Cunt-Eye: Cathartic mirth and woe
In which your author completely fails to show any sort of understanding or empathy toward a fellow human, at all; but instead swears a lot more than usual
Cunt-Eye stalked in me schooldays.
Cunt-Eye was a ginger freckled waste-of-space who got the nickname because his squint made him look like he had a pair of twats on his face. And because, by joyous coincidence, he was a complete cunt. He had the most dreadful homosexual crushes on virtually everybody he knew, including our entire class, schoolyard and teachers. And once he got his hooks into you, he made your life hell by hanging round outside your house until you threw things at him.
He kept turning up at our door, following me home and, once he’d learned to read the phone book, ringing up at all hours. He also did this to at least twenty-nine other people that I know of, and frankly, we suspected that he might just be a little bit touched in the head. A cry for help, perhaps. The cry being "I'm a complete git, and I want to touch your bottom. Help!"
I have vivid memories of chasing him down the street in my carpet slippers, kicking seven bells out of the cunt-eyed spacker’s rapidly retreating arse after he was caught trying to stick his cock through our letter box. Or something. I can’t say I was paying too much attention to precise details at that point.
Life as a Cunt-Eye victim was hell. However, salvation came from an unlikely source. Once he started making grubby phone calls to my mum, she went round his house and told his dad what she thought of his son in no uncertain terms. It turned out that Mr Eye was already of the enlightened opinion that his son, may, in fact, be a bit of a cunt. Result: he turned up to school the next day with one of his cunt eyes black and closed. Hardly one to condone domestic violence, but that was a bit of a result.
Once he started leaving graffiti outlining his varied and fetid sexual fantasies on the wall of the youth club (some of which is still there), we took appropriate action, and had him electrocuted. 240 volts of Her Majesty’s finest science lab electricity straight up the right arm until his ginger hair crackled and sparks jumped out of his pods. I can’t remember if this was before or after he tried to hang himself from a tree in the school orchard with a length of elastic, but then, sensitivity was never my strong point.
A tragic figure, he tried to top himself by jumping off the school footbridge onto the busy Bath Road below but was “scared of heights”. An attempt at death by alcohol poisoning was thwarted because “I didn’t want to get a headache”. On the day his parents were having the stair carpet replaced, he saw a nail sticking out of the floorboards in the hallway and seized his chance, throwing himself head-first down the stairs, hoping to impale himself on a rogue carpet tack.
Frankly, this is not the sort of thing once announces in front of an audience of your peers, but he did, and completely failed to attract a sympathy shag. He was, however, carted off to another school, where the cycle started all over again.
I thought we’d seen the last of the squirt until a post appeared on a Friends Reunited message board recently “forgiving us all” for our behaviour toward him in his formative years as a cunt-eyed git. He’d also left similar messages for all the other schools he’d been to, plus “Akela” from a scout group and a dinner lady who almost certainly have restraining orders in place.
Forgive us? US? Excuse me for the lack of kindness and understanding for someone who clearly needed most urgent help, but you may have missed the point by some considerable distance. Only one of us was bonkers in this particular episode. You cunt-eyed bastard.
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