Catnip

Editorial: Judgement Day

This is a rare time in which I offer some crack in character to my public facade. Writing and editing for Catnip has been a privilege. It offers the complete freedom to publish a huge variety of content, open to criticism, and to privately nod to my personal life, and those I care about both outside and within this institution. I hope to all my readers you have enjoyed my many horoscopes; the training process from a local psychic was a particularly intense one this year.

The thing paramount to being a successful Catnip Editor, other than having a concerning presence in the pop culture and politics stratosphere, is an apt judgement of character. I owe my jokes not only to my self-proclaimed wit, but to the many characters at Imperial that write the jokes for me through their commitment to involuntarily being caricatures. Yet, recently, this has failed me. Over this past week, I have deeply struggled to write any profound criticism or comic commentary, due to a particular event in my real life that no satire will ever measure up to. One must understand that the absurdity of one's actions can read no longer as satire, but as entirely unbelievable. My judgement and the cadence of my jokes dwarf in the farcicality you exhibit. I believe sometimes were I to write about the reality of Imperial College student life I would be labelled as facetious. So, I admit to you all, that this week I have withdrawn into my glib nature. There is no clever punchline, from depression caused by this demoralised world. Thus, I owe the spectacular article this week to the incredibly suave Emmanuel Frederick. I have, of course, written you 12 lovely horoscopes (from fear of the student body guillotining me should I not), all in subtle reference to one thing or another. However, though my judgement may be escapable, I want you to know that Judgement Day will not be. Whether it be from your God, employer, judge, or lover, when you face it, it will not be forgiving. And I will continue to laugh. "For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?"

From Issue 1864

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