for fun, as they herded the partygoers into one room, taking their IDs and promising hefty fines despite the fact that the groups combined income barely scraped minus £37. But the problems for the now impoverished students did not stop there, as the police proceeded to take thousands of pounds of events equipment and half of their fridge’s contents. 

While all assumed this would be the last time the decks would be spun, our team of highly trained reporters did some digging and found out the shocking truth. The recent crackdown was just a ploy to get better equipment for sergeant Bobby Varken’s leaving party. The party has been described by our sources as an “absolute madness” and “literally so mental”. While the former police sergeant denied the claim, stating it was nothing more than “a few drinks with the unit”, leaked drone footage of the event showed over 100 doughnut-munching bootlickers nodding their heads in unison to nu-metal.

Bristol UK

Emily in Paris nominated for Nobel Prize

After 2 Golden Globe nominations, Netflix series Emily in Paris has been nominated for a Nobel Prize, The Whip are not at all shocked to report.

According to Alfred Nobel, Nobel Prizes are awarded “to those who, during the preceding year, have conferred the greatest benefit to humankind” and we should probably take his word for it because it was his idea. 

Did Emily in Paris provide great benefit to humankind? Of course it did! Remember that bit where she ate a croissant and practically had an orgasm? I’ve been thinking about that for months now. 

Or what about that time she went to the wrong floor because she’s a silly, silly American? Laughing at American people being silly is one of my favourite things to do! Really helped me through my parents divorce.

Plus, I really like Lily Collins. Did you know Phil Collins is her dad? He’s the guy who does that drumming in that song. Like duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh DUH! Makes me cry every time. But back to business…

Emily in Paris, oh the places you’ll go! 

Leeds UK

Breakout room easy to break out of; just close Zoom

Along with Strava and our beloved billionaires, Breakout Rooms are the real winners of the pandemic.

Seminar leaders love them: they lock you away for twenty minutes whilst they have a cup of tea and watch an episode of Friends. Students hate them: brief discussion of the seminar topic soon gives way to small talk which in turn gives way to frosty silence. Yet news emerged this morning which has rocked the virtual conferencing world. 

The Whip spoke to 2nd year History student, Casey Closed who achieved the unfathomable –  breaking out of a breakout room. 

“I was in a seminar learning about the history of history books and I thought, ‘crikey, this is shit.’ No one was talking, no cameras on. It was painstakingly painful. The final straw came when we were put into Breakout Rooms for 25 minutes. Now that’s just inhumane! I had to get out of there. The red cross in the corner of the screen looked so god damn alluring, that I just couldn’t resist. I pressed it and bang – I’d broken out.”

This revelation is sure to be a game changer for students who now enter Breakout Rooms, knowing that salvation from their cyber prison is just a crimson click away.

The virtual ball is back in the seminar leaders’ virtual court, how will they respond? Only time will tell, but one thing is for sure: discussion will not be facilitated.


Read the recommended readings. READ THEM AND UNDERSTAND THEM!

Blackboard breakout room spirals into absolute chaos after that one self-professed Etonian einstein (others call him the dickhead in Dickies, or simply Smelly as he rarely changes out of his lacrosse kit) attempts to take control of the session, in spite of being a general dipshit who just happens to have an RP accent. The Whip reports.

“Will you stop talking” talked the student who never stops talking, via the medium of talking, with mouth and sound and talk and whatnot. “Will you please listen? It is not for the student who actually does all the work to decide a point of order – you have no authority here, Helpful and Good Seminar Contributor!”

This attempt at an insurrection by Big Talker angered Helpful and Good Seminar Contributor. She knew that he only skimmed the first, last and middle pages of his reading so he had more time to be a legend — the odd bit of shagging, drinking, occasional chunder into a loafer before necking it… almost like how a mummy bird feeds its children. Beautiful.

In her rage, albeit calm and collected on her pixelated surface, she evicted him from the summit. Big Talker sobbed onto his iPad — “but, but, but… I’m posh! You can’t kick me out for being posh. That’s classist isn’t it?”

“She’s kicked him out! She’s kicked him out!” exclaimed the Big Talker’s ally, Little Contribution. It was then that he, reader of few, bullshitter of many, suggested that she was the ill-read one.

“I take charge! Read the recommended readings – read them and understand them!”

He was soon promptly exiled. Democracy: 2. Home counties blokes who chat shite in seminars: 0.

Bristol UK

Brexiteers watch Bridgerton to find the pull-out method doesn’t work

At school we were taught that the pull-out method doesn’t work. But like many students, it hasn’t stopped the UK trying. It seems the old “close your eyes and think of England” trick couldn’t be more current in today’s post-EU climate.

The pull-out method, otherwise known as coitus interruptus, has been in use since biblical times, popular amongst fuckboys in powdered wigs and Dominic Cummings. Romp-saga Bridgerton repopularised the method but with an unwanted comeback.   

After her mother’s wed-bed advice, “birds and the bees? I don’t know her”, Daphne is convinced she and the Duke can belly-to-belly around their bedroom, gardens, and Heaven! Forbid! The! Library! Ladders! and still not be With Child. Yet, Daphne’s pregnancy proves that the Duke’s “honeymooning” into a tissue is not a reliable method of birth control. (The Whip does not recommend this at home.)

Upon watching, Brexiteer viewers have found that the pull-out method does have its comeuppance. After some long 47 thrusts (sorry, years) into the EU, Britain officially divorced her counterpart on the 31st of December.

At first, Europe was like Bridgerton’s ‘Diamond of the first water’: if you weren’t her, you would want to be in her. Britain is like Simon, a fuckboy who has been in Europe for some time but cannot commit all the way. Daphne is just as frustrated as Europe, although she hasn’t introduced any tariffs…yet. You can’t expect to get divorced without any tears along the way.

In both Bridgerton and Europe, there is a reason the pull-out method is a missed conception. It just doesn’t work.

Yes, I am certain Britain can spill its seed elsewhere, but will they have magic stars? Probably not.


Shoe Zone, Peacocks and Woolworths welcomed into the FTSE 100

In case you missed it, the stock market was temporarily brought to its plutocratic knees by a network of Redditors funneling shares into doomed business, GameStop. The seizure begged many questions, mainly, what if the next global financial crisis was caused by a sweaty teen in a cum-stained My Little Pony t-shirt? Imagine an economy where traditional Laissez-Faire or Keynesian approaches were discarded, and instead, the doctrine of 9Gag user FedoraTheExplorer_69 was upheld.

But what would this anarcho-capitalist society look like? Well, first, you’d be encouraged to sell your own nan for a packet of crisps — doesn’t even have to be a nice flavour, could be like an expired packet of Wotsits or something. Cryptocurrency would make entrepreneurs of us all and we’d see saddos like 4Chan user FurryFunTimes_420 come second on The Apprentice. The London Stock Exchange would smell like body odour and blueberry vapecloud. Yum!

But back to the matter at hand. Not to be bested in the global marketplace, Great British stock market wankers have spewed their neckbeard wonga into equally shite shops. The Whip chatted to some edgelord economists to find out more.

Chad, 34, mum’s shed said, ‘when I think of profitable items, I think of a puke green peplum dress. So I flitted through all the potential ateliers and fashion houses and landed on Peacocks. It’s where fast fashion meets supply teacher: I’ve tapped a gap in the market I think. The future of apparel starts here!’

‘Was also gonna invest in Sports Direct, to sink my teeth into the sock market. Then I considered Anne Summers because I think knickers would probably trade pretty well at the stocking exchange. Decided to settle with orthopedic shoes as we’ve got an ageing population, which means we’ve got a load of ancient feet — which reminds me, pumice stones are my next major investment. Anyway, you know where the old buy their crep from? ShoeZone. I’m gonna be filthy rich!”

After a whistlestop tour through high street shops that have probably gone into administration, we interviewed Gremlin, 17, atop an anime body pillow:

‘I see real promise with this whole Woolworths enterprise. A shop that sells everything from Davina McCall’s exercise DVD to Michelle McManus’ exercise DVD? That’s big money mate! If you whacked something like that online you’d be singing to the tune of, oh I dunno, approximately £143.6 billion. Some madman should give it a go.’

After explaining that Woolies had shut its doors decades ago, Gremlin responded: ‘well, there’s always JJB Sports.

Featured Leeds

Bender deprived student reluctantly aces degree

During these times without precedent, unprecedented times if you will, people the world over are having to find new ways to entertain themselves as so many passions, hobbies and side-hustles are lost to the lockdown void.

Some have thrown themselves into new Covid friendly hobbies like baking, knitting or staring forlornly into the middle distance for 6-8 hours a day. Others have adapted their hobbies; The Whip has received reports of a group of Chess fanatics who’ve been playing outdoor Chess using stray cats they spray paint and dress like Chess pieces (Horsey, little one that there’s loads of, Queen Elizabeth II etc). Some, however, have had to seek enjoyment elsewhere, and find new ways to stave off boredom. One such person is first year Tim O’Greedy who, with clubs closed for the foreseeable, has had to resort to consistently getting 80+ in all his marked work so far this year. The Whip caught up with him to find out more.

“I came to Uni expecting to barely scrape into second year, that was always my aim. First year was going to be dedicated to weeklong benders without surrender, putting my mind, body and spirit through the gauntlet of debauchery and hedonism. In second year, I’d knuckle down, buy a diffuser, start freezing my meals and become a functioning member of society, but I’ve had to abandon my plans like David Cameron abandoned his daughter at the pub that one time. With no recourse to public partying I’ve been left with no option but to absolutely smash my degree, which is the last thing I wanted to do.”

Boogying till sunrise has become book-reading till about 8pm, the spot on the wall where high rise tickets would be pinned now has a reminder to ‘clean under fridge’, where empty bottles once proudly lined the windowsill, a well-tended bonsai tree and a mug full of paperclips now sit. Tim however, remains optimistic.

“This is temporary, at the end of the day, I didn’t come to Uni to get a degree, and no pandemic is going to change that. As soon as I can, I’ll be back out there ignoring deadlines and being generally useless.”

And we here at The Whip say, that is a terrible idea Tim but you do you. 

Bristol UK

Year abroad student learning surprisingly little French trapped in Surrey

Ah, the year abroad. Once frustrating for your friends, now just as frustrating for you. 

With many unable to travel thanks to Brexit and that pesky ol’ corona, The Whip decided to interview some 3rd year languages students about their year abroad experience. After all, they’re getting pretty lonely in their parents’ houses and could use the company…

“The closest I’ve got to a culture shock was a particularly bad yeast infection”, said our first interviewee, “and when I reached out to the uni for help we got back this blanket email: 

Dear Year 3 students, 

Sux 2 be u lol 

Yours Sincerely, 

The Department of Modern Languages

… made me cry a little bit to be honest”.

Others we spoke with shared her disillusionment, such as Rob Hughes, who simply responded with “Je joue au football le week-end avec mes amis” and some heavy sobbing when we asked if his French had improved. 

Some Spanish students have been going to extreme lengths to try and replicate the year abroad experience from home, with one reportedly changing all her clocks to Cuba time. “I haven’t seen sunlight in weeks” she told our reporter, shivering and taking yet another long drag from a ‘cigar’ that was clearly just a tampon wrapped in brown paper. 

Looks like karma finally got those smug bastards…

Featured Leeds UK

Opinion: Sneezing in your mask is like shitting yourself

It’s a cold, crisp morning as I make my way to Aldi to buy some more yellow food and a pack of bananas. The pavements aren’t busy, so I’m able to enjoy the oral freedom of a no-masking fresh air bonanza, sneezing at will and spitting on the floor like there’s no tomorrow.

I cross the car park and reach into my pocket for my brightly coloured facemask. I enter the store and fail to acquire a wheelie basket, but I don’t mind. It’s been a relaxing walk down, a nice morning to set me up for the rest of the week, and I’ve meticulously constructed an aisle-by-aisle shopping list that maximises efficiency and minimises social encounters.

As I peruse the bread section, I feel the faint tingling of a sneeze in my nose. I chuckle beneath my mask, “you’re going to have to do more than that to make this guy sneeze”.

I venture forth unto the vegetable aisle and ask a member of staff if they have any fennel, “we don’t” comes the response. “It’s a bulbous root vegetable” I retort. “Ok, we don’t have it” comes the curt reply. No matter, I plough on.

I find myself by the cheese section, debating whether to break protocol and add an alien block of Red Leicester to my basket. Alas, I’m not brave enough to question the list and my sense of duty urges me to move on.

But then, it happens, opposite the stock cubes…the tingly sneeze returns. Before I have time to pull my mask down and form a protective dab over my mouth, I released a globule of snot into my ethically sourced hand knitted facemask that would make the troll from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets weep salty salty troll tears. 

What is this feeling? Why do I feel so ashamed? Why do I feel like everyone is looking at me?

As I pack my shopping wearing my snot dampened mask, I know that my brain has gone into auto-pilot, my trusted facemask has tricked me into thinking that I’ve shat myself, right there in the middle of Aldi. The same feeling of guilt and embarrassment is there, the same feeling of bodily fluid on skin and the same feeling of helplessness. An opinion piece? Perhaps not – but what is opinion when faced with the cold hard fact of reality?

Featured Leeds UK

New Covid strain ‘so trippy and way less mongy’ says unbearable flatmate

This week worrying news broke of a new highly infectious strain of Covid-19 ravaging Tory strongholds in the South East of England, causing panic in Waitrose and the emergence of Tier 4: Continental Drift. With today’s press conference confirming that 2021 will most likely be a sad continuation of the previous year there remains much interest in the new variant. 

However, The Whip has learned that there are some characteristics of the new mutation that the mainstream media have mysteriously omitted from their daily bulletins, begging the question: has Chris Whitty even tried this new strain?

According to that unbearable prick in your flat (if you can’t think of who that is, take a long look at yourself), the new strain is “so trippy and way less mongy”. The Whip caught up with amateur researcher Tia Foreman, who released the information late on Saturday night at a fairly bleak post-travel-window-pre-drinks.

“Yeah I tried it this week, I had a number for a guy from Kent, Nasal Drops 💯, who had managed to get his hands on the new strain” said the serial family disappointment and Sports Management first-year (not necessarily linked). “He texted me “outside in 30”, and 4 hours later I was in his car getting a gram of the new strain which as it turns out was just a bag of his spit.

“I’ve even thought of a name for it, Purple Lung Dogg, so I hope they start using that in the daily briefings, just as some recognition for my research. Was the 2 week isolation period and the danger I put Nana in worth it? That’s for you to decide – but the visuals were so sick and I didn’t even feel tired, it just gave me a lovely dry cough and I felt bare hot. It was a nice change from the normal strain, I’ve had it so often I’ve kind of got a tolerance, you get me?” 

The Whip believes she meant ‘immune’, but hastened to leave the meeting rather than correcting her. 

We can only speculate on whether Tia’s research is of use to the government, although we have suspicions the answer is: is it fuck.

Featured Leeds UK

London based turkeys gobble sigh of relief

On Saturday afternoon the Government announced that London and much of the South East were being placed in the newest member of the ‘Botched Pandemic Response Cinematic Universe’, Coronavirus Tier 4.

While to the uneducated observer Tier 4 might look like another Lockdown, it isn’t because the Government said so… alright?

With the very spirit of Christmas now hanging in the balance, the people of Britain have been searching for a glimmer of hope, a fragment of festive joy and after much research we at The Whip couldn’t find any.

However, amongst the burgeoning turkey population in the South of England, there is cause for celebration. With Christmases across the region cancelled, millions of turkeys have been freed from their traditional roles, and the future for turkeys has never looked brighter.

The Whip caught up with human-turkey spokesperson Russel Sprouts, to hear how the news has positively impacted the turkey community.

“Turkeys have never been under any illusions that Christmas is when they’re at their most popular, they’re like Michael Bublé in that respect. But much like Michael Bublé, they exist throughout the rest of the year, and have ambitions beyond just the festive period.

“The relief is palpable – absolutely! They’ll be gobbling on the streets of Turkey Town tonight, of that I’m sure. We just hope that turkeys can seize this opportunity and try and reframe themselves as pets, pack animals or therapy animals – although our last therapy turkey went rogue at an orphanage and had to be incinerated…with a balsamic reduction.”

A blue Christmas for many this year, but think of the turkeys and those lumpy fleshy sack things they have on their necks and you can’t help but retch a bit.


‘A man with new ideas is a madman, until his ideas triumph’ says flat mate poaching egg in microwave

Some say innovation is born out of adversity, akin to the immense pressure exerted in the formation of rare gems. This was certainly the feeling of Hyde Park resident Michael Waver when, with egg prematurely cracked early one morning, he found all four hobs occupied by the unwieldy pots and pans of fellow flatmates.

Most would flounder in these dire circumstances, but we caught up with the self-proclaimed ‘Bielsa of Baking’ to find out how he overcame such obstacles.

“Yeah so basically there I was, cracked egg in hand, proverbial one on face, when I suddenly thought: What would Bielsa do? I immediately dismissed taking a mid table Championship side and getting them promoted to the Prem with limited funds and a commitment to expansive attractive football and instead marched straight to the microwave whilst my housemates looked on in disbelief and disdain. The result was a perfectly poached egg and the respect and adoration of my house.”

Whilst some of his housemates dispute this recollection of events by claiming “the hobs were free, he’s just a lazy slob”, and some even reporting that he binned the monstrosity after the first bite, The Whip congratulates Mr. Waver on his revolutionary zeal.

We speculate what is next for this michelin maverick: Bacon in the toaster? Beans on the radiator? An England call up for Patrick Bamford?