Sunday Roast is satirical and should not be taken as defamatory, nor does it reflect any political stance of the Oxford Student.

The Roast is late again, but if you noticed then you weren’t watching the cenotaph parade close enough and don’t deserve your spuddies anyway. November’s underway and Rordon’s getting his stubble on for charity, but the stares have him feeling like an illegal water bottle in the Duke Hump’s library. Storm Ciaran called in Debi for the re-enforcement, and any break in the rainfall was spent considering if anything below 5% ABV really does count against Dry December efforts.


6 weeks of being texted by no one but the Microsoft verification bot, even a Café Crème chicken tika baguette can’t thaw the cold dark urge to listen to Radiohead. Knoops debuted its new Winter range hot chocolate with Sertraline flakes, but not even the clip art smiley face on a wellbeing poster in Bod could stop Rordon launching a Mac out the window and striking a member of the working-class public below. OxStu’s official stance on busting the blues is good council from your Moral (from the Latin “moralis”) Tutor, but those already tortured by Latin may prefer a more whimsical sit-down with a Morel (common edible mushroom) Tutor (sorry). Alternatively, you can navigate through a lawn of llamas to cry in the perfect acoustics of the RadCam upper balcony – only to be taken out back and shot by the Federal Bureau of Rustication.


With all the charisma of your divorced dad, plus a winning combination of no mates and unmonitored access to the internet as a teenager, the world needs another White Guy with a podcast and Rordon is your man. Too many talking points are going unjustly unaddressed in our fine University, such as why the new Radcliffe Science Library has THREE portraits of women as opposed to the Oxford traditional standard of zero. We invite one to envision a ProvostCast (ProvCast) for the overdue representation of Hacks and/or people who actually reply to comments on LinkedIn. Topics to include: ‘The French, good or bad?’, ‘winning the custody battle for your college kids’, and ‘health benefits to not changing your bedsheets’. Rordon anticipates being invited for a Union address soon.


It’s the time of year Rordon gets to see which dull pricks aren’t wearing their poppy to lectures: pure disrespect for the core British value of buying a 50p poppy from a pensioner outside of M&S whilst that one Cornmarket Karaoke guy belts out Summertime Sadness at a reduced BMP of 96 out of respect. Poppy politics had Rordon spoilt for choice with more colours on offer than Fast and Furious movies. The stylish yet respectful war mourners can opt for a Strictly Come Dancing style bedazzled poppy, or a crochet poppy made by an Etsy mum who missed the whole charity part of the spectacle. There’s the white poppy, if you’re edgy, the blue poppy, if you voted Brexit, or the Union Jack print for the families of war heroes with multi-million-pound garden spas.