Stuffed Bras
"If you want to change your enrolment, you will have to see the course advisers in Room 208."
The first time I was told this, I found the phrase mildly amusing. If you have access to Foxtel, and hence, access to Channel V, and you are aware of the highly bizarre and not-worth-the-effort Room 208, you might know why.
Room 208 is in essence a weakly premised dance-off which pits a room of mid teen know nothing tartlets and skinny guys in singlets against each other in a blood sport designed to find and crown the girl who turned up to shake her stuff in the worst sign-of-civilisation's-impending-doom clothes purchased at Supre.
The winner walks off with a cheque for $1000, entitling them to almost 201 teenage nights of passing out in the front garden of a house party after consuming a whole $4.99 bottle of Passion Pop and smoking 7.5 cigarettes that were flirtily elicited from bogan losers in Puma jackets standing around in the living room lamenting why no girls will talk to them, never once thinking it might be their prevailing odor of bongwater that is scaring Cassie and Bailey and Elissa away.
Of all the dignity free, soul destroying jobs you could have at Channel V, keeping a straight face while hosting a weekly show that consists of a room of 15 year olds bumping and grinding to the shitiest of club tracks must be it.
No amount of redundant boobtubes and 'slick moves' can stop Room 208 from being an awkward and pronounced polyp on the rectal cavity that is Channel V.
At my uni, the business faculty office is located in Room 208. Every time I go there I hold my breath for a moment and hope to find this when I walk through the door:
The first time I was told this, I found the phrase mildly amusing. If you have access to Foxtel, and hence, access to Channel V, and you are aware of the highly bizarre and not-worth-the-effort Room 208, you might know why.
Room 208 is in essence a weakly premised dance-off which pits a room of mid teen know nothing tartlets and skinny guys in singlets against each other in a blood sport designed to find and crown the girl who turned up to shake her stuff in the worst sign-of-civilisation's-impending-doom clothes purchased at Supre.
The winner walks off with a cheque for $1000, entitling them to almost 201 teenage nights of passing out in the front garden of a house party after consuming a whole $4.99 bottle of Passion Pop and smoking 7.5 cigarettes that were flirtily elicited from bogan losers in Puma jackets standing around in the living room lamenting why no girls will talk to them, never once thinking it might be their prevailing odor of bongwater that is scaring Cassie and Bailey and Elissa away.
Of all the dignity free, soul destroying jobs you could have at Channel V, keeping a straight face while hosting a weekly show that consists of a room of 15 year olds bumping and grinding to the shitiest of club tracks must be it.
No amount of redundant boobtubes and 'slick moves' can stop Room 208 from being an awkward and pronounced polyp on the rectal cavity that is Channel V.
At my uni, the business faculty office is located in Room 208. Every time I go there I hold my breath for a moment and hope to find this when I walk through the door:
posted by The Student at 11:01 PM
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