The History of Oxford

Part I - From Inspiration to Founding

The following definitive history is extracted from the seminal history text, Red Sauce & Brown Sauce: A History of Our Stupendous Land, Compiled by the Royal Society of Wikipedia Scholars for the Future Lord of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, King Dwayne I of the House of Deer. The book opens with the greatest poem ever written: "Oh what rogues and peasant slaves were we / before we saw His Royal Majesty; /[DIH] ensared him like a flower to a bee, / And the rest, you see, is our history."

1962: A group of drunken uneducated fashionists stumble into a party at Cambridge University and announce they will no longer be attending classes (which they never did). Everyone laughs, and they become a hit at the party. The group remains at Cambridge as a traveling pack of minstrels, offering their services as subhumans to be pointed and laughed at. They title themselves, 'The Doomsberry Clan'. Their first and only vinyl record, 'domeastrawberryanddomeitgood-clan', goes on to sell seven (7) copies.

1963: The group is signed up for an international tour by a wealthy goldsmith from Russia named Imazov Greatska Conartistivitch.

1965: After a long, arduous trip on horseback, the fashionists arrive at Goldsmiths College in New Cross, believing London to be Russia and Goldsmiths to be the goldsmith's palace.

1966: After entertaining Goldsmiths students and stumbling on a poster which reads, 'Let's lower tuition fees!', the group realises that the big money is in education. Resolved to set up a grammar school, they pack up and make their return journey to Cambridge.

1971: After a long detour in Wales where the group stumbles upon poster which reads, 'Let's stop prostitution!', etc., etc., the group finally finds Cambridge. Their old student-patrons are gone, however, and they are quickly kicked out for indecent exposure (they wore only loin-cloths at the time).

1972: Wandering again, one member of the group, Adolf Stalin, has a dream of a cow defecating in a river. He resolves to name their new project, 'Cowford'.

1973: After wandering some more and searching for the prophesised place where cows defecate in rivers, the group stumbles upon a sign not far from Cambridge which reads, 'Let's stop mistreatment of the cow'. They realise this is the spot, and name it 'Cowford'. They put their great wealth together and purchase what they believe is a cow, but is actually an ox, and begin flogging and raping it endlessly in the hope that there is money to be made from their activity.

1975: Realising that no one is paying them for beating and raping the ox, a member of the group, Senurfs Innecor, has a massive brain-fart and decides to make a school out of such an activity. They make a sign which reads, "We kik kow you gif kash". An astute passer-by, a coalminer on his lunchbreak, corrects the sign, noting that they are in fact mistreating an ox. They rename it alternately 'Oxcow' and 'Cowox' for several hours until the coalminer, in a fit of intellect, tries, 'Oxford'. The group bows down in worship for finding someone of the same intelligence as the people they met at Goldsmiths, and announce that the coalminer will be their first Leader.

1976: Oxford Kindergarten School (OKS-ford) receives its first student: a lost boy who, passing by, giggles at the group teachers. Mistaking his snorting laughter for the English language and believing the boy to be signing up for school, the OKS-ford founders capture him. He is chained up and disciplined for disobedience until he is indoctrinated and promises to be their next Leader.

1979: Milktits the Ox supposedly dies of old age (it had in fact been dead for several years, but no one noticed the carcass decay), and the group decides to branch Oxford Kindergarten School out into other areas. They turn first to their roots by teaching fashion and, given the extremely low level of brain power required to manipulate people into purchasing identity and self-worth, quickly reap massive success.

1983: Applying their new-found talents to other subjects, 'Oxford University' is officially founded on 21 January. On this day all newborn babies across the country feel and are imbued with an instinctive repulsion to the school.

NOTE: One of these children, alive today, is still sadly in denial of this impulse, and actually attended the cultural and intellectual backwater near Cambridge. In fact, the 'Petunia Syndrome' (named after the unfortunate subject) has since been identified as a rare delusional disorder. Its symptoms are difficult to detect, but usually manifest in the subject wearing scarves with the university logo, and believing intensely that Oxford was in fact established in the 11th century at the latest. If you encounter such an individual, please contact local authorities immediately, for another symptom is believing that King Dwayne I will not come to rule.

THE BLOGGER: Scene 3

Enter AINUTEP holding the body of LEDGER HAIR. INFLAMED CLITORIS and COCKROACH follow shortly behind. We are in AINUTEP'S dark cellar.

AINUTEP: Right, we must do this quickly.

All the other cockroaches gather around.

COCKROACHES: What has happened?

COCKROACH: Ledger Hair has died!

COCKROACHES: Oh my! How did it happen?

AINUTEP: Who knows? She was rambling incoherently: as if controlled by complete retards - and then she keeled over after, once again, getting her own name wrong.

COCKROACH: Her lack of alliteration has always pained her.

COCKROACHES: And is that an Inflamed Clitoris over there?

COCKROACH: Yes. She's brought another one home.

All cockroaches sigh.

AINUTEP: SILENCE Whelps! We have only one chance to bring Ledger Hair back from the dead. A strapping young man must enter her and give her his life giving seed!

COCKROACHES: But no men will acknowledge us your wonderfulness - they only shun us or bully us!

AINUTEP: I know, but the time for constant and incessant whining is over!

The cockroaches look sceptical

AINUTEP: Because with this inflamed clitoris I will finally become a man! (aside)
And then finally I can be taken seriously as a writer!

With this, AINUTEP attaches INFLAMED CLITORIS to her belt and proceeds to enter the body of LEDGER HAIR.

COCKROACHES: But our Queen - You can't suddenly - Just suddenly strap on a clitoris - an expect - expect to become a man!

AINUTEP: Silence! I'm nearly there! A few more thrusts!

COCKROACH jumps on to AINUTEP ear and proceeds to stroke it

AINUTEP: AHHHHH! There. I did it!

AINUTEP pulls away from the body of LEDGER HAIR, exhausted. INFLAMED CLITORIS climbs off AINUTEP and begins to crawl off stage!

INFLAMED CLITORIS: Why? WHY?! I feel so dirty - so unclean - uh, i smell terrible. I need a shower - A SHOWER. WHY????

INFLAMED CLITORIS exits, crying. AINUTEP comes back to her senses

AINUTEP: No! Come back, COME BACK! You are my penis - you make me whole! You give me worth!

AINUTEP begins to run after INFLAMED CLITORIS but stops:

COCKROACHES: MY QUEEN! Look! It stirs!

AINUTEP: I told you I could do it! She's back to life! She's -

THE MONSTER FORMERLY KNOWN AS LEDGER HAIR:
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRR!
GGRRAAAAAARRRRAAAARRRRR!!!!!

T.M.F.K.A.L.H'S hair grows at an incredible speed. The hair covers her body in a suit of golden armour and continues to grow, smashing the windows in the cellar - continuing to expand through the world.

AINUTEP: What have i done? WHAT IS HAPPENING?

COCKROACH: You can't resurrect as you were not a man - You are not a man!

COCKROACHES: You have created a monster your worship. All is lost - ALL IS LOST!

GHOST OF ARCADIA suddenly appears

GHOST OF ARCADIA: Hear me Hear me! I am the great wright of Pretentious!

AINUTEP: But you're not dead!

GHOST OF ARCADIA: I just last night met an untimely end - apparently to recompense and avenge the loss of a far better wright than myself!

AINUTEP: Oh NO! More of my hateful crimes are bearing consequences!

GHOST OF ARCADIA: There is no time to dwell on't! If you are to save the world from the monster with ENDLESS GOLDEN LOCKS, as is foretold, you must become a master blogwright, and blog like you have never blogged before!

GHOST OF ARCADIA suddenly disappears

AINUTEP: But I can't! I can't write - I have tried but i am not a man!

COCKROACHES: We believe in you are splendiferous Queen!

COCKROACH: Only you can save us from the monster of CASCADING BLONDE TENTACLES!

AINUTEP: Oh, my poor friend Ledger Hair? What have i done?

COCKROACH: You can still save her - and the world!

COCKROACHES: We believe in you!

AINUTEP: Okay, i will try. I will try and blog the best written bl-

COCKROACH WITH GUITAR ON BACK saunters past

COCKROACH WITH GUITAR ON BACK: To be, or not to be, that is the question...

AINUTEP: Oh my! I will try and save the world (even though i am penisless), but first....

AINUTEP quickly whips off her knickers and chases after COCKROACH WITH GUITAR ON BACK

On Fashion & Fashionism

Petunia the Evil One has recently posted what appears to be a blog entry. Do not be deceived, dear reader: this is an attempt to make you believe she is saying something important. The large pictures do more than demonstrate her incapacity for language: they affirm her desire to turn you into a brainwashed peasant.

Do you want to be a peasant? No, likely not. But there is nothing wrong with dressing like one. Petunia, you will notice with only a momentary glance, spews an ideology which can only be labelled as "Fashionism" - it is a system wherein rationality is tossed aside, and for a social hierarchy it relies on designer clothing, jewellry, makeup, scent, and other useless articles. In other words, you are placed as you dress.

I will not ramble on about the evils of fashion in the world: how it is a corruption of the human spirit, a degrading of the self into an object of mindless consumption and ignorant presentation. As if a logo might embody a state of mind, a belief, a principle, a movement - as if colour coordination equates to commitment to your fellow man or woman. Fashion is the disgusting result of our sick society's obsession with the superficial; and fashionism the hijacking of this en masse cultural stupidity as a means for Petunia and her collection of evil white cats to rule the world.

I shit you not.

We are in the grips of a coming struggle. Its spectre haunts Europe and rises with the moon. The countless fools who find meaning in collars, khakis, belts, and cowboy boots will soon witness the sky grow black; they will soon feel a tingle in their abdomen. It will all be too late, of course; for the black sky will be their forgotten mascara-drenched tears, and the tingle my 1972 Barbara Streisand Candle Collection Series 1 candle-putter-outer poker emerging from their stomach. And in the distance they will hear us laugh.

They will see it unfold as it has been foretold in the Blog of Revelations, last of the Blogosphere, and we three horsemen (looking for a fourth to make it more psychologically satisfying - applications still accepted...) will ride past the plain white gates into the New Valley of No Judgment where all wearable things are only worn for utility, and where global warming has ceased to be a problem because ignorant televsion-bashed brainless shitheads who overconsume for their own god damn feel-good shallow-minded piss-in-the-river-what's-it-to-me I'll-wear-what-makes-me-feel-sexy-and-good-about-myself-because-I-have-no-other-source-of-self-worth so let's-pollute-everything-and-buy-sweat-shop-but-YAY-DESIGNER fucking no-good self-centred mentality WILL BE FUCKING SHOT AND DROPPED IN THE CLEAR AND CLEAN RIVER!

But not into her trivial dogma. Fashionism will die. Join us now.

Call 1-888-RLLS-ROCKS-NOW and get your RLLS miracle spring water for just £699.99 now! Act now and you'll get the second bottle free! Call now!

Hear Ye, Revelators

Dearest Die Tye Die,

I am profoundly sorry you had to deal with the cockroach lady in such a manner. She is indeed insidious. In fact just this afternoon Generic Shithead and I met her avatar at the Ruv', and it was then and there she attempted to cast us asunder. Of course, GS and I tried to be friendly, as all decent human beings would be toward the wanna-be bloggers of the world...but little did we realise that this was her way in. Friendliness is the agent of Satan. She attempted to convince us that you were not committed to RLLS, that you might betray the cause, that for you it was but a passing phase. Your most recent posting of course nullifies such an idiotic charge, but it was not necessary - for the Revelators never lose faith. And, now that we are aware of her dark motives and darker means, we can only be more resolute in our campaign against the taint of Petunia.

Curse on SMS! Curse on leprosy! And double curse and endless shame on those who would seek to tear us apart! For we are the Revelators!

Your Dedicated Anti-Wannabe-Blogger Warrior,

Style-less Tramp

Revelations of a life lived in (a) coordinated inability to write a single word.

I don't think it can be ignored. I don't think it can or should be ignored. It must be acknowledged.

Yes, it must be acknowledged that their is a rival to The Rival Blog of RLLS and it must be acknowledged.

.... And yet, why on earth would we not acknowledge a rival blog considering said rivals' puny pathetic insignificance! It does show, however, that already in the short time that the forefather (SLT) of our cause began this momentous and most sacred of blogs, and I, (GS) became its first disciple, already, we must battle against jealously and potential slander (which frankly could constitute as bullying)

This is until of course you let your eyes peruse the existing rival... and then your sides hurt from the monumental sidesplitting laughter that courses through your body as the so-called-rival has not even managed a sentence. Hasn't written a. Single. Word. A whole day on. Whilst this blog approaches double figures after just three days (which is paramount to a child taking it's first steps after a mere month of life) not even a single solitary letter adorns their page. They couldn't even muster the intelligence or wit to come up with their own title - instead having to rip off ours in a virtual cut and paste exercise (you will be hearing from our lawyers)

So it is with this that i encourage the disciples and wide readership of this blog to, please, go and look at the rival Rival Blog. Look and join in with my hysterical laughter till your shirt is wet with your own tears. Cackle at what is less a rival and more an afterthought.

Generic Shithead

(All the above was true as of 16.44 pm 27th Feb 2009, looking at a PC screen in the Ruv')

Petunia is a fashion fascist and her horse is called Nad.

Dear reader,

First off, let me set the record (or any future record) straight by stating the following with as much clarity and gravitas a young (Jung) blogger can muster: I whole heartedly endorse every word printed beneath this post, on this particular web page (perhaps the finest i have seen [most specifically my own {which is not in anyway a slight against the others }}) and shall endeavor to not repeat was has been said with much elegance before my arrival.

So, what new do I have to add?

Firstly, this: Petunia is a fashion fascist. That is to say she exercises and attempts to enforce rigid restrictions on the sartorial expression (and similar arts) of those around her that are emblematic of a highly conservative, xenophobic view point. A view point indicative of one thing - fear. Petunia (a pleasant fellow in many ways) clearly fears the vivid, the surreal and especially the psychedelic. The harshest of her fascistic restrictions (and attempted punishments through humiliation tactics) are reserved especially for anachronistic items of fashionistic bliss. Well hear this Petunia, I will not be censored - for every rolled eye and sarcastic witticism or riff on colour-blindness (a genuine disability that should not be lampooned) or hippy-dom (refer to previous parenthesis) I will endeavor to up the ante! Long live the paint splattered v-neck!

Secondly, who is this Nad fellow? Has any one of us fair Revealators ever had the pleasure of a quibbling match or pun-dual with him? No. Have we ever viewed him (or even an effigy of him) with out the electronic interface? Thought not. Here, brothers (and reluctantly...sisters) is my explanation - Nad is not a man (or even a woman)...he is a horse. Why else would Petunia always wear cowboy boots? They aren't in fashion.

Much love,

DTD

Sex and Royalism

Naturally, I agree with everything in the below blog from Style-less Tramp (especially in anything that derides our "friend" Petunia - have i mentioned before that this does not constitute as bullying?)

So, in response... What i, Generic Shithead, have done today (as i feel i have fully imbued the previous blogs message and should write thus) :

I have had many conversations; naturally many of them very intelligent (with me being the most intelligent, natch) and full of countless beautiful swearing. I have pondered on many occasions about my life, this that and the other and...oh. I haven't had sex today. Definitely no sex... I have thought about it a few times (Style-less Tramp was very well attired today, and Petunia and Ledger Hair are not unattractive) but have not enacted any such acts. More key, is i am still not a monarch of any sort (and depressingly can't profess to have any plans to become such, either). This is simply unacceptable! Why on earth am i not King G S? This is especially intolerable considering my family heritage (some people don't have one... not naming names...Petunia) If any one is down with Royalism it is me and i think it is about time some small island or principality or such took me up as their king or god.

Thus concludes my day. Generic Shithead

One night stand

Petunia has got serious issues. And she can stop watching me type as well; i'm talking about her not to her. This is not a form of bullying - Who is Petunia? Maybe she is a figure of our imagination. Don't ruin our fun Ho'!

So anyway, swearing is great. Everyone should curse more. Why do we build up words to have such ridiculously high, negative values when all they are is made up of the same letters as any other word! It's really stupid and Style-less Tramp is correct in everything he is uttering to Petunia on the matter. She is so wrong it is not even funny and i think she should take a long hard look at herself... Because i think she would be ashamed to see the censorship she has tried to put upon us today... That's right... I said it... Ho'.

She is now smiling at me (slightly uncomfortably, as if she regrets the pandora's box she has opened - or Petunia's box if you will - as she clearly is not finding our humour as amusing as Style-Less Tramp and I are - apparently we are not 'taking this artform seriously'( and we will write in whatever grammatical forms we want we'll have you know)) and i think she thinks that i thinks that she thinks that we are not going to take this undertaking seriously. That we are going to just treat this escapade (?) frivolously. That it is just a one night stand. Well i would say to her, that this is the start of a beautiful relationship and that it is clear - even from day one - that our baby is clearly better looking and more intelligent than yours (and cleaner - no 'used' toilet paper on its head)

So.... there. No i don't need to click finish spell checking - Suck it! Suck our blog! Ho'!

At the Ruv'

So, we're down at the Ruv' yo, and we're sittin' next to Petunia and she says that swearing is rude! Fuck the donkeys! Swearing and cursing and cussing and shitfucking is a legitimate form of communicado! Says I! Now Petunia says it's generally a form for those with "low levels of communications skills" but then I challenged her to a duel of words and I said you can "fuck right off" and she did. Then she came back with a snarky comment: "you're a style-less tramp" and then she called my co-blogger a "generic shithead" and so from here on out let the world know that Petunia has a new blog to reckon with: unpretentious, uncowardly, in-yer-face (non-whatever), fuck-this-shit-up-in-da-house-of-cards, bombing-poor-places, super-duper-blog! It's called Revelations of a Life Lived in Syntax - why syntax? Cause that's a complex word, fucker! And yes, we do take this seriously. Very seriously, Petunia. So go fuck yourself and if you ever want to use my toilet again you can god damn well ask nicely. And don't complain when the wet toilet paper falls on your disgusting little head.

PS: Naed needs to wash himself; and watch himself too, because if he ever threatens the Generic Shithead again he'll have this Style-less Tramp riding his ass to the gates of Hades wherein he will learn of his worthlessness and discover fierce self-loathing having such a stupid name.