Sometimes you have to feel sorry for them
When I was in Year 10, as it wasn't called then, I shared a room with a weapon-grade cunt. Not much physical stuff, as he had hypersensitive nads, and a quick tap would put him on the floor. Then you could whale away at his face to your heart's content.

Vicious tongue though, and a real inventive streak for reducing the weak to jelly. Also given to sneaking up at 2 am and cutting lines with a razor blade (told you it was a long time ago) on people's faces: you have to lie still or you'll lose an eye.

Anyway, he wasn't a real problem for me. After the razor incident a couple of prefects gave him a real kicking.

Then I found out why he was like that. Every term we got a report, and it was sent out BEFORE the boarders were collected. This bloke's Dad turns up last day of term. Big hard looking farmer type, with a face like a knuckle sandwich.

Weasel (for such was not his name) had a look of fear I've never seen before. He started crying before his Dad reached him. His Dad dragged him into the car by his ear and threw him in like a sack of spuds. They drove off, and it was quite obvious that Dad was driving with one hand and punching with the other.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Mon 18 May 2009, 11:18, Reply)