Talleyrand: Vol XXVII Issue 1

Greetings, mortals!

It is I, Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, the greatest bishop who ever died. Once more tired of revolutionary politics and womanising, I have returned to my old haunt, the UCDSU offices. It may confuse you younger readers, who may think student politics are below a figure such as I. But, wretched reader, consider this: where better to go to find the scandalous, the salacious, and the downright stupid than UCDSU?

Anywhere, it seems. I may be a ghost, but even I find this campus dead. My spies told me 40% to 100 % of students were meant to be on campus this Trimester. Surely my intel can’t be more out of date than my views on women?

I jest, of course. My views are far more outdated than that. Now, about this union. Starting with the least important, Sarah Bitchalek is getting pissy. Apparently, she has been busy all summer planning fun events and pretending to help the Clubhouse reopen, just so her boyfriend can pretend to be interesting, and now she’s angry that her job is even more irrelevant and useless than Ents is in a normal year.

Leyton Grey, whose job, whose only and sole job, is to campaign against and complain about UCD, has chosen to spend all their time campaigning against and complaining about UCDSU. A fine career move, to be sure, but not exactly what beardy pays them for. 

Speaking of Beardy, How did these gormless nobodies succeed in convincing UCD to host pretend graduations in person when they can’t even shake a few hands at the freshers tent? Suddenly a hand-rolled ice-cream marathon almost seems like a successful event. Health concerns seem fair, but I say this: Would anyone actually care if one or two Sabbats died? 

Hannah Bison has dropped the most balls, so I’m placing my money on her impeachment first. Like livestock falling out of a moving truck, it will be horrid to watch, but fulfill some deep, perverse pleasure. Once she’s gone, dead or impeached, Gimli will return once more. Having already made UCDSU another trot front, his usurping of the education seat will prove his party isn’t as useless as an ice-cream dildo.

Carla Bummerson is nearly as old as I and not half as dashing. I have heard whispers that Bummerson is well placed to be nominated for a top UCD management, as she successfully avoided helping any post-graduate students, despite that being her only remit.

Ruiarí Powerbottom is going to have to do something interesting so I can give him a new name. My illegitimate great-great-great-great granddaughter tells me queer jokes are “So not 2020”. She’s right, of course, but since 2020 is about staying inside, not going to parties, and finally getting around to phoning your cancerous granny, I’m not going to follow the trends. Instead, I’m going to make fun of him for being a tiny twink who puts on a GAA lad voice. Between you and me, I think something has become internalised.

El Presidenté Conar Andrés is pretending to be a communist CEO again. Humph. At least my “Atheist Bishop” bit was original. I’ve also heard tell that he loves landlords and wants to join Fine Gael. Personally, I shan’t judge anyone for their private life choices, but if I were him, I’d give me an office as I’ve asked for if I didn’t want to be reversed Alex Morsed. Maybe the Observer office? Those smooth-brained two-faced degenerates need to be removed, before they blow their entire budget on tequila, male escorts, and legal fees. 

And the Observer is still going? I ask what are they even doing this year? They barely survived last year and at least back then the Editor was a man. Even the College Tribune has a more professional look about it, probably due to the fact that a fully-grown man with a Masters in Journalism is working on a student newspaper. For no pay. Pathetic.