The Pepsi of higher education

HUMOUR — Hey UVic. Trey here, a Camosun student. I know, ewww right? Well don’t worry. You can’t catch anything I have via the written word—except my diseased thoughts. Please, before you throw this publication down in disgust and write a letter to the editor regarding the infiltration of your student paper by foreign entities, know this: I was asked to do this for your benefit. It wasn’t a very ceremonious or exciting asking, but it happened. So, here we are.

There are widespread preconceived notions about the quality of Camosun, as well as the calibre of its denizens, as compared to the esteemed students of the University of Victoria. We have all been told that UVic and Camosun are like two sides of the same shiny quarter. UVic, of course, is like the head of our beloved Queen: illustrious, grossly wealthy, with a plethora of jewels, land holdings, and tax revenue. On the flipside, Camosun is like the caribou: loud, ungainly, wild, and free like the untamed lands it inhabits. Let me be the first and last person to tell you, once and for all: all of the horrible things you’ve heard about Camosun are 100 per cent true.

Is it true that there is a higher rate of gun-related deaths on the Camosun campus than on the mean streets of Detroit? Yes. Why would you even doubt that?

Is it true that Camosun students don’t use utensils while eating? I’m going to go with a provisional “yes” on this one, because I have no idea what a utensil is.

Do we have an annual running of the bulls? That one’s actually a lie, although it would help to explain the smell that permeates the entire campus.

Is the attractiveness of any given student directly proportional to the cost of their tuition, ensuring that I have to travel two kilometres to see anything higher than a 4.5? Again I ask: why even doubt that? The evidence is all around you.

Is our general quality of education worse than at UVic? I’ll put it this way: last week I wrote a midterm while thoroughly wrecked on mescaline. I passed with flying colours.

What about our nightlife? Our parties (read: drug orgies) are vicious rites of passage that produce only a handful of blood-encrusted survivors. While barbaric, this practice at least helps to keep class sizes manageable.

While UVic students continue to be the pampered one per cent, we Camosunites will graze on the dying grass of the education world, much like the ruminant animals I compared us to earlier on. I recently read a statistic that stated the average life expectancy of a Camosun student is 23 years. If we are to believe that—which we should—then I still have a solid two years of substance abuse and sleeping through class to look forward to.

I can practically hear you now, your voice mannered, yet spiked with academic jingoism. “But Trey,” you cry, “why should I care what happens to a turgid little Camosunite like you?” Remember, once both sets of students graduate from their respective institutions, the vast majority of us will still have no idea what we want to do with our lives, or how we can achieve happiness. It is this ultimate absence of meaning that unites all of us, UVic and Camosun students alike. The irony is killing me.

Signing out for the first and hopefully last time,

T.T.

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