Years of bang average decisions had stockpiled like a blockaded sewage pipe ready to majestically spew a ginormous tornado of turd everywhere. One hundred thousand pounds spunked up the royal wall. Fuck all to show my parents for their investment in my future. They say an Indian invented the number zero, now I understood why. Can just picture that mystical sage bastard from thousands of years ago in fits prophesying about my existence. Undoubtedly, my fault, invariably, I’d spent the majority of my precious time hopping around the galaxies, hoping the cosmos would secrete out some good fortune from a remote crevice somewhere deep in outer space. Failing that, with the state of the world’s economy looking about as stable as my ever-receding hairline, the options were awfully grim.
The warming rancid air of inevitability was suffocating, scraping a third class degree didnt get me much further than the nearest Mcdonalds. Drug dealing wasnt really an option either.Gave a little too much, charged too little, smoked too much or ended up squatting in a confined room with 8 men staring deep into the abyss of my chocolate starfish. And that was on the first bloody time.
I needed something drastic. Luckily, I knew just the guy. Armed with a replica degree, a slightly embellished CV, a dodgy uncle, a dash of exuberance, topped off with a twitch from the copious THC molecules banging about; id talked myself up enough to get an offer for well numerated job. Fucking sweet. The only little problem, I hadn’t yet graduated and the location. The East Coast of Africa To be honest, it wasn’t much of a decision, and it didn’t take much convincing. The tentative plan was to try the best I could study online, submit the coursework, and then fly back for the exams.
Rather unsurprisingly, much like their recruitment the organisation fortunate enough to have my services was a shitshow. No, im not complaining at all. Blending into the heavily speckled toilet bowl was proving quite easy. Outside of work things were going equally as well, lobster buffets replaced Sam’s 2 for 2 chicken burgers, roulette tables replaced park benches and a 6 bedroom mansion with Ocean-view and swimming pool stood in for the filthy university digs.
However, no matter how luxurious the juxtapose there was always a lingering fear of living a fraudulent life. Okay fine, that was a lie. As a stuffed a tuna steak down my face. Id only ever known tuna from tin. Like all good wanks,things had to come to an end. Unfortunately i was in danger of blowing my load months earlier than planned, my credentials were in question and the gamble was in serious jeopardy. Both my employer and the government of Tanzania required the official university document to process work permits. Microsoft paint got me this far but maybe this was a pump too far. The only option was to get the real thing. I made some shitty excuse and travelled back to Uni for a covert week-long operation at a final chance to pass, all to get this ridiculous but also very lucrative piece of paper.
Rather predictably, the week was spent playing online poker but mostly just enjoying the infamous Bristol Black Kush. It was a nice change from the toilet weed id been rather accustomed too. Other than to perfect the art of shaking the vending machine in the precise technique required to relinquish its treasures, Id learned fuck all of any use.
Just before the midnight leading up to D-Day, nothing was on paper, though I still wasn’t panicking. It was all figured out. Luckily I always knew just the guy. After a bit of negotiation, £50 and a fat spliff in exchange for 2000 typed words. Sorted. The next few hours were casually spent reveling in being the master of the dark arts of scraping by, in the companionship of Mary and Jane, now and then id write out some cheat notes on a body part. Exam sorted. As the late summer sun had just begun to rise, indicating it was probably time to start focusing for the exam in an hour. So I rolled a last good luck fat one and smoked it outside the exam hall for good luck.
Don’t remember much from the exam at all, however, walking out of the little room for the last time felt extremely fucking good. Hopefully Adrian would have finished by now. But the fucker wasnt answering his phone. I must have called a thousand times. It was past noon, what the fuck was he doing? There was no way I could write this out in an hour. Where the fuck is he? I knew i should have given him the weed afterwardS. FFS. Why Lord? Why! I jittered slowly back into the building whilst mumbling some discombobulated prayer.
God: “why am I such an idiot? Why do I always leave everything to the last minute? How have a fucked this up again? I promise I won’t smoke any-more weed if you help.”
In midst dialogue with the creator, a massive alarm rudely interjected us, as an announcement was serenaded out. Do they have to interrupt me mid-conversation?
‘All coursework deadlines have been extended by 24 hours for I.T failure’.
Fucking hell. What? Did i just hear that right? As the same announcement bellowed through the speakers to confirm the message. You couldn’t fucking make this up. What the actual fuck? There had never been an I.t failure in history, it must be a fucking black kush miracle. There were too many questions. Was it an act of pure coincidence? Or was it the gods? Was it the weed? Did it happen? Fucking rabbit weed holes. I had to say my thanks.
God: thank you so much, I will never smoke weed again.
Needless to say, I spent the best part of the next 24 hours getting high, barely scraping the extended deadline. Although I didn’t manage to get that photo with the hat being thrown in the sky, I am the owner of an official university degree. Non-replica. Proper fucking authentic. Flew back to Africa the next week to recommence deployment with all the correct paperwork.
I couldn’t have done this without the help of God or weed or my.