Jordan McBitchtits
I was a right hippie at school. Long flowing hair, bushy sideboards and a goatee (okay bushy may be pushing it a bit. I suppose bumfluff would be a better descriptor, after all I was but a bairn).

This endeared me to the small clique of rockers and weirdos, who were to become my close friends, and provided me a small measure of success with the ladies.

It did however have the effect of making me a prime target for the radge packet charvers and thugs whose ranks provided a fair percentage of my school's pantheon of pupils.

Now one of these genetic misfires was Jordan McBitchtits* a lumbering tower of inarticulation and aggression housed within a mountain of beef a Wagyu bull would have been proud to possess.

*Name changed to protect me in the, admittedly, unlikely event she's since learnt to read and use a computer.

She was naturally the de facto leader of the group of bad girls in our year. You know the sort. The ones that made a concious decision to never show any sign of intelligence. The ones with the harsh chemically treated hair and vacuous stares. The ones that traded their infinite potential for a blokey yobbishness and threw their scarily fertile bodies at anyone who could get served booze at the Happy Shopper.

Obviously she found my appearance, bookishness and sarcastic wit distasteful but generally left me pretty much alone.

Until, alas, one day while I was lounging around in class, shooting the shit with Foz and paying little attention to the banal wafflings of our teacher, a shadow crept over me plunging me into an ominous pool of darkness.

I looked up to find Jordan looming threateningly over me. Obviously some broken neuron had flickered into life and I had been promoted from irritant to target in her wildly damage psyche.

No preamble for she, instead she raised a pudgy arm and slowly, oh so slowly, sent it swinging toward me.

"Aha!" I thought "I see she wishes to punch me in the chops" and promptly batted her paw away from my nose to prevent bloodying.

Apparently no-one had ever tried this technique on her before as her eyes widened in shock as if I'd just waggled my willy at her.

"How dare you lay hands upon me you bounder" quoth the psychotic hose beast, "I believe I shall have to take you to task come our repast"

Granted those may not have been her exact words but the gist is there.

In a smooth placatory manner I replied "Fuck off you fat bitch, I didn't hit you I just pushed your hand away"

Bizarrely this seemed to incense her further and she appeared ready to get pugilistic on my face again until the teacher noticed the affray and told her to sit down.

All was well until the lunch bell rang. I, the incident already out of mind, strolled happily out of the gates and began to make my way home.

As I passed the bus stop (bus stops... this shit always happens near bus stops) Jordan and her phalanx of harridans hove into view.

A cacophonous cackling began and, amidst accusations of being a women beater and a puff, I attempted to push my way through the group.

Unfortunately this wasn't to be and Jordan unceremoniously grabbed my flowing locks and swung me round in a wide circle while blows began raining upon me from the half dozen hell bitches surrounding me.

This presented a Catch-22 situation in my mind. I was here receiving a hiding for supposedly laying fists to a women and my only two options were to A: punch their stupid faces in, therefore incurring more wrath or B: give up and hit the ground and adopt the fetal postion.

I couldn't choose between the two with the distraction of fists and feet striking me so I just kept my feet under me as I was whirled around and beaten.

This continued for what must have been no longer than 30 seconds but felt like an hour before I managed to extricate myself and strode purposefully away to my mother with blood, snot and tears adorning my battered face.

And the worst part is now I have to pay hundreds of pounds to receive the same treatment.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:04, 6 replies)

!!!
Hooray!
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:11, closed)

Great band
Blood, Snot & Tears
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Wed 13 May 2009, 15:19, closed)

I fucking LOVE...

the way you write.

I'm going to buy extra houses and PCs...set them up on t'interwebz, then arrange a legion of additional accounts...just so I can click this more.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Wed 13 May 2009, 15:55, closed)

Superbly written

You are a star in the making, sir.

*clicks 'til it hurts*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 14 May 2009, 8:43, closed)

^ what twisty cheeky said
I shall click even though I'm secretly jealous...
oh, and not enough people use 'quoth'!
(berk, Thu 14 May 2009, 10:44, closed)

Cheers guys
I've got a couple more stories to tell this week, I just hope I get enough time to type 'em up.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Thu 14 May 2009, 14:10, closed)