It's always the quiet ones...
Generally my schooling was fairly dull, but one event stands out in my mind. As with most small town secondary schools, it had its fair share of 'wellard' teenage boys who thought the answer to lifes problems was to hit them in the face for looking at them funny. Most of them had ambitions of being in the Navy so they would "get to go and kill people". A finer credit to the nation you would never find.

One of these, who we shall call Sam, was a particular fuck-pouch whose exploits included smoking grass (of the turf variety) on the summer camp and instigating verbal hate campaigns against various other pupils - especially a shy, rather dim, rather unattractive Irish lad called Lee.

Cut forward four years into this tirade of non-stop abuse, and we're all sitting in a German lesson, waiting for the teacher to arrive, looking up rude words in another language or simply staring out the windows when out of nowhere, Lee errupted in a flurry of seething, bitter fury, launching himself across the desks towards the menacing half-wit Sam.

By the time the teacher arrived, Sam was running around the room shouting "NO LEE! NO! PLEASE STOP! I'M SORRY!!!" as huge clubbed fist after huge clubbed fist rained vengeance upon his thick skull. Not once person thought to stop this, enjoying the camp squealing and abject terror far too much to interfere.

Nice one Lee.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 29 Jan 2009, 14:05, Reply)