Simply wow, how can anything that I writing in this bit be anywhere as good as the image that the heading above heas already conjured up in your depraved little minds eh? Well listen up you churlish little scrotes, this is a true story that befell a young Bouncybhall when he decided to go all ‘anti-establishment’ and face off against the Humanities department of his secondary school. If I could compare it to anything I guess the most logical would be the Danish cartoons of Mohammed. Only with less over-reactive assault. And less burning.
The tale begins, as so many do, with a young angry teenager struggling to stem the tide of hormonal change that was surging through his nether-regions. Sitting through hours after hour of ‘important’ study while my body was craving things of a more depraved nature. I had a reputation as a bit of a dangerous minority following an incident at a primary school where I was forced to hand over my Uhu liquid glue pen after a fellow little oik made a rather decorative glue web at near the reading corner. I was blamed, felt that an injustice had occurred and threw some furniture at some people.
I was not a troublemaker, nor was I a violent teenager, but sometimes my head would get cloudy and the ‘right’ thing would occur, even if it wasn’t necessarily the right thing. In the case of Little Me vs The Humanities Dept it came down to a specific issue revolving around inaccuracy in the Bible. Many times I had let it pass that the contradictions contained within the world’s religious texts was a problem to my logic driven mind, but when asked to illustrate a scene pre-selected from the Bible I saw my chance to make a stand, for all of the teens made to suffer the indignity of having no choice but to learn fiction as fact. There was no option for interpretation you see, no chance to express your own understanding of the ancient texts.. but now I had the chance.
We, and by that I mean the class, not ‘we’ as in I am a schizophrenic – were asked to illustrate the scenes which took place after Jesus’ crucifixion, specifically this:
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.) Then the disciples went back to their homes, but Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot. They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. “Woman,” he said, “why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!”
Now at this point I don’t know why, I did what I did next, and still don’t.
I proceeded to concur that logically if Jesus had arisen, and his burial shrouds were folded where he had been laid, then the ‘gardener’ she saw may very well have been naked. Now this sort of thing was not unusual at the time, and my mind figured, if that’s how it was, then that is how we must draw it.
Oddly my mind never thought to conspicuously place an object in front of the holy genitalia -nor did it consider framing the image from the waist up. No my mind was set. I was going to draw a picture of Jesus with his cock out, and that would be revolutionary. I would be hailed as a champion among my peers, and teachers would talk of me in the corridors, quietly so not to be seen to be encouraging such clearly outrageous behaviour.
I spent the rest of the lesson on my drawing, and dropped it in the tray to be marked before heading off to the local leisure centre to run up the slide, stand up on the swings and generally dick about in a laddish way – at least for the time, no doubt if I were a ‘yoof’ today I would have spent my lunchtimes pissing in bus shelters, robbing people and shagging Sharon in the toilets. Sadly my ‘rock and roll’ lifestyle at lunchtimes normally consisted of a trip to the chippy and a dick around at the park.
Nothing was said that afternoon, nor the next day, in fact it was over a week before I noticed a change in my Humanities teacher.
I stood up at this point, as my teacher proceeded to talk down to me while opening a sealed A4 brown paper envelope.
“Cast your mind back to last week. Did you think what you did was funny?”
Now at this point I can honestly say that I had forgotten drawing a picture of Jesus walking through a garden with his cock swinging in the breeze (no I didn’t add motion lines), and genuinely thought that I had done something truly great.
“Fairly proud Miss” I replied, confidently and not without a small amount of smugness on my face, for in my mind I was about to be handed a Silver Merit Award – the equivalent of 100 normal merit cards, and A4 in size.
“You shouldn’t be!” she snapped before holding up my picture to the class, with a yellow Post-It note covering the Lord’s modesty – was it possible that his expression looked a little embarrassed? Had I drawn it that way? “Now class, Nathan clearly shouldn’t be in you esteemed presence, as he seems to think that he is still at Primary school. Why did you feel the need to draw…” gesturing in an exasperating manner “THIS?!”
Now the sensible person would have stayed quiet. For fear of this happening:
Note that I am not ‘the sensible person’
“I drew him naked… big deal. Get over it Miss.”
I should have stopped there, but no…
“His shroud was in the cave, the stone was rolled back. Where would he have found clothes? The only logical solution is that he would be naked. It certainly explains why Mary did not recognise him, no-one stares for long at a naturist…”
I would probably have gone on had my teacher, a devout Christian, not turned an odd shade of purple, luckily she exploded verbally else I fear that the front row would have been picking blood sodden grey pubes out of their hair for weeks after.
“GET OUT! TAKE THIS, THIS, THIS… THING TO THE HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT!”
The head of the department was one of those teachers with the ‘reputation’ you know the sort, the ones no-one really answers back because of whispered rumours about a time when he killed a student but made it look like an accident on a school trip (wouldn’t get away with that now though, a thousand compensation hungry lawyers would have brought him down like lions on the savannah hunting down zebra.) I quietly made my way out of the class, image in my hand, and began the walk to his office. Luckily (?) he wasn’t in his office, but was covering for another teacher, so I had the fortune to have to be bollocked in front of witnesses, no ‘stapler malfunction’ would blind me with that many nosey eyes trying to work out what I had done wrong. Instead they all saw a man in his early fifties explain to a 14 year old why it is not right to draw a cock and balls on a picture of Jesus, how I had upset my teacher greatly, and that the only future fit for people ‘like me’ is one of misery and ridicule. (He got that right)
He was livid.
I was non-chalant.
He got crosser.
I got surly. I decided to hold the picture up and ask “What’s so wrong with this picture?”
His answer, and I’ll remember this to the day I die, as it was pure genius, delivered deadpan.
“Jesus was a Jew, it wouldn’t have looked like that.”
Now I am no expert in the field but:
a) That was brilliantly non-constructive
b) It undermined everything he had just said
c) Now I was laughing.
Thing is, he didn’t find that funny either, and marched my to the Deputy Head, who dressed me down good and proper and made me stand in the corridoor – which was long, encased at both ends by heavy fire doors and had a garish light pink carpet. I remember we called it the corridoor of power as the high ranking staff were based there, and it had the ability to strip even the most arrogant of troublemakers of all but the slightest glimmer of rebellion as they were forced to stand silently by the door.
Eventually I was called into the office once more where I was faced with a choice. Destroy the picture or have my parents called up. Now my father was not the sort of person who would have appreciated a call to the school for such a thing, so I quickly tore the picture up into pieces and was told to put a few pieces in each bin around the school – most likely in case some innocent little bin searching Seventh Year kid found the pieces and with that innocent love of jigsaws managed to pervert an entire year group.
I kept one piece – no not the cock, try explaining that to your mum when you forget to empty your pockets before putting your trousers in the wash basket – but a piece of the background garden, as a trophy, but lost it on the way home. Now all I have is the echo in my mind telling me that once I did something rather anti-establishment and rather good, but that I never capitalised upon it correctly. I should have grabbed the image, photocopied it and posted it around the school… instead someone else did that with a picture garnered from a well-thumbed issue of Men Only, which had the head of a famed ‘slapper’ from our year pasted on. It was hilarious for the five minutes until I saw the face of the ‘slapper’ and realised that it was actually quite hurtful. I should really message her on Facebook one day and tell her what my mate did with one of the pictures, but then no-one wants to know that they were laminated and used as a target in a rather crude version of pin the tail on the donkey, amusingly renamed “Spunk Up All Over the Slapper”. Nor would she want to hear that it had multiplayer rules and a scorebook…
Oh schooldays eh? 😉