After a motion passed by accident last week, the Union’s campus cafes will no longer be offering hunks of bloody flesh and anaemic poultry shavings in its per- versely doughy receptacles, but will instead be serving “healthy” “options” “of ” “veg- etal” “matter”.
The wave of incoherent, spittle-flecked outrage provoked by the latest of the un- ion’s misery bombshells has swept like a dripping faucet across UCL, with scores T-Rex-like cunts with purely carnivorous diets publicly denouncing the motion and setting up rotisserie chicken speakeasies in departmental common rooms.
Reacting to the news, one swanky cus- tomer said that “I laughed at the bit where Bambi’s mum dies, you know in the film?”. Another bodacious soul added: “It is my right to consume all living creatures before me. I have an insatiable thirst for blood and the ecstasy of the fresh kill”. Having said this, the man doffed his straw cap and climbed back into his glass case. When The Cheese Grater approached him for com- ment, Vice-Provost Rex Knight said “does anyone want to go to the children’s hospital and steal their wheelchairs?”.
The loony fascist Stalinist meat ban was proposed by impertinent hippy laya- bouts at the latest Union Council meet- ing. When The Cheese Grater displayed its frankly worrying journalistic girth in full view of them, they stated that: “Y’know man we’ll really save a lot of animals man with this policy man, man and maaan Mother Earth is gonna give me a special hug for all this maaaaan”.
Incensed at having been levelled with this puerile vocative, Sausage Correspond- ent Artin Eale promptly took out a bull’s testicle (which he always carries with him in case of emergency) and ravaged it in front of them. That’s journalism, people. That’s journalism.