This was it.
The opening hustings in the Old Theatre gave this Hack-ak-ak the most entertaining hour of the year, at what is all too often a washed-out arena for the SU elite. There were times of brilliance, hilarity and embarressment - with a wonderfully amicable sentiment prevailing in a room half-full, yet fully engaged with the annual LSE soap-opera. The Hack Attack would like to thank all the candidates for putting their reputations and integrity on the line for our viewing pleasure. And, you know what, a big whopping whoop-whoop to James BeerCan, striking a perfect Middle-C-Major-7 chord, on the Euchalele of Union Spirit.
It was quite surprising just how loved-up the atmosphere was. Maybe it's beacause all the candidates have been brainwashed my Loud-mouth Fisher into carbon-neutral hippies? Maybe it's because they are all such 'nice' human beings? Maybe it's because under their neat exteriors they'd all shat themselves, and didn't want the smell to ooze out the AU balcony, who would have probably done the same and chucked it back? But more likely is that those at the meet had a real urge for Change (The Hack Attack did not steal this phrase from Obama, promise), and are going to genuinely and productively engage in the debates for a better Union for us all. This Hack-a-go-go was touched by
love today, which penetrated his frozen, granite heart - and makes it difficult to fulfil this blog's real purpose.
But we'll have a good go eh?
Quinny, evicted as predicted. 'WTF?' Ward, wiping his dark, Guiness stained brow, made his main gains with the crowed when he called for no political association at all in the position i.e. Don't vote Fishy! Top tip for Ward: Try drinking some charisma instead of Irish black. O, and just don't mention anything to do with disabled people; you
will hash it up The Golden Hallibut delivered a first line that torched the other candidates:
'A spectre is haunting our Union!'
With by far the biggest reaction, - though probably more for it's eccentric absurdity than serious concern - the 3-bottles would have to try and match a cunning and historically accurate speech. Dozy O'Brien ate Hallibut's laughs with a side dish of seriousness. Corruption in the SU? Never!? It's ok though, 'I ain't gonna take no shiiiat from those mofo's! Hear me?!' If only Destiny's Child had been there to deliver that line. Classic. Fish-face was also hungry, and as he tried to devour the microphone the UGM erupted in a cacophony of boos and cheers: there is a sizeable 'Anti-Aled' vote out there, and its presence has made itself known. But they silenced as he bazookad the UGM with exactly 3,461 policies, that actually travelled to the human ear faster than the speed of sound, which, as any physicist will tell you, is not actually very energy efficient.
The main race commentated, let's have a little gander at the other highlights.
Will 'I'm-gonna-cut-ya! Barber had the mannerisms of a some sort of cross between a 1930's gentleman and the robot-arm from a car assembly line. !Bang!!Bang! left the room after it was revealed that we had spent over a grand on lollipops for Crush this year, and they weren't even Hubba-Bubbas. Mug Oliver wept as he proclaimed his eternal love for LSE. Boo hoo! Get a grip...we don't want our Union spreadsheets being smudged by your tears. He with the ye pointed face was adamant that we should divest from pornography. This single policy has permanently lost him the Hack Attack vote. Or maybe the deep-love that The Holy One rammed into his speech against RON will replace this Hackite's need for passionate productions such as Jenna Jameson's Unseen & Unclean?
The potential 'Legacy of Fit' hopelessly tried to convince us that it's all about, 'you, you, you...and not at all about me'. Odd-bod, more unattractively, shouted 'me, me, me!..and mayb'e i'll think about you later'. Though Shoddy Sheldon had turned everyone's eardrums into a puree by this point, which he'll presumably collect and whip up into a merangue to gorge all by himself on election night. Our ex-5ive frontman's impecable manner and articulation dispelled all myths that he is a Village Idiot, until his neat smile wore off and what he was actually saying was understood. His main policy was to run around Houghton Street in a Monkey suit, pissing on all the Hare Krishna grub to make him feck-off and bring back funds to the Union's catering service, which, the group decided, are worse than Pret A Manger. Ouch.
All in all, an interesting day. But, seriously, whether you like it or not, we're at one of the most right-wing universities in the country. Let's not all sit around like hippies, chanting 'love, love, love' in perfect unison, as bees and flamingos embrace us, surrounded by the sun and moon serenading each other with the cor anglais.
The Hack Attack hopes the gloves come off soon to debate hard-core, XXX, thrilling, pulsating, burning issues...or else vomming in the corner from too much soppy, wet, love may become a regular occurance over the next week or so.
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