I was busy at work browsing Facebook when a sweaty, long-haired man calling himself ‘Conor Smith’ bustled towards me. He garbled something about writing an article for a paper about an election, while brandishing a rolled-up newspaper in my face in an overtly-threatening manner. Just as I was about to scream for help, he departed, as swiftly as he had arrived.
Upon reflection I realize that this man was probably the Conor who lives in the room next to mine, and that he was asking me to write an article for The University Times, about the Trinity SU elections. If this is actually printed in the Albuquerque Council Election Gazette, I apologize for its content. If this is indeed published in The University Times, I apologize for its content.
I wrote an article entitled ‘An Insider’s Guide to winning the Elections’ two years ago for the Times’ predecessor, The Record, which met with presumably widespread acclaim. Indeed, one of my friends went so far as to tell me to my face that he had immensely enjoyed the article, though he did go on to lose an election last year. I was tempted to resubmit said article before my conscience, and an inability to find it on my computer, convinced me otherwise.
So, I’ve decided to take a different tack, and essentially write the opposite article – ‘An Insider’s Guide to Losing the Elections’. One Thursday three long years ago I made my way to the Earl of Kildare hotel, for the elections result night. As a candidate for the position of Welfare Officer, my next year, my life, my legacy, had the potential to drastically change in a few hours’ time. I was quietly confident – I’d managed to vote for myself twice, and knew that my rivals, assuming that they weren’t as good at voting as me, would only have voted for themselves once, which gave me a 100% lead. I was also confident of getting a few extra looks-based votes – I’d give myself a solid 7 out of 10 for looks (7.5 if I’ve had a few; 8 at a push if I’ve been Viagra-ed, and I’m in a particularly good mood) and expected to pick up some of the ‘this one’s attractive, I’ll vote for him’ votes.
Against that, I was conscious that one of my rivals was a whole point better looking, and I had recently received the shattering news that the girl who I was at that time seeing, while I had sex with her, had only given me her third preference vote. Plus, my hustings hadn’t gone to plan (I almost came to blows with a girl at one, and at another a fake blood-filled condom which was concealed under my shirt failed to implode as planned, leading to considerable embarrassment), and at the previous nights’ Slave Auction I had accidentally tucked my penis between my legs before exposing it (for charity I hasten to add), which led to me sporting what could only be described as a ‘mangina’. No one wants to vote for a man with a fanny who has unimploded condoms hidden down his shirt.
I was on edge – would Lady Luck shine on me that crisp February night?
As it turned out, no, she wouldn’t. Not only had my soon-to-be-girlfriend not voted for me, most of my friends hadn’t either. I ended up being narrowly pipped to fourth place by RON, or ‘Re-Open Nominations’, who isn’t even a real person, and I got less than a tenth of the votes the winner got. My night reached its nadir when, as I was standing on a chair watching the Welfare votes being sorted into piles for each of the candidates, I realized that I probably wasn’t going to win. As I digested this bombshell, the girl standing beside me turned and enquired whether I was wearing mascara.
This is a fairly common occurrence for me- I happen to be blessed with particularly full-bodied, luscious eyelashes, and am frequently accused of wearing mascara. However, this would have to be the one occasion where I actually was wearing mascara, which was applied (as a joke) by a female friend earlier in the day. I felt humiliated, and quickly left before the girl beside me noticed that I was also sporting blusher.
So, to all this year’s candidates – if you do end up losing, at least console yourself with the fact that you haven’t lost wearing make-up (unless you’re wearing some for the laugh, or you’re a tranny, or you’re a girl). If you have lost wearing make-up, at least you didn’t lose with several people thinking you have a fanny (unless you’re a proper tranny, or a girl). If you have lost with people thinking you have a fanny, at least you haven’t lost with an unexploded bit of rubber up your top (unless you’re a girl). And, if you are a girl and you’ve lost, and you’re at least a 7 out of 10 – a man named Conor Smith would very much like to meet you.
