Making assumptionsBeeki

They say anything goes in Cindies, but it really doesn’t. And shouldn’t. Over my last two terms, I have met my fair share of twats – surprisingly, not many have been from John’s, though when I have encountered a John’s twat, it has been bad. Really bad. To whet your appetite, here are some corkers. To find out more, come to Wednesday Cindies – let’s be mortified together.

A tells B that C is a lovely person. B asks A: “Yeah, but like, is she a BNOC or just a nice girl?” Sit back and cringe. Before breaking this down, anyone who uses the word BNOC seriously deserves chastisement. This is why snobbery and self-importance are associated with Cambridge. Notice how B creates a dichotomy between being a BNOC and a nice person. Also noteworthy is B’s use of the word “just”, suggesting ‘niceness’ is not enough, it is subordinate to BNOChood. The sad thing is, many who go around being nasty because they think that this is characteristic of BNOChood take this view. How insecurity can hijack the soul.

After looking down at my Converses, one John’s twat remarks: “Oh, you must be from a hill college.” I did warn you that, though I have been mostly sheltered from John’s imbeciles, when I have come into contact with them, they have been awful.

Let’s call this one Xander. Some lip service ought to be paid to Xander’s assertion that I reside at the top of a hill.

The present author is, frankly, offended that, in his feeble attempt at reasoning through the process of elimination, Xander was all too quick to eliminate Homerton and Girton. I mean, after all, my converses did look battered – those walks back to Girton take their toll.

It is a shame Xander is not as perceptive. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised, since most people at John’s pay their way in. Sadly, I never found out whether Xander did so as he walked off with his VK, like the lad he is.

“I’ll give you a cigarette, man, as long as you tell me which of those girls over there I should fuck.”

The identity of this person is, alas, unknown. Let’s call him Lad. Now, Lad is a special case. Part of me is livid. But it is sadness that plagues my heart. Lad, wherever you are – whoever’s bed you’re currently invading – know my heart goes out to you. My readers and I pray salvation comes your way.

Sadly, I cannot deconstruct any further quotes. But I’ll leave you with some absolute screamers for you to enjoy alone, as you weep profusely at the current state of affairs: “Let’s take a picture with [X], think how many likes we’ll get.”

“Yeah, like, I don’t like the music at Cindies; I just come here because everyone knows me.”

“I was so happy when her laptop crashed, and I was like, ‘yeah, good luck getting a First.’”