Year 9s with blood on their hands and that hymn where you sing whatever you want to sing.

"Youuuuu well haf blud ohn yurrrrr haaaaaands!" screamed the crazy Scottish broad to a dance studio filled with 100 8th graders.

Why on earth was a woman with mad hair, a beaded hippie bag and a Scottish accent so strong that I was concerned it might be contagious telling a bunch of 13 year olds that their actions were dangerous enough to kill somebody and put blood on their (in some cases pre-) pubescent hands? Had they been peddling drugs to one another? Had they been holding Fight Club meetings during recess? Had they been playing Frogger with the traffic on the nearby high street?

No. They'd been doing Jesus arms on the stairs.

Let's rewind a bit.

Headmasters: (Not so) Child-friendly Daleks?

If there is a creature stranger than a headmaster, I'd sure like to meet it. Maybe it's just the schools I went to, but they always seem to be men obsessed with the concepts of honor, dignity and achievement. And I understand that as a head of a school that maybe abstract nouns are exactly the sort of thing you should be obsessed with, but the problem is that headmasters always like to use themselves as an example...a fact which teenagers inevitably exploit the shit out of.


Today I'm not even going to get into my elementary school headmasters in any detail. I simply don't have time to analyze the ex-military man who paddled children or the stiff man who sounded so much like those newfangled talking handheld dictionary computers of the early 90's that we used to type in words, press "SAY" and scare our teacher into thinking he had stealthily popped in for an inspection. No, I won't talk about these two men, although I'd briefly like to ask what the hell the Board of Trustees was thinking when they decided to hire someone who is about as expressive as a dalek that daleks find boring to run a school for children 11 and under.