Although I'm not a veterinary student, in my first year at uni I lived with several denizens of the Royal Veterinary College in London and can authoritatively say that they are, for all intents and purposes, batshit insane when it comes to drinking and put even the medics to shame in the boozing department. Then again, when your classes - and future job - could well involve sticking your hand up a cow's arse on a regular basis, this is understandable - and to be fair, in terms of the academic workload, they made practically everyone else in the hall look like a skiving arse. So they sort of had an excuse.
So, one evening, I followed a group of vets through London and came unto the Electric Ballroom in Camden, paid five quid to get in, and realised that I really wasn't supposed to be there, for it was a vets only do. After someone noticed this, and a particularly large and ugly bouncer questioned me about this (I bluffed successfully, by the way), the festivities began. Firstly, groups of vet students were taken up on stage and told to down pints in increasing states of undress (believe you me, a line of hairy-arsed rugger buggers wearing nothing but empty pint glasses on their heads is something I never want to see again) then the final-year girls, who were dressed as air hostesses, performed a spot of striptease, and finally, sheets were handed round the attendees with this lyrical masterpiece on. Which we sang with much zest.
Fanciful as this song may seem, and although it is even less politically correct than Kevin Bloody Wilson writing a column for the Daily Mail, I feel that it's worthy of being posted here for two informational purposes. The first of these is so that if any prospective Royal Veterinary College student sees this they will have some idea of the atmosphere of the place, and secondly, because I think those good citizens of E2 - and readers - who have offspring of a certain age ought to know exactly what sort of things their little darlings are doing with their money. Thus, here is presented:
The Drinking Song of the Royal Veterinary College
or
Pulsing Vaginas
At a dance on Friday worn out by buggery,
Heart in mouth and cock in hand,
Who will come and relieve me of my agony?
Give me a squeeze of my prostate gland?
(chorus)
Pulsing Vaginas, milk machine liners
Both used alike at the RVC
As we rush through the bone room* ejaculating merrily
Who will come and copulate with me?
Back from the Parrs** with a bellyful of alcohol,
Up to the bone room without delay,
With a throb of a knob as big as any barber's pole,
That's how a vet leads a girl astray!
(chorus)
Up cried a girl, "To hell with my virginity!
I've been a good girl far too long!
I have a yearning for masculine virility,
Give me a vet with a Long Strong Prong!"
(chorus)
Now was the chance to practice his anatomy,
Ripped off her bra with a laugh of scorn,
"Ouch!" cried the maiden whilst losing her virginity,
"What shall I do now my hymen is torn?"
(chorus)
So come all ye maidens who revel in depravity,
Up to the bone room and there you'll see,
Tools big enough to fill in any cavity,
Owned by the boys of the RVC!
(chorus x2)
* = The "bone room" is the anatomy museum at the Royal Veterinary College, apparently.
** = I believe this is short for the Parrs Head, a pub in Camden frequented by vet students. Beerintheevening.com gives it really rather poor ratings.
(Tune: Waltzing Matilda. No idea who wrote the lyrics, it probably sort of evolved over time.)
(No, I am not an RVC student. I just crashed one of their parties.)