Go Ask Your Mother...
Dear Go Ask Your Mother,
Columns: Cockfight!
The world has gone Harry Potter mad, children and adults alike, and once again mass media has favoured the belief system of the bourgeois classes over that of the humble proletariat. I had hoped the anti-elitist precedent set by Titanic might have signified a change; yet all the good work of James Cameron has been violently undermined by J. K. Rowling. ...
Columns: Life's Rich Tapestry
Hey, folks. The term is nearly over. And like a custodial sentence for aggravated assault, the eight weeks have just flown by. It's been emotional. We've shared laughter, tears, blood, and a whole bunch of other secretions. So in closing, I'd like to share with y'all a few brief sketches of my time here, moments what made Michaelmas so magnificent....
Columns: The Real World
And so a term passes in Oxford without me. I haven't had any withdrawal symptoms to speak of. Sure, there are things I miss. College sports, particularly being drafted in 5 minutes before kick off. Medhi's, the Valhalla of Kebab Vans. Formal Hall. And, of course, the second year lawyers at Lincoln, dressed in their Sub-Fusc....
Columns: Another world
And so, as we near the end of my first term in Oxford, I now know what 'tabs' are. Having learnt last night. There's more to this Oxford than you can cover in a few weekly soundbites. I guess that's why people linger, much like my predecessor (Jon from "The Real World"). Him and this bizarre fourth year linguist going by the pseudonym 'Allegra', who's re-sitting her second year - apparently the world's changed that much in her year abroad. Amazing, five years in Oxford & still an undergrad!...
Columns: Conforming to Stereotype
It's bite the hand that feeds you week here at the OxStu, so here comes the pain. The only thing worse than being an Oxford journalist is being dually raped by Satan's twin-penises, which ejaculate semen so burningly cold that you are condemned to split eternally apart. This is no glamorous 'meejja' lifestyle. OxStu hacks spend their weeknights in an office hotter than an Osama bin Laden's colostomy bag, typing out their scurrilous invective on Macintoshes that are technically inferior to an EtchaSketch. Seriously, these fucking computers crash more often than Stevie Wonder's helicopter.
The typic