A Life Less Scary
"The interesting and varied life of Scary Duck, Genius, French Cabaret Chantoose and small bets placed."
There was a wanking club at our school. God knows how I found out about this, but I am pleased to say that I was never a member. And I can swear to that on my dog's own life*. Others who were members told of illicit meetings in the school darkroom (where anyone in the staff room next door could hear every word that was spoken), where pornography was shared and vaguely homo-erotic fapping took place. The manky bunch of tossers.
One of the fully paid up members was a young man we shall call Greebo.
He was a first class wanker by any standard, but he was also desperate to make friends in a school hardened to his pathetic whinging, and he did this by wanking off in the company of others while the head of economics pressed an empty glass to the wall.
So: wankers, dark room, wanking. Not hard to imagine, and the kind of after-school club that no-one dare admit membership.
Imagine also a pained scream, the door flung open in panic, and the head of economics dashing Greebo to the Royal Berkshire Hospital in the back of his car, wrapped in a blanket.
Greebo, in his frenzy not to come last in the soggy biscuit game, had yanked too hard on his old man and split his foreskin.
Still, anything to get off school for a week or so can't be bad.
The Wanking Club rumbled, they all swore a solemn oath never to tell of the great misfortune that had befallen Greebo, for fear that their own Wanking Club membership should be exposed, to the great ridicule of their peers. After all, nobody else has a quick one off the wrist, do they? Well nobody except the fat kid in the "special" class who would - and often did - knock one out whenever he had the urge, which was about ten times a day.
So, Greebo arrived back the following Monday, rested and bandaged, with a sicknote that went straight to the headmaster's office, and he was excused games until he could walk without looking like John Wayne.
And nobody spoke of Greebo's misfortune, ever, for a vow had been made. Except to call him Rumplesplitskin. Every day. Forever.
* I was blackballed.
Let's call her Tracey, for that, in truth, was her name. She had the second biggest norks in the school, and watching her take part in Sports Day was a joy to behold for myself and my fellow teen perverts.
We all sat in the science lab, a bunch of fifteen year olds, talking loudly, waiting for the start of the lesson. Enter teacher - "Donkey" Delaney - a man so thin his neck looked like a piece of string with a knot for the Adam's Apple. The class fell silent, all except for Tracey, who was in full flow.
"...Actually, I prefer a banana. It's got just the right curve on it."
After two weeks of taunting, the headteacher banned bananas on the school premises, the humourless bastard.
While this story is based on actual events in the life of Scaryduck, certain identities and venues may have been changed to protect the innocent.