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» The Weird Kid In Class

Problem Child
In a school of inbred weirdos there are too may to list them all. But one in particular Jonathon Plant aka “problem child” due to his (not all that, I realise in retrospect) unusual family background and being a mentalist. Yelping at the moon and chewing carpets were entirely normal for him.

Prob’ as he was more usually known, would stand naked on the headboard of his bed (it being a boarding school) saying there all night in return for a Fruit Salad in the morning. Would – for more or less the same fee – walk up to the biggest and most terrifying bully in the school and shout “you’re a cnut”, before being beaten to a bloody pulp.

He once tried wanking into an old-style milk bottle having greased the inside of the neck with Vaseline. In his ejaculatory frenzy, he created a vacuum, causing his knob to swell and become even more firmly lodged in the bottle. No amount of cold water or pulling or thinking very hard about ugly people would get it off, so he had no choice but to break the glass…. one of the gutsiest actions I have ever seen.

During adolescence he developed a single zit. Just one. Right in the middle of his right cheek. He claimed to have nurtured it and massaged fatty substances into it so as it wouldn’t pop. When eventually it did, in a French lesson as I recall, it squirted a putrid jet of pale green and foul-smelling liquid clear over the classroom to the squeals of all those caught in the crossfire.

After leaving school he had a clock-face tattooed around his gentleman’s area, so that when he laid supine and naked on an east-west axis, and thought very hard about ladies, he could tell the time from the shadow cast with astonishing accuracy.

Last I heard he was living with three model-stylee beautiful Latino women in a menage a quatre – which probably goes to show that having an impressive cock/sundial makes up for much maddity.
(Tue 23rd Jan 2007, 14:28, More)

» School Days

Alwyn Gillen the thick bastard games teacher and fascist bully and utter CUNT
fucking hated me, mainly for not being a mud-swallowing jockstrap games obsessed twunt.... which I wasn't for a fairly good reason.

Despite my fully diagnosed and relatively rare chidlhood heart condition, which meant that I was not supposed to do ANY games (which when you are a kid in a school full of hearty Rugby types is NOT a good start) Gillen used to make me run round the field "instead" of doing sport.

He persisted in this thuggish activity until my Cardiologist made a 100 mile round trip to help him understand that when (not if) I suffered a heart attack he would personally make sure that Gillen was done for manslaughter. NAturally he redoubled his efforts to humilliate me in every posssible way, and on every possible occasion.

I realise now that Gillen must have been completely out-of-control because how/why could he have been allowed to make a kid do that shit, when there was a clear medical imperative.... well known to all, including the Head Teacher.... but, hey this was the 70s.


The funniest thing that happened was after I left... and I mean properly left... twenty years later I met the fucker.

By this time I was not a scrawny close-to-death pale, heart-diseased and flaccid BastardBoy.... but an over-compensating-for-childhood-weaklingness, ripped to within an inch of improbability fit fella, three and a half-feet taller, and happy to take revenge Mo'Fo.

I saw him on the street.

In London.

Six in the twilit winter evening.

Deffo him. There couldn't be two.

"Gillen", I called, to be sure. His turn-round "who said my name" look fixed it.

I had never before - and have never since - set out physically to hurt a fellow human being, it just ain't my thang.

But, I hit him. Just once: full square in the face, and as hard as I possibly could, just as hard as I could manage. His nose had obviously been broken several times before, but as is bletched blood I laughed with pure joy... proper laughed, released decades of pent-up inadequacy and hatred... real catharsis.

Enjoyment of revenge, it is the best thing to come out of school.
(Fri 30th Jan 2009, 16:51, More)

» Spoooky Coincidence

Old and true
My newly married Grandad was conscripted into the army in 1940, and at his training unit in Kent was given the pleasant job of digging the latrines. During the dig he managed to lose his wedding ring. Cursing slightly, he fought all over the world, returning in 1946 to be demobbed from the same garrison in Kent. First job was digging more bogs… and his first shovel full of dirt turned up his wedding ring. True.
(Mon 12th Feb 2007, 9:22, More)

» Food sabotage

Food fun and exploding birds
Coasty parts are blighted with foul stinky seagulls - rats with wings, and much more disgusting and aggressive than the pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

Greed is their thang.

Early adolescent sabbotage attempts included feeding the feathery bastards small mustard sandwiches, then watching them cough and flap about trying to put out the fire.... but later we discovered Steradent tablets. These are the fizzy-when-wet things oldsters use to steralise their false teeth, and can easily be stolen from your grandparents' bedside table.

All you do is put a couple in a bread envelope, and wait for a likely seagull... the unsuspecting victim will eat it's booty whole, in one gulp.

Then you wait.

Typically the gull will puff up like a balloon and fall over comically skwawking and looking like a feathery beach ball... but one did actually explode, blowing a small hole in its crop.

I have yet to combine the mustard (tabasco praps) with Steradent tabs for the ultimate burning-mouth-before-exploding experience.

Seagulls. Bastards. Who needs 'em?
(Wed 24th Sep 2008, 9:28, More)

» My Collection

er, slightly disappointing really.
I collect fours.

So far I have three.
(Tue 16th Jan 2007, 14:36, More)
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