McGheen was a lad at school, I really hated him, with me being a bit shy in the first year due to an unhurried act of sexual abuse carried out some years previously on my fair skinned body he capitulated on the quietness that such a horror afflicted me with and spat in my hair on the bus while a crowd of kids sniggered away behind me..I did however possess my Fathers unnatural rage and flair for dynamite like pugilism and after a few weeks of sporadic needling I wiped him all over the empty football pitch one dinner time whilst doing that crying and shrieking that overly emotional but chunky kids do when they get 'rage' and punch anything in sight.. Regardless of the fact he and everyone else left me alone after that I kept pushing for levels of recompense that he was unable to give me, and due to his initial opening salvo of the use of spit as the weapon of choice, I reciprocated accordingly. I began to spit at him..all the time, rain or shine, be it Summer or Winter I was able, at will, to pull up a weighty phlegm ball baked to perfection by the constant colds every kid in Yorkshire has and fire it nonchalantly into his face, hood, trouser seat ect ect.. It didnt get boring, and as my popularity grew so did 'covering McGheeny with a greeny' (as the act became known)..I truly realised the fruits of my labour had blossomed when at 13 I took my weekly fiver into town to get a McDonalds and a copy of Combat and Survival only to be greeted with the site of McGheeny being gozzed on by 3 ruffians who danced a dance round him whilst letting loose their Lambert and Butler tinged projectiles.. It ended with a whimper and not a bang, I force fed him an acid trip at a house party on the last night of our exams and punched him in the face an hour later in the kitchen then watched him run off down the street, shirtless and screaming for help, I paid him no more thought.. However ! A familiar face punctured my lucid thoughts tonight when I went into Halifax to pick up some paperwork, outside the Market there are a number of mentally deficient scruffbags repeating the words 'Courier, Evening Courier' as they proffer a thin rag of print to any takers, and there he was, McGheen, minus greeny, looking mongish and lost in the biting Yorkshire wind, I watched him for a bit, his flourescent jacket covered in stains and with a roll up hanging out the corner of his mouth then moved on swiftly and shamefully as he gave me a studied look, at my expensive shoes and tailored shirt, but I still suppressed a giggle as I wanted to throw a greeny at McGheeny again .. Is it my fault life has dealt him this cruellest of fates ? Shall I offer him a job ? Would it help me to feel better if I heard how many of you were a complete c*nt to someone at school ?