I am relieved to have found this page as I have a confession to make. I can’t bear it any longer!
Compared to everyone in Cambridge I’m a total freak. I’m a sexual deviant. Because I’ve actually had sex. Is it possible to regrow one’s virginity? I just want to be normal again, like the rest of you.
Professor S. J.
You and your husband are specialists in Anglo-Saxon poetry, my husband and I are both historians of the dark ages. Fancy a Thorsome?
Dr. P. T.
I caught you looking at me in your dark hooded gown at the ritual last week. I may have the public persona of a mild-mannered, happy-go-lucky academic, but on the inside, I’m wild-mannered and happy-get-lucky. I have had a position of huge responsibility thrust upon me at this University. Now I want to thrust it upon you. I’ll have you bellowing ‘Oh Canada’ tonight. Let me be your Chancellor of Vice.
Oh Cambridge Union, how I lust for thee,
and my bank account lusts for thou appearance fee.
I’m a filthy boy, punish me. Let me give a speech for you, degrade me.
I’ll be waiting.
Yours, Boris Becker
For fifteen years I’ve studied the Scottish turnip. I spend hundreds of hours a month watching them grow and hundreds more writing books on the turnips’ development. I attended an intricate ceremony where a Scottish family from Dumfries painstakingly carved a turnip into a Halloween lantern, to guide their ancestors’ spirits home, and now I just want someone to fuck me up the ass.
Professor G. H.