First day at school, David, new kid, sits up the back of the classroom.
Ten minutes in, he slips his hand under his armpit, makes a farting noise, rest of the class laugh, giggle, titter and guffaw, and David – Dave, Davo – thinks, “I’m in. A-hur. A-hur.”
Next day, he slips his hand under his armpit once more, makes a fart noise, the class laugh, giggle, titter and guffaw same as yesterday, and some of them think, “What a character is Davo. What a card”.
He does it again the next day, and the next, and the one after that, same trick, same sound, again the next day, and every day the week after, and the week after that, and the week after that, the month after, every day, and the month after that, and the one after that, every single day, same trick, same sound, only the other kids aren’t really laughing much anymore, not much anyway, so he goes louder, then louder still, every single day, every week, every month, but the attention he craves, it’s not there anymore, he’s not pulling the giggles like he used to is David, Dave, Davo, so he tries some new tricks, he teases the kid with Down’s Syndrome, calls him a “retard”, makes him cry, he calls the black kid a nigger and tells him to fuck off back to the gorillas, he pulls the hair of a girl, hard, kicks the back of her chair in class every day, he calls the two kids who always hang out together faggots, and makes wanking gestures, and he only ever does this, all of it, when he can be seen and heard doing it, and he laughs when he’s done and he expects others to laugh too, but they don’t ‘cause that joke ain’t funny anymore and he’s still pulling the fart prank, everybody else is trying to study, to get on with their business and, frankly, everyone has come to think David, Dave, Davo, Dave The Dickhead, is a right cunt, every time he shows his face, a face which, in time, will come to resemble a condom full of foreskins, all they feel like doing is throwing rocks at it, and telling him to fuck right off.
Which they do.
He don’t pay that no attention, not he, no.
Time goes by, school ends. Some students keep in touch with each other, some of them for years, but no one wants a bar of Dave The Dickhead anymore, not in the adult world, no, not in a world of grown-ups, ‘cause calling people “retards” and “niggers” and “faggots” and pulling the hair of girls, that’s kids stuff, that’s for kids, mutts and punks, Dave The Dickhead can fuck right off, and no one accepts his friend requests on Facebook, and if there’s a reunion of sorts, nobody thinks to invite Dave The Dickhead, no, fuck that, he turns up, I ain’t going, we’ll catch up over a few beers down the pub instead next weekend.
You’re having a beer with an old school mate, talking about work and life, whatever comes to mind, and he says, “Did you hear about David? Dave? Davo?”
“Dave The Dickhead?”
“Yeah. That cunt.”
“You know he only passed the HSC ‘cause he cheated?”
“Yeah. We all knew that. Anyway … ”
“Had a massive fucking heart attack.”
“Yeah, he’d been dead a week. They found him slumped over a desk in his flat, pants ‘round his ankles, his cock out. Or what was left of it. ‘parrently, he’d been looking at a website, “Barely Legal Teen L*sbian P*rn” and pulled himself into a stroke … So to speak.”
“He had two cats?”
“They ate his dick.”
Beer spits out your mouths, out your noses, and you both laugh and giggle, titter and guffaw, and then you laugh and giggle and titter some more, and one says, “What a cunt”, and the other says, “No great loss”, and you both laugh and giggle and giggle and laugh, and the night draws to a close, you say your goodbyes and make plans for another, but neither of you, nor anyone else for that matter, will ever, at any time further in life, so much as think a thought, or utter a single word about the life and death of Dave The Dickhead, the Farting Armpit from Ye Olde Schooldays, ever again.
You may very well think this is a post about Senator David Leyonhjelm in response to his remarks about yesterday’s multiple homicides in Melbourne, but I could not possibly comment.