I think this QOTW will make me angry.
I hated school. Fucking loathed it. Aside from about six people, everyone I knew was an utter cunt.

I do have a few small anecdotes about the weird, strange and special world of public school, though.

- There was the time the music teacher (who pretty much ran the school; even the headmaster was her lapdog and it meant every bit of funding we got was channelled directly into the music department when every other area desperately needed funding: I hold her responsible for the school dropping Latin A-level, the spiteful menopausal bitch*) decided that the best way to keep 50 hormonal fifteen-year-olds out of trouble and stop them all either having sex in the practice rooms or cunting each other in the fuck was to form a compulsory gospel choir.

You won't be surprised to learn that Stalker Boy was involved with the organisation of this, mainly because at the time he was obsessed with the Sister Act films (and probably still is), but also because he was "gifted" at music and Mrs Bitch loved him. I was less than happy to be made to sing publicly and I was even less happy that I, the most miserable and would-be goth if I didn't think my parents would have crucified me, which defeated the object somewhat - member of the year, would have to do happy-clappy singing about Jebus with a straight face.

The only thing that made it worth the effort was the early manifestation of Stalker Boy's cross-dressing fetish (something I'm told he fully embraced at uni), when, after it had been arranged that we would butcher Oh Happy Day at the Summer Concert (an excuse to trot out the same old songs and for Mrs Bitch to receive another enormous bouquet), Stalker Boy decided that, to finish off the effect, he would dress up. The rest of us would be in our tacky George at Asda choir uniform, and he would be ... in something else.

On the night, we get to the last chorus of Oh Happy Day, and Stalker Boy enters, stage left. In a dreadlock wig from the joke shop that reaches down to his saggy chest, a long spangly frock thing and I do believe he may also have blacked up. Clutching a tambourine, he approaches the front of the stage and says: "One more time! Hit it!"

Of course, he did get the piss ripped out mercilessly afterwards.

This was the same year that his best enemy Tris had decided he had the loveliest singing voice in the world and, while the fact he was a flaming gayer wasn't yet public knowledge, he may have let it slip in his choice of first public recital song.

Hero. By Mariah Carey. In baritone. He also had the strange habit of holding onto his cuffs for dear life when he sang, giving the strange appearance of a man doing an aeroplane impression wailing "Loooooooord knooooooooooooooooooows, dreams are haaaaaaaaaaAAAaaaaard to foolloooooooow, don't let anyone teeeeeeeaaaaaaar them awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay..." at the top of his voice over a tuneless piano accompaniment.

* Stalker Boy was the one following me around and yet I got called The Attachment. Cow.

- Then there was the time in GCSE maths, when our usually absent teacher (who looked exactly like Austin Powers, though before the films were released he was known as Carlos the Jackal) was present and explaining the complex theory behind the quadratic formula or something. We didn't like him, because he was one of the few teachers you couldn't distract with a certain subject. And he had told me if I got below a C in GCSE maths I would have to retake it, when a C was seemingly impossible. I was crap at maths and still am (I put customers on hold to calculate their refund totals).

Anyway. Picture the scene: Austin Powers is writing on the board, droning away about x and y and all those other things I didn't understand then and don't care about now, and the chavvy girls around me are writing notes to their mates, texting the ones who aren't in that class, flicking ink at the boys, daydreaming, all except one.

Becky, the new girl, is sitting in total silence, carving at her wrist with the rather blunt point of her compasses.

This wasn't the shocking part; the shocking part was how the other girls in the year (who had already decided she was not to be trusted after she flirted with someone else's boyfriend) reacted. Jennie, the elder daughter of a reasonably famous cricket commentator, bursts into hysterics and stands up: "EEER MY GOD SIR! Have you even SEEN what she's doing, it's disgusting and what are we going to do?" This reaction spread like a Burberry Mexican wave, and before Austin Powers could react, there were ten or so crying and bleating teenagers, illegal mascara pouring down to join the illegal foundation on their cheeks.

Austin Powers simply says: "Well, she's disrupting the lesson, so can someone please take her to the sick room?"

- A few years earlier, and again in a maths class, he had reacted utterly explosively to another compass-related incident, this time involving my mate Pete and a can of Mountain Dew. Bored in Austin Powers' class, as we all were (though as Pete is a mathematical genius, he was extra bored) he is poking around in where his inkwell used to be with the end of his new super-accurate compasses.

A fountain of Dew erupts from the desk and liberally coats the ceiling in toxic yellow slime. Austin Powers explodes in a very un-Christian way, and proceeds to try and de-yellow the ceiling with a paper towel on the end of a music stand.

- In the same year, Stalker Boy and Pete - well, mainly Pete - concocted a glorious scheme to deprive the insane, herb-obsessed Home Economics teacher, who cooked with mouldy onions and who hated Pete with a passion, of electricity. They did this by removing every fuse from the school fuse box one evening after school, and were only exposed by History Teacher and his secret lover the English teacher when they were sneaking out after school (after possible classroom sexytiem, I'm sure), which kind of shot them in the foot. A week's suspension for Pete (the head knew Stalker Boy was too thick to do anything on his own) and he and Stalker Boy never spoke to one another again.

- The time Luke, the utter cunt who made my life a misery from Year 7 to sixth form, somehow nearly won the 100m on another horribly cold and rainy Sports Day. I say nearly, because he turned around five yards before the finish lane to wave and mouth "I'm brilliant!!" because he genuinely thought he was. Splat. Enormous graze on his arm, last place. I was the only one who laughed my arse off and got called a heartless bitch.

- Balancing the wastepaper basket on the door closer and dropping it on History Teacher.

- Locking our pervy and horrible German teacher out of the classroom with our form teacher's key, and of course the infamous shite incident.
( Maladicta, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:33, Reply)