I'll Bet You Five You're Not Alive If You Don't Know His Name (GA-Slag -1)

Seven and a half years ago I had written a satire of the school's Remembrance Day service and constructed a website for it on my NTL webspace. In the retrospective I quoted the original creators (Martin and Stephen) who were originally going to write The GA-Slag about individuals they wanted to have a go at. They abandoned the idea out of fear before I picked it up in November 2002. I can't remember how I got hold of the concept, but I do remember talking to Stephen about covering the service as a piece for his site. We were pissed off about having to attend, so why not entertain ourselves? The original idea was obviously a legal minefield best avoided, or navigated with pseudonyms at least. As I said in the retrospective, slagging people off would have just segregated things even more in fifth and sixth year. By that point most of the really irritating types (the neds) had already left during fourth year.

It occurred to me that there was one character ripe and deserving of abuse I had neglected to write about. One person we could all agree on...

A colossal prick so irritating, I assume he was actually a toddler that had been allowed to reach the age of consent. Jordan first appeared in Primary 7. The three primary seven classes would play football in the upper part of the playground and this is where I first recall encountering the new boy. Given his arrogance it was natural he'd make himself a striker, and as a defender I intercepted him as he approached our goal. In a demonstration of his amazing skills he would repeatedly yank my shirt until pushing me out of the way and continuing on to the goal unimpeded.

The following year we started secondary school and, sadly, he was also there. And also in the same class as me. The very first day in science class Jordan showed off his conflict resolution skills. Around the classroom there were a dozen interactive models illustrating various concepts like electrical circuits, gravity, etc. We were to make our way round and view each model and I moved onto the next one where I was told by Jordan that this was his and that I was to go away. Avoiding a scuffle on the first day I skipped it and moved to the next one. Only to be joined by Jordan who told me that this was his and that I was to leave. I politely ignored the retard since we were standing by the teacher, when he tried to make his point by taking a pen to my neck. I wouldn't have put it beyond him to stab me in the carotid artery, so I grabbed his arm with every intention of breaking it whereupon the teacher intervened.

Thankfully he was grouped with other neds and I didn't have to interact with him again, or hear about how he had a PS1, a Dreamcast and an N64. My French teacher in second year was department head and one day Jordan was brought in to see her. Apparently the only thing he had written all week was the letter E - his only response to this was to bray (yes, really). Those that still remember him will later recall the physically impossible angle his baseball cap sat on his empty head, and who can forget his immortal response in first year RE when asked his name:

Jordan dee-double e-aitch-ay-en

I asked you your name, not how to spell it.

What a fucking twat. I can only imagine what he's up to these days. I mean, what could the guy who commuted to school and claimed he hadn't realised he forgot to bring his bag be up to now? I wonder how many blowjobs you'd have to give to afford a PS3, an X-Box 360 and a Wii.

The GA-Slag

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