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.

Bristol UK

Parents demand gift receipt for the disappointment you’ll give them at Christmas

Struggling to find a gift for your parents this holiday season? Don’t worry, you’ve already given them more than enough! It’s a yearly struggle to find the perfect gift for your guardians, but they’re definitely more interested in your short comings than anything you scrounge up last minute. On that note, fuck the gift, let’s try and make things as impossible as ever.

Why not start off by bringing up your graduation prospects, beat them to the punch. In this economic climate, it’s a recipe for success. It’s all about controlling the narrative this festive season.

Maybe this year it’s time to embrace the teen-angst personality you manage to adopt whenever you step foot inside your family home. Let’s get ANGRY for no particular reason. Someone making a comment about your appearance? Scream uncontrollably like a domestic Flashbang.

Picture this, you’re feeling boozy at the dinner table, the conversation is feeling a little dry… no better time to bring up your opposing socio-political views. Pass the brussels sprouts and let’s talk imperialism. Any senior member of the family will surely choke.

If you’re feeling especially devious or trapped into an uncomfortable conversation that needs to end, it’s time to wear those skeleton’s hanging in the family closet. Like a bat out of hell, throw that drama bomb and run away.

You can truly become a treat to have around. Whatever family traditions you have over the winter holidays, I’m sure there will be ample opportunity to create some scandal. Here’s to the gift they can’t possibly return… you!

Bristol UK

Subject parent goes out for pack of cigs during family Zoom quiz and never comes back

I’ll level with you folks, this one’s a tearjerker.

In COVID Britain, it’s estimated divorce rates have increased 34% since first the lockdown in March – households torn apart, children left distressed and confused as they adapt to single-parent life and that’s just amongst Childhood Studies families.

In a sorry chain of events, it seems one more relationship has fallen victim to the virus, as Ted Perrins, a 20-year-old, 2nd year Geography student and father, left a family zoom quiz ‘for a smoke’, but never returned, leaving his wives and kids distressed and concerned.

We caught up with daughter, Millie Harper, for more details.

“We were the perfect nuclear family,” said the bereft fresher, “two mums, one dad, four kids, living it up at the same uni, going to the pub like all good families should be doing – simple, but effective.”

Following the introduction of a 2nd lockdown, however, everything changed for the geographers, who were forced to transfer their weekly ‘pub seshes’ (their words not mine) to virtual form.

“Obviously Zoom does a job,” Harper continued, “but you just can’t recreate the electricity of a cold Steam smokers on a Tuesday night, or being told to put your mask on while going for a piss at WGs – it’s just not the same.”

Ted had ‘gone out’ just two weeks later, his Zoom background of the Bahamas the only thing to remember him by.

According to his family, the signs were subtle but apparent. As well as fewer ‘wow’ reacts in the group chat, his quiz questions changed from things like ‘what’s the capital of Slovenia?’ to, ‘what’s the best baccy for money?’ with ‘what’s the psychological impact of parental abandonment?’ for a bonus point. But of course, hindsight is 20:20.

A final plea came from his eldest daughter, stating, “Dad, if you’re out there, please come back – we still need to decide on a theme for our joint 21st.”

Truly heartbreaking.

Bristol UK Uncategorised

Gap Year students forced to find themselves in parents’ living room

Gappers travel halfway across the world to experience a culture completely different from their own. We have all met (or been) the self-proclaimed explorer who won’t let you get the next drink because they modestly have to tell you about that time they found Nirvana in the Gangotri temple in the Uttarkashi region. Hedonistic wankers. But, with lockdown restrictions, this year’s trustafarians find themselves closer to the bank of mum and dad.

The Whip visited Arabella Deferred, to see if her lockdown nap year had invoked any holistic awakenings. It sounded like pure debauchery.

The morning Thai Chi class has been replaced by Joe Wicks. The Ethereal Haze once founded on the far-reaching views of the Andes, is now created by the fractoluminescence of the Sainsbury’s Van. Arabella has also found a way of “building character” through baking banana bread, after many failed attempts at learning Mandarin.

Arabella describes life amidst the pandemic as a “culture shock”, she scoffs: “I’m no hypochondriac but getting used to lockdown life has taken its toll on my  physical-mental-spiritual-ecclesiastical wellbeing that I can only describe as finding myself.”

Overhearing her father say “uncharted waters” for the 56th time, reminds Arabella of “the perilous waters of the Amazon River I would be exploring if I was still on my Gap Year”.

Spying on neighbours becomes the new safari, for curtain-twitching Arabella, who at this point in the visit has already succumbed to calling 3 dealers for some “naughty salt” which apparently helps her to “transcend reality through mind-numbing Epicureanism with a dash of getting absolutely mortal”

“Drug dealahs count as key workahhhs right?” asks Arabella, with trailing vowels and no hint of irony detected.



Bristol UK

Big Ralph Lauren logo: small todger, study confirms

A study by science confirmed today that there is an observable negative correlation between the size of the logo on your Ralph Lauren polo and the length of your wang. 

“The larger the horse the smaller the steed” explained a guy we interviewed, who we’re pretty sure was either a scientist or a pervert on account of his long coat and inability to make eye contact with our reporter. “This phenomenon can be observed in both length and girth” he continued “and to be honest I’ve had a great time doing the observing”. 

We also reached out to William Gates (no relation), intern at a hedge fund and victim of the phenomenon, who let us in on the big problems his micropenis has been causing –  “Daddy always taught me that polo shirts with logos smaller than our polo pony were a symbol of destitution. I never truly realised the effect it would have on my own lil Will… how am I supposed to continue the family name when I can’t even find IT half the time?”

Emotional about his ‘situation’, William spent the rest of the interview trying to soothe himself by name dropping celebrities he’d had ‘supper’ with and explaining the rules of cricket. 

We’d like to remind any readers in a similar situation that it’s ok to seek help. After all, isn’t having a small pecker really more of a state of mind? 

Bristol UK Uncategorised

Student house wifi found guilty for torture at The Hague

Wi Fi was found guilty for torture and crimes against humanity in the International Court of Justice this morning after a long and arduous trial.

The prosecutors were a collective of students’ parents, who somehow managed to all be barristers, mostly upper-middle class, and entirely used to super fast fibre optic broadband. So fast that papa’s money can be wired to the account before one even need to ask!

Cries for Wi Fi’s demise were omnipresent in student homes across the country. Proof of torture and crimes against humanity was put forward by the prosecutors in the form of internet data speeds and microphones, picking up shrieks of pain and anger and live reactions such as “this is killing me!”, “I’d rather be waterboarded” and “it’s taking ages for my porn… I mean seminars to load!”

The campaign was fierce, the defendant, Fi, argued that if students’ Netflix binge habits and Tiktok addiction wasn’t so rife within their “disgusting little dwellings”, the internet would be fine.

As much as Mx. Fi did have a decent case, the jury found it hard to sympathise due to lack of a connection.

Bristol UK

Lack of student fun exposes huge vacuum in complaining neighbour’s life

We spent a day with Redland’s soul-searching community in an attempt to gain a better understanding of Bristol’s next big health crisis.

Charles, a semi-retired lawyer and full-time narc, stares wistfully out of the large french windows which overlook the drive of his Redland townhouse. A Range Rover sits idle on the drive, but it is clear that Charles isn’t appreciating the majesty of his oversized SUV.  “I remember the days when I’d be making three, four or maybe even five complaints to the university and police respectively about student fun in the area. I’d spend whole evenings listening out for the sounds of laughter and music, and then report it immediately to the police. But it’s all changed.” As Charles reflects on the new covid reality a marked change in tone presents itself. Transitioning from proud nostalgia to angered regret, Charles is clearly grappling with the fact that Redland just isn’t what it used to be.

From shouting at young people, sometimes toddlers, on the downs to watching YouTube videos of parties being shut down, Charles has tried to recreate the “thrill of spoiling someone’s evening and wasting police time. To Charles, however, it has become painfully obvious that simulating the real thing is an impossible task.

This change in daily life is especially hard on a group of people who have, almost imperceptibly, built a whole identity upon neighbourhood vigilantism casting students as public enemy number one. Charles uses a pertinent, though not quite as relatable as he thinks, thought experiment to convey his plight; “imagine how Batman would be feeling if The Joker were permanently killed and then times that emptiness by a thousand”. Truly harrowing stuff.

Bristol UK

“But I love exploiting workers too!” Jeff Bezos attempts to soften image with Santa comparison

December is a truly magical time of the year. With the promise of snowfall and a socially distanced Christmas dinner on the horizon, our worries disappear faster than independent retailers from the high streets; it’s almost enough to bring a tear to your eye.

And who better to capitalise on this flurry of bonhomie than the 21st century’s very own St Nick, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos: as much of a giver of gifts, spreader of joy, and practitioner of dubious workplace practices as the man in red himself.

Mr. Bezos cordially invited us to the ‘North Pole’ to show us around his ‘grotto’, as he insisted on calling his lifeless warehouse on the outskirts of Dunfermline industrial park…

“Ho Ho Ho!” chuckled the CEO, “I love seeing how hard our ‘little elves’ are working to spread some Christmas cheer this time of year!”

As he motioned towards a production line of exhausted minimum wage employees, he stopped to recount the background behind his festive transformation…

“To be honest, Santa’s business model was always my inspiration for Amazon” he explained, “a man free of industrial regulations, free to exploit workers with long hours and next to no pay, and with the adoration of the public behind him, hell it was like looking in a mirror!”

He paused for breath, gazing onto the factory floor. “Well, guess it’s nearly time to be getting the sleigh ready…”

As he glared angrily at the logistics department, two truck drivers sprinted to their vehicles.

One can only hope that life will improve for “Santa’s elves” come December 26th….

Bristol UK

‘Go on, eat us!’ replies horny rich

After years of silence and the awkward hesitation they are known for, the rich have finally gotten back to society’s revolutionary clamorings, belching forth a sweaty proposition. 

‘Eat Us’, the new initiative, is being bannered across the cul de sacs of Surrey, under the mock Tudor shamelessness of Cheshire and amid the concerningly patriotic bunting of Kent. Rumour has it Cath Kidston has already begun embroidering the phrase in its new line of Naughty Nellies lingerie. 

The Whip has yet to uncover whether this new approach will effectively tackle systemic oppression of the working classes; we wandered around the University of Bristol trying to gage public (well, private) opinion of the new policy. 

While eavesdropping within the famous Clifton Observatory we overheard some common phrases, among them ‘Saatchi’, ‘crikey o’reilly’ and ‘so now they’ve separated they just live in different wings’, but no major themes of social change. 

In fact, it was those individuals with the boldest socialist-socialite attire and peppiest tendency towards self-mockery who seemed the most at home atop the mound. Lord, with all the illustrated tote bags and Frieda Kahlo earrings on show, even Grayson Perry couldn’t tapestry fast enough. 

Alas, it seems there is no foreseeable end to class hypocrisy, but The Whip is dedicated to reporting it, straight from our Macbooks. 

Bristol UK

‘Big Pharma’ not in fact a massive agriculturalist

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but we all love a good conspiracy theory really, don’t we? If you’re not so keen, then that’s because you are suffering from a bad case of karmic conjunctivitis — your third eye has, sadly, been sealed shut by the optic gunk of sheepledom and we’re afraid it’s looking terminal.

Now there is a cure to this debilitating disease and NO it is not a fucking vaccine. That’s what THEY would want you to think, the horrible bastards at the WHO, rejecters of my homeopathic covid cure. Personally, I still think that microdosing MKAT is our medicinal future, but let’s not get into such matters. The antidote for the anti-woke is a big fuck off roll of Bacofoil. With this foil, you can construct a hat, a helmet, a fascinator if you fancy. This metallic headpiece will block out wit-dimming 5G waves and channel only the most edified ideological questions, such as: is Australia really real; was Avril Lavigne actually killed and replaced by a clone; and, what if JFK wasn’t assassinated and his head just did that?

One brave St Werburghs native has already tried out our mind-expanding technology, though, in this instance, there may have been some crossed cosmic wires. The Whip reports.

‘So what I hate about Big Farmer, right’, mutters president of the Pro-Chemsex Anti-Chemtrail Society, Edie Otik, ‘is the amount of tweed required to make their Barbour jacket. We’re talking a good few, couple of hectares here, whatever that means!’

‘Another thing I hate is when they leave their tractor parked in my driveway — if you think they’re huge you should see the size of their combine harvester. They’re just a massive bellend, really. Honestly, you’re gonna have a mare when I tell you about Big Butcher, Big Baker and Big Candlestickmaker.’

The Whip is happy to report that Ms. Otik, after much strain, had Big Pharma explained to her. She referred to them as ‘a little bit fucked up actually’