Today has been unutterably lacklustre. I mean, I came into the office in the morning which is bang out of character and I am pretty sure bad for my health. Waiting for juicy gossip like a McCain’s ad star waits for the rains to come, I busied myself mainly with mooching. I practiced my slouch to accentuate the curvature of my shoulders, which I am told are my best physical attributes. I rubbed them with cocoa butter to prepare for the moment someone tells me I have unfairly slanted coverage, upon which I will summon the most svelte, globular and moist shrug the air has ever been bumped by, impeccably communicating my absolute unconcern. From noon to 2pm, I stalked the Facebook profiles of all 173 in the running for Ordinary Guild Councillor and found their social media presence to be also quite ordinary. Exceptions to note among the would-be elect are an attractive man who has radioactive lime-green shrubbery for hair, and another who has none other than Tony Abbott standing goblin-like beside him, photo left, squeezing out a ‘bet you’re a secret sex worker’ wink.
In case you missed it, or got distracted by a pretty plump pigeon or evil snake-tossing hawks, you can find all the candidates’ names listed here. Sources who lap regularly at the watering holes of gossip have informed me that very few in the running this round are of the Golden Triangle ilk. This of course should be toasted because it means that the younger brothers of the Christ Church dudes who threw piss bombs at my friend are less likely to be deciding matters of semi-importance next year. But it also apparently means that there is a dearth of what is known as a BNOC.
“What is a BNOC?” I hear candidates whimper. To them I say: fret not. I have composed for you this handy guide to determine whether you are one; or indeed, could ever be.
Do you have a name?
a) Omfg do you even know who i am????
b) Oh yes, my name is Steve
c) I go by many names. Some call me Elfrenk, eater of steam buns. Others call me Tuneless Patricia, the five-years-rejected Prosh contributor. Others call me Morloch of the Inner Suburbs, and Professor Asparagus Arms. But they are all gone now; gone to the sideways world, where Stranger Things always skips at key parts
d) No: I am the nameless one. Consonants are a cage; to envelop me in vowels would be death
What is your Facebook friending strategy?
a) Um, lol, I have not friended anyone in YEARS except that cute lil’ thing from Connections and have like a gazillion Facebook followers ahahah seriously like every two minutes, I don’t even know who they are
b) All who mention my name, or whom I believe at some point will be useful – they must be hunted down and absorbed into my network. Thus can I determine whether or not they are an ally on the basis of how many of my status updates about puppies and/or Serious Articles from the Guardian they like, and whether or not I should add them on LinkedIn
c) I don’t have Facebook; I value friends as people you know?
d) I friend Pelican Editors as an overture of something even I don’t understand
What is your personal brand?
a) I am Brand Power: helping you campus better
b) I am Brand Power: the ghost of noughties adverts no longer running
c) I am pert, driven and super-friendly. You can talk to me absolutely any time. Please, like just walk up to me and say hi! You don’t have to be intimidated. It’s okay. I was like you once
d) That is capitalism-speak, and I will not suffer it
What do you like to hear at the end of a long day?
a) “You have pleased Morloch”
b) The sound of my minions baking for me many strudels
c) Personal ‘memos to self’ I recorded that day to make sure I am not behind on any #hotgoss, replayed on my 7 Gen Apple iPod whilst I Instagram my sandals
d) That I am still relevant. I am still relevant. I am. I AM. I AM STILL –
If you got mostly a)s, you are not a Big Name On Campus. Same goes with b)s and c)s and d)s. Nobody really knows what a BNOC is, or what makes one. Nobody.
Words by Kate Prendergast
Hot tipz: Dunk ’em in the <firstname.lastname@example.org> net.