Vodka, Vomit & Honours Maths: Leaving Cert Results Night Uncovered

LAST night WWN took to the streets of the Nation’s capital Dublin as we embedded ourselves in the murky world of the Leaving Cert results night sex festival:

Famed all over the world for being the most salacious and morally repugnant night out in human existence, Leaving Cert results night has been a disgrace to our beautiful country ever since journalists like myself risked life and limb by fabricating accounts of what transpired to sell a few more papers.

However, on this occasion, on the night to end all nights, I would have to get even closer to the action to bring WWN’s readers the real story behind young adults drinking alcohol. There would be vodka, vomit and honours math.

Sparing no expense, my employers paid for me to undergo a transformation that would make it easier to fit in. After a trip to a beauty salon my beard was shorn, I had my nails done and I was given a crash course in pretending to give a shit about Kylie Jenner. My dress showcased all my best features, and with my scrotum and penis removed via surgery earlier that day it would be next to impossible for me to be discovered.

With my look complete I made my way into town, safe in the knowledge that I no longer looked like a 39-year-old father of three, for I was now Katie, or maybe Katee, I had been told by experts teenagers loved idiotic spellings of common names.

Now in the city’s epicentre of Temple Bar I tried to ingratiate myself with a number of similarly dressed young women.

“Emojis are class” I ventured, but no response. “What did you get in the Leavo?” I then asked a gathering of young women. ‘Leavo’ is cool slang for the state examinations called the Leaving Certificate.

After a moment of hesitation the women responded with a flurry of numbers which were equal parts impressive and laughable. Sadly, none of them were pregnant or had a history of drug abuse, but it was approaching 9pm and I didn’t have any time to find other students.

I had been told by an expert in Leaving Cert students that I would first have to earn their trust before I was allowed into the inner sanctum of a wild alcohol and drug fuelled sex party. I showed them several pictures I had been ‘sent’ on Snapchat by a male love interest (admittedly it was my own erect penis), after showing them these unwanted dick pics that I had sent myself, I truly became one of the gang as Laura, Aisling, Rebecca and I bonded over young men’s ability to communicate only using pictures of their erect penises.

“We’re heading to the Wright Venue, have you got a ticket?” I had not. But, I would not allow this reality to get in the way of my journalistic duty. After purchasing everyone shoulders of vodka and forcing them to down them straight in the taxi it was clear to me these teenagers, fresh from the most stressful year of their lives, were out of fucking control.

In the queue to the Wright Venue I ran into my first problem – I was refused entry as I had no ticket. Conscious of the need to accurately report on Leaving Cert results night, I offered the bouncer a blowjob behind a nearby wall. I could hear the bouncer, elated as he climaxed, shout ‘you dirty old man’, obviously referring to himself as he was now ridden with guilt. A small price to pay to gain entry.

Now in the venue it was wall-to-wall hedonism, people were smiling, high-fiving, hugging, chatting and drinking. Such disgusting scenes seemed more appropriate in some sort of prostitution factory. A cursory google search informs me prostitution factories do not exist, but I imagine them to be a place were prostitutes are produced on an industrial scale.

Although the music was loud, I’m almost certain I heard one student say to a friend that “he didn’t see why such a fuss was made of the Leaving Cert”. Disturbing.

Aware that I had a story to get, I sought out the first student I could see with a tattoo, a clear sign he was a raging drug dealer.

Sadly, I had come up short, despite giving him a blowjob, the one man, going by his ‘street name’ Aaron, said he had no drugs and reported me to security.

After some persuasion on my part (my knees were in bits at this stage) a second bouncer fetched some cocaine from an over 40s night in the city centre. My attempts to sell the cocaine to students in attendance proved fruitless, presumably everyone had brought their own supply of heroin.

Bumping into Laura, Aisling and Rebecca again after my fourth line of coke, I explained that I felt alive and wanted to dance until my limbs gave way, but they revealed they were going home. I took ‘home’ to mean a code word for a nearby orgy. I tried to gain entry to their taxi, but I was forcibly removed.

The next hour or so was a blur, but I definitely vomited somewhere in the club, possibly in my bag too, rendering my backup bottle of vodka useless.

I came to in a Garda cell, charged with possession of cocaine, showing indecent images of my penis to women and prostituting myself out in the nightclub toilets. I had also glassed a young fella for looking at me the wrong way, but thankfully the Gardaí hadn’t picked up on that.

The horrors of Leaving Cert results night are clear for all to see. Before tonight I would have never dreamed of giving a bouncer a blowjob, or giving one to that lad who bought me a drink or the one who let me skip him in the queue in the toilets.

I certainly wouldn’t have taken cocaine, but this is the true danger of Leaving Cert night, the widespread mayhem and hedonistic chaos which every single student partakes in and should be punished for had got the better of me. There was no arguing that these young men and women were running riot and with little interference from the relevant authorities.

It seems foolish for Irish society to carry on the pretence that these young adults should be permitted to their one night of celebration when my harrowing account above is the obvious outcome. Leaving Cert, or leaving sense? The answer is clear. However, if you are in any way unclear, leaving sense is the appropriate and only conclusion you can draw from this.