some gay shit :)
A couple of years ago, I decided (in my then infinite wisdom) that it would be a good idea to run for the post of President of my students union at university. With the benefit of hindsight, as does always happen, I've decided that life would have been far better if that thought hadn't even entered the same postcode as my brain. But, hey oh, these things happen.

Anyway, bit of background... I was at the time also President of my sports club (for various reasons, principally my own safety, details shall remain anon!), so making that leap in the visious circle that is union politics at the time (again, that phrase "at the time" grrr) seemed like the natural progression.

However, what I wasn't aware of was that I had managed to pissed someone off in my sports club. To this day I don't know how: all I know is that with a couple of weeks to go until the big election day, this person (he shall hereafter be termed *git*) had managed to run such a nasty and personally embarrasing smeer campaign around the university that I had ended up being kicked out of my beloved sports club and lost my girlfriend in the process.

And so the anger set in. I couldn't give a toss about anything else right then, including the SU electoral campaign itself: all I wanted was pure 'n' simple revenge of the evil variety.

Skip forward a couple of days, to the Saturday before the big election day. I'm in the gym on campus when, who else should walk in as I'm leaving but *git* himself. Always having my suspicions of this little tosser anyway, I immeadiately set to work while his puny 5ft 2in, 8 stone body made a pathetic attempt at "pumping iron" (wow. even after all this time, I still have "issues").

Making a quick dash round the corner to the campus shop, I made a discreet purchase of some top-shelf magazines... but some of the Dale Winton-esque variety. Wondering back to the gym with said mags neatly tucked under my training top, I equally discretely picked up *git*'s sports-bag and wondered ito the changing rooms with it.

Making a quick check to ensure no-one else was around, I wondered into the toilets and squatted... on top of *git*'s sports bag... producing an almighty sold yet foul-smelling (and, disturbingly at the time, slightly off-colour) shit which was deposited in said sports bag under *git*'s spare clothes. Oh, and along with the mags too.

Now, I thought that that would be the end of that. Oh god no.

Having a quiet drink with my best mate up in the sports bar about an hour later, after I'd got changed and showered, all ready to face the outside world... when in walks *git* with a couple of his mates. I gritted my teeth silently in the corner with my Guinness Extra-Cold as *git* proceeded to sit down on a stool at the bar.

All of a sudden, one of *git*'s mates proclaimed quite loudly "'ere ****, what 'da fuck is that smell?! ... I think it's coming from your bag..."

Que the three idiots blindly rooting around in *git*'s bag until they eventually fall upon the now shit-covered gay-porn magazines. A deafly hush now fell, during which I (acompanied my my friend) strolled out.

For two years I've kept that a secret, with the only people knowing the true culprit until now being the friend that was with me at the time, the current love of my life, my sister, my cousin and my parents. And for all that time, virtually every one on campus (thanks to the miracle that is Chinese Whispers) has believed that *git* is deeply involved with some weird, shitty gay-porn fetish cult.

Thankyou, my b3ta-ians, for letting me bare my soul and relieve this burden from my conscience.
Of course, it's only a matter of time before I'm either shot or hounded out of university as the truth circulates amongst the general populous....... :-D
(mmmmm... pie, Fri 14 May 2004, 2:13, Reply)