School daze

Yet again, the blokiest blokes who ever bloked across a stage remind us why they have the greatest jobs in the world:


That poor Samuel ChuffFart chap must have the worst life. The only time that I have come across a name more ridiculous than that one dates back to my days in middle school back in Oz.

Now, before I proceed with this little anecdote- which I've told before briefly, a few years back- I need you to understand that we're talking about Australians here.

Put simply, Aussies have a particularly sadistic sense of humour when it comes to funny names, American accents, and general all-round lad culture. They are (or rather, were) absolutely merciless in their mockery of stupid people, foreigners- especially "wogs" and "abos"- and used to have very little tolerance of effeminate swishing faggotry.

Things have changed, in my opinion very much for the worse, with the imposition of SJW-led PC culture over the last fifteen years. But there was a time when men were men, boys could be boys, and good old-fashioned ribaldry was commonplace. 

With that in mind, let me tell you a story about Richard Head.

Hand to God, I am not making this name up.

I was at an after-school PE class and the teacher in charge was a venerable old chap in his mid-fifties- positively ancient by the standards of us overeager young sixteen-year-old idiots with a surplus of testosterone and a chronic shortage of good sense. We were shooting the bull after the class, as boys are apt to do, and we started talking about the silliest names that we have ever come across- and the more scatological, the better, of course.

We'd come up with a few real doozies that we all thought were hysterical. But then old Mr. Dogherty chimed in from across the room and told us about the time that he walked into a PE class and asked everyone present for their names.

At one point, up shot a hand and said, "Dick Head, sir".

It does not take much imagination to visualise the hysterics into which the class descended upon hearing that one.

Mr. Dogherty was understandably a little alarmed at this and asked the boy to repeat his name, and watch the profanity, unless said lad wanted to be hauled up to the House Master.

(In case you are wondering about all the archaisms, this was a grammar school. Veddy British, don't you know, eh, what?)

The young lad flushed bright pink and said, "yes, sir, my name is Dick Head."

That went about as one might expect, really, given that this was stated in front of a class full of 15-year-old boys.

Once Mr. Dogherty managed to reassert control over the class- with, it must be noted, some difficulty- he went and looked up this boy's actual name in the school registry.

It was, in fact, "Richard Head".

If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'.

Which brings to mind the question: just how much would one's parents have to hate their son to name him "Richard" when their surname is "Head", and print that shit on his BIRTH CERTIFICATE for posterity?!? Like, how much dope was the dad smoking, and why on Earth didn't his mother hit him over the head with a folding chair, repeatedly, for being a colossal cock?

One might as well name one's son "Shitferbrains" or "Accursed". Hell, even "Leper" would probably be just slightly less horrid as a name for a boy than "Richard Head".

Oh, and speaking of beating people over their heads with chairs- the boys have exactly that in mind as the solution for ecomentalists hijacking the name of the greatest speed record holder who ever lived:



I tell you what, not only would I never get tired of hitting a greenie like that over the head with a chair, I'd go out and buy a full stock of folding chairs and keep them handy for just such an occasion.

Note, I am not saying that we should all go out and hit ecomentalists in the head with folding chairs, obviously. Children, if you are reading this, then that is a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad idea.

It's a bit like, as those TOP GEAR wazzocks once suggested, unplugging your neighbour's electric car while it is charging in his garage in the evening so that, when he wakes up in the morning and goes to drive it, the Range reading says: "2".

Likewise, I'm not saying you SHOULD do this, obviously.

It would just be hysterically funny if you did do it.

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