...and now, it comes to the time in the story where I must introduce you to a cast of new characters.

Our lovable, dim-witted friend, Rocket Nose Cuboid Head, takes center stage in this story, supported by Ryan-Brian Addams (it's complicated), our vaguely-associated semi-accomplice who would definitely sell you down the river, and the wondrous legend of Fart Boy. I'm sorry, we were not as mature as we are now. Well. Ok, let's go with that. We are also joined by a fat kid who spent most of his time making strange sounds to himself. I mean, really strange. He was known only as Fatty.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon. The D and I had enjoyed our morning by the idiot box and we were tiring of Kerrang, the metal music channel, so we decided to go to school, mainly because it was double art after lunch, and that basically meant more chilling out, except with other pals. And that was followed by science, where we set fire to things and played with chemicals. So Tuesdays were good for us.

As we sipped the last, cooling dregs of tea from our mugs, and packed our BB guns for school, Denzil's mom came home from her morning shift and offered us more tea. This time, at least, we had to refuse. It was a beautiful spring day and there was an optimism in the air. You know that feeling. We chatted as we walked the two streets to school, merging with the returning crowd for the afternoon sessions. Denzil spotted Ryan-Brian Addams and tried not to get his attention. We kind of liked Rye-Bry, but not that much. Truth is, he wasn't as funny as us, and it brought us down. Our school campus was huge. It took us another fifteen minutes to reach the art block, where we would encounter our so-called teacher, 'The Rhodetron', in his usual spot, piling change into the snack machine and scooping his loot into his hand-knitted sweater, before sliding into the staff room to stuff it all into his face. He'd get the job done with minutes to spare and be up in the art class before the bell rang. Legend league face stuffer.

Denz and I decided we had time for a quick shoot-out in the locker room, and when we spotted Rocket Nose, making his way up the stairs, we double-teamed that punk from below and managed to cause a Pepsi spill on the stairwell. We heard a few obscenities as we holstered up, then hung around for a couple of minutes, so as to arrive a bit later, with our ignorance intact. When we got to the class, we were chatting about a band and had to ask 'who whizzed themselves on the stairs?', to maintain our innocence in the affair. Rocket Nose Cuboid Head was onto us, but he had no proof and he knew we knew it.

Just as we took our seats, The Rhodetron waddled in, with the bell ringing half a second later. Boss. "Good afternoon, class", he bellowed, fully expecting to be ignored. He wasn't disappointed. The radio was on and we were deep into our work, already. Chin Boy was drawing Rocket Nose's Rocket Nose, Rye-Bry was stuffing Monster Munch, as usual, and Rocket Nose was apparently talking to himself. This was also fairly standard. I watched as The Rhodetron tried in vain to gain the attention of the class, making a bet with Denzil that he'd be back out for more snacks in the next thirty seconds. Denzil had two minutes. I killed it. After a second failed attempt at a good afternoon, which was supposed to be followed by a class register and assignment setting, The Rhodetron just rolled his eyes and waddled back out into the corridor. We watched as he descended out of view and then the chaos began.

By half-way through the class, Fatty had perfected his latest quack sound, and, with growing confidence, came growing volume. Chin Boy was on the phone, ordering another phone, while Rocket Nose Cuboid Head was imitating his favorite wrestler (I told you he was a dim-wit). "How dare you! Now I must show you... The People's Elbow!", it went on. To the sound of the quacking to my left and the wrestling drivel to the right, I attempted to engage Rachel, the long-suffering, only girl in the class, on the subject of moving her big head out of the way, so I could see the "still life shit" we assumed we were supposed to draw. We all liked Rachel, because she tolerated us without complaint, but we knew that she thought we were all idiots (and that she was right). Without looking up, she just moved to the side, asking "is that enough?" of whomever it was that told her to move. "Yeah. Thanks." I began sketching.

Not long after my sketch was underway, a terrible smell permeated the local region. That was usually how we knew Fart Boy had arrived. It wasn't that he actually carried a bag of gas around, releasing it upon entering a room. He just smelled like rotting Broccoli as a standard baseline kind of fragrance. It was pretty disgusting. Three or four of us turned simultaneously, exclaiming similar things about the lad. I remember someone saying he smelled like a dead tumor, which disgusted and impressed me in equal measure. It was art class, and that was creative. What more could you ask for?

As the class drew to a close, Shola Ama came on the radio, again, and we all stopped to listen to the voice we were all going to marry. For a few minutes, there was only Shola and the odd quack from the corner, with Rocket Nose whispering to himself about the elbow and what not and Rye-Bry shushing him urgently. It was a moment I've held close to my heart for many years. A class of idiots becoming one to appreciate another form of art. I remember telling myself to remember that moment, because it was, in some odd way, kind of special. It was my ridiculous pals all in the same place.

After art class, we dismissed ourselves, figuring The Rhodetron to be asleep in the staff room, covered in biscuit crumbs and chocolate smears. The science room was in the same block, and it was the same group of disinterested jokers, so we all went down together, as one clump of foolishness, to learn nothing at all about science. As we lined up at the door, we knew we had to change our attitude a little. Tighten our lips. Lund-Ra was less to be trifled with, and she looked like she wouldn't be opposed to whipping you with a ... with a whip.

She came down the corridor behind us. "Stand up straight!", she yelled. We all assumed it was personal and stood stiff for a fraction of a second, before flopping back into our natural slouches. She opened the door to the science room, and a gust of cold air came flowing out and we all shivered in unison. We assumed it was from being occupied by Lund-Ra for several hours a day. The woman had the warmth of a children's home matron and the patience of a drill sergeant. Needless to say ,we weren't huge fans. But she did let us blow things up, if in a contained way, and that was worth something.

We took our seats and Rye-Bry began fiddling with the gas taps, almost immediately. Lund-Ra opened the blinds to upset us, but Rocket Nose's Cuboid Head blocked the light perfectly, providing cover to the cheekiest lads in the room. The D and I sat at the back, in the corner, where it was hard to see our dimly-lit faces, as we engaged in various forms of mischief and backchat. I'd brought my portable CD player and we were listening to Snoop on those stupid, tiny ear bud things. The problem was, we got so engrossed in our little world, that we didn't see Lund-Ra sneaking up on us. She confiscated the CD player, without even letting us get to the end of the song. We had to beatbox the rest, just so we could get closure.

As Fart Boy got up for a piddle break, we held our breath and waited for him to clear the area. Rye-Bry couldn't help himself. "Aaaaahhh! Who's cooking Broccoli?" Classic. Someone had to. Fart Boy didn't seem impressed with the comment, and I had secretly hoped it might be enough to encourage him to have a little wash, but when he returned, so did lunch. Even Lund-Ra was visibly put out by his fragrance. I caught her eye and she shot me the 'tell me about it' look, which I appreciated, since we were mortal foes, the rest of the time. It's amazing, the things that unite us.

During science, we played with some oscilloscopes, making basic electromagnets out of nails, and then spent a bit too long coming up with stupid ways we could use this new knowledge. Lund-Ra attempted to explain some more useful ways to apply it, but we weren't interested in that shit, and it went out of the other ear, shortly afterwards.

As we wrapped up, an excellent moment occurred, wherein, Denzil suddenly sat bolt upright, looking as though he'd just realized something amazing. And then, at the exact same instant, he said "I haven't heard Fatty in a while", and Fatty let out the loudest and highest quality quack to date. It was the first time I'd seen Lund-Ra laugh.

As everyone else piled out of the class, I went to Lund-Ra's table and asked, very politely, after giving her an hour of cheek, if I could have my CD player back. She said no. This was outrageous. This was theft. I had witnesses. The D came straight over. "You can't just keep it. That's his brother's CD, for on thing." It wasn't, but I liked the angle. "Yeah", I offered, feebly. "I am gonna need that Doggystyle CD back, and the player, obviously." She relented, but it was a close call. We wouldn't have had much to go on, had she stood firm. You see why we weren't pals, now. With that drama done, we blew off the last period and headed back to D's for a much-needed metal injection. This time, joined by Chin Boy and Rocket Nose. We spent an hour on his extensive couch, and then the non-regulars left, giving The D and I our much needed man cave time.

When I finally left, an hour or more later, the town was a sobering canvas, free from all the laughs and silliness, instilled with a cold, hard core that made me really miss the hours I'd just enjoyed. I had a long way to go, and most of it would bore me to death. Only when I got back to my own neighborhood, where I bumped into a handful of lower-tier pals, did it start to get fun again. At least for twenty minutes. I left them to their beginner style mischief and headed up the steep hill to drop my bag on the table and stash my gat, so Burtmom wouldn't find it. Sooner or later, Burtbro would be home, and a whole new chapter of cheek would begin. I made a sandwich and prepared.