People-Whom-I-Am-Completely-Indifferent-Towards Reunited

Friends Reunited, what a demonstrably pointless exercise. Incredibly, I have managed to stay in contact with those whom I liked from school through my own initiative. It's a form of social Darwinism. As for the others, if I've fallen out of contact with them, it must simply translate that they are not particularly good friends or more accurately I actively despise them. That seems a touch severe you might say but let me just provide three examples of the type individuals (who in all honesty should not have been in mainstream education) who inhabited my school: (1) The Phantom Shitter - that's right folks, there was a pupil who would somehow escape from class every lesson and defecate all over the toilet - I say all over the toilet but do of course mean anywhere but the toilet - the floor, sink, walls etc. The said individual was never named and shamed but is rumoured to be holding an exhibition in the Tate Modern (2) Sydney - Sydney was an odd fella who would always be pulling something out of his skin. At the age of 15 he found himself a lover. A fine old filly indeed. He would detail to me their sexual exploits. On one such occasion noting that they had performed unprotected sex on 33 separate occasions. "Oh" I noted, "once for every year of Christ's life". Each time the semen vestibule would stand up post-coital and they would laugh together as white wee wee trickled down her legs. (3) Penny Crayon - christened such not because of her artistic prowess but because she used to stick pencils up her faff during lessons.

So, stationary hygiene issues aside, I hopped on 'Friends' Reunited in order to investigate the escapades of my former educational comrades. Have any made it onto the sex offenders register? How many have died? Who married a yak? Sadly, nowt exciting had occurred in the lives of these individuals over the past few years, further vindicating my decision not to know them. Nevertheless, I decided to leave the wee scamps the detailed tale of woe and heartbreak that is my life. It read as follows:

“Following expulsion from school, I think you can all remember the incident with the monkey, I ran away from home and lived rough on the streets of Walsall. It's not a bad life but I soon fell in with an unsavoury crowd. To cut a clichéd tale short I joined the game becoming a rent boy (although the champions of Freedom of Expression - Friends Reunited- censored 'rent boy'). As I'm sure you can appreciate it's pretty unpleasant to begin with but you soon shut off emotionally and become quite indifferent to the whole experience. It's just money at the end of the day and you need the money to feed (your habit). It begins with a spot of dope but you soon move on to harder substances and before you know it you're intravenously injecting class A drugs into your little man. I could see I was on a downward trajectory becoming a Dickensian sex slave with a taste for opium.

“It was soon after this self acknowledgment that one of my 'clients', Cyrille, revealed that he was a ring master in the travelling Mongolian State Circus. He informed me that their bearded woman had just died of bowel cancer and that they needed a replacement. I pointed out the rather crucial fact that although I could grow a beard (just) I certainly was not a woman. He said that wasn't a problem; all I had to do was put my little man between my legs - do a 'Demi Moore' in the name of family entertainment. I accepted and the arrangement worked well for over a year. However, during our home -coming show in Ulabaataar my cover came crashing down as a chance thought of Billie Piper led to what is described in the entertainment business as a 'costume malfunction.' The crowd soon noticed the rogue member and turned ugly (the Mongolians are generous people but traditionally intolerant of fraudulent bearded ladies). I was arrested and spent the next two years eating Mongolian porridge.

“Prison is not a pleasant place, especially at shower time. I think I would have done something stupid it is wasn't for my cellmate Vladimir. He kept me sane. Vladimir was doing time for mass-genocide during the Stalinist purges of the mid 1900s but he had a right good sense of humour. We became romantically involved. He looked after me and I looked after his needs. When I was released it was a very emotional experience. Vladamir wasn't up for parole for another 400years but I said I'd wait for him. I was heartbroken and embarked on a spiritual hike throughout Siberia. It was in the arctic conditions of northern Siberia that my fortunes began to change. Food was scarce and I had fallen below 8 stone. Whilst digging for a Siberian Badger to eat I thought I had hit their set when oil began shooting up from the ground. I couldn't believe my luck. Knowing full well that I lacked the geological expertise to extract the oil, I contacted one of my former clients from America. Mr Cheney was happy to take the site from me and offered a lucrative deal. With the money I bought a sandwich shop in Swansea where I still reside to this day. I make a mean tuna and sweet corn sarnie I can tell you. I'm content there but I still dream that one day Vladamir will pop in and buy a ploughman's. Hope everyone else is well. Andy”