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Monday 3rd March, 2003 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
this town knows of no deeper need
Angels and saints preserve themselves
The one thing left to do is get the hell out of here while we can
Reach for the stars
Make it happen

Saturday was mostly hateful. Following on from the bloodied knees dating from McD tripping me up every time I got past him on Thursday, as well as Sophie mocking me, I had a horrid hockey match. And then, after losing pathetically and ripping open my legs again, I had to wait around to play in yet another match. During that match, I got dreadful cramps and was affected by excruciating agony.

After wasting my entire day, I dwindled away the evening sitting in my room trying not to fall asleep. Everyone else had gone off to the lovely sixth form ball to drink their two glasses of wine, dance to disco beats and get arrested by the Gestapo for patting girls' bums. I couldn't bear attending, and surprisingly not because of Philly. I just couldn't stand being in a room with so many abhorrent people wasting my life away. I didn't want to get drunk for the sake of it, to make an effort for no pay off. I'd given up a attempting pretence at sociability and had stopped kidding myself. The early optimism had all worn out, and I reconciled myself to four more long terms here. Yet again, I just sought refuge in the internet.

Later that evening, Marnham came back tee double-yoo dee, and caused a speedy reassessment to try and discern whether David's Biggest Lightweight Evar status was being threatened. We all stayed up playing Vorms for far too long and, of course, you want to be told that I easily destroyed everyone no matter which permutation of weaponry Martin opted for. Martin stayed up for a record time before his beauty sleep called, and I went and sought refuge in Theodore's room, where we busied ourselves taunting Charlemagne. His destruction gradually heightened as the night wore on, as did my masochistic side.

Charlemagne had retired to bed, settling down and resigned in preparation for nursing a hangover the next morning. My series of torments started off by poking him with bent coat hangers and then clapping loudly into his ears. When we observed the great effect this had on Charlemagne, Theodore and I proceeded to set off several alarms out of sync with each other and held them up to his ears for as long as our circulatory systems would allow (he's on the top bunk). While Charles squirmed away from the torture and pleaded for clemency, we shined torches in his eyes and ripped off his covers before spraying the most noxious foot spray directly into his mouth. Surprisingly, this only served to aggravate him more, and he quickly ran out to spend several minutes in the toilet. This is when my most ingenious plan was formulated.

While Charlemagne was relieving himself from whichever orifice he had chosen, I carefully crept round the house turning off all the lights which could conceivably reach him. I filled two huge plastic containers with cold water and placed them immediately outside the toilet door. Then, I placed a "caution, slippery surface" sign directly in his line of sight as a distraction, summoned Theodore and together we crouched down in the shadows of the kitchen sink waiting for the poor unsuspecting fool to emerge.

"What the fuck?"

It was the groan of a man too tired to shout out properly and too groggy to immediately realise that he'd flooded the immediate surroundings with a healthy volume of ice-cold water. Theodore and I managed to stifle our giggles for but fifteen seconds before getting up to mock him with full effect. Oh, how funny it was... After that, he made a half-hearted attempt to mop up and I hid Charlemagne's duvet for a while before realising he actually was quite upset and deciding it was about time to let him sleep. Ah, how sweet revenge can be.

Sweet dreams Charlemagne...

    mood: complaisant
    choon: Miss Black America - Leopardprint Lives