When the Liberty Bell in American rang to proclaim liberty, and oh how it rings very loudly, the one place we might have hoped to be untouched was St. Andrews. Of course, liberty has no jurisdiction, and every minor transgression of “my rights” has been petitioned, protested, and rebelled against. Outrage is the fashion of the day, and thank goodness for that.

 

So when my Warden posted on our hall group that I better not be wearing my pyjamas to the dining hall, I was, of course, positively fuming, and, very stylishly, offended, incensed, and livid.

 

I don’t care about the Syrian Crisis, or the silly attempts (like the Saturday effort) to educate The Bubble on the state of the world – about migration and all that far-away bull crap. And there’s no way in hell I’m supporting Rag Week, when there are real issues to be dealt with at home.

 

Let me remind you, and listen carefully, I have been prohibited from wearing my pyjamas to the dining hall, solely because, somewhere along the annals of history, social fusion has conflated upper-middle class manners with all the rest, so that now everyone is concerned about hygiene and modesty, being ladylike and gentlemanlike. This is something that cannot continue. I can wear whatever the hell I want. Shucks to your antiquated, conservative customs.

 

Marx was bang-on when he said that men make their own histories, but not as they please. Culture is a stubborn ox that refuses to be yoked, so we must fight, hard, to keep it moving. Who cares about the number of people that starve and die everyday, when our own culture cannot progress the way it should so that I can wear my pyjamas to my dining hall. My Warden (big brother incarnate) infringed upon my personal liberties, which is the only real thing that matters.

 

I mean, you can’t exactly see poverty from all the way in the East Coast of Fife, or befriend the hapless sods of the impoverished hospices miles and miles away in Calcutta. This must sound a bit controversial, but bear with me here. Are they even real? And, also, so what if my Warden has been involved with charity after charity and encourages all of us to do what we can for others. He won’t let me wear my onesie, and people think I look cute in that onesie (especially that girl I fancy).

 

To the people that have witnessed what you so arrogantly call “real suffering”: sure, the struggle might seem paltry in comparison, but, to quote one of the great authors of the day, who wrote the bible for Tumblr teenagedom (which I’m a proud member of), “even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.”

 

The strange and awful suffering from unlucky geography is just the same as the randomness that I’ve had to face here. It doesn’t make any sense that I can’t wear my onesie to breakfast – and look like an adorable cross between a penguin and an Asian fellow, when I wear my jeans to dinner everyday which I haven’t washed since I started my studies. If you want me to be hygienic then pay someone to wash my clothes for me! Or, have some sense, and check if all my clothing is clean. Actually, don’t do that, because that would turn you totalitarian. Gosh, positive liberty is so dangerous, you have to be so careful in this political climate.

 

Anyway, I digress. Let me close. I came to St. Andrews to learn how to argue and support those arguments, to learn about the world so that I can cash in that education and get rich and score chicks. But I can’t do that unless every thing in my life is exactly the way I want it. I’m not trying to threaten you, but I will warn you, that until I can live my life exactly the way I want to I will fight for every single infringement, I will shout at you when you won’t let me back in the Union (there are way drunker people inside) and I will sue you for not letting me wear my pyjamas. You know what? I might even take my business to a different university, somewhere that cares about their students like Dundee or Abertay.

 

To everyone that’s donating to charity and also fighting for social stuff (transgender rights, the kidnapping of Chinese dissidents, that sort of thing) join me, and we can band together to start a powerful protest group to fix all these dastardly problems that we have in St. Andrews. Let’s clean up the bubble together, liberals of the world unite!

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