A white home counties roadman gets dissed by a wasteman supply teacher

FIFTEEN-year-old Active J, known in his detached home as Joshua Hudson, has a beef ting wiv a temporary teacher throwin’ shade on him’s swag.

WAGWAN? Man ‘as been in turbo-turmoil dis week, fam. Active J wanted man’s peng form teacher Miss Jackson to see him’s new trim wiv slightly more fade but her did not come in.

Wot is dat habout? Miss Jackson ‘ad bare habandoned man. Him ‘ad hactually done him’s ’omework too. Den da school sed it woz gettin’ a supply teachbot instead!

Classdem cheered like idiots, hespecially dickhead Drilla, but man woz hyper-vexed coz a supply teachbot does not know how Active J’s hair works an’ man’s trim wud go unblessed, innit.

Teachbot 2.0 woz da bare rankest wasteman, fam. Him woz bein’ hultra-shouty wiv da brand muggle names for da register. When him got to Hudson, man kept shtum, coz Active J is jokes, innit. Da teachbot hasked if Joshua Hudson woz habsent, an’ man sed yes sir, but dickhead Drilla pointed to Active J an’ grassed man up. You wot, fam?

Den Drilla starts laughin’, so man pounded on him an’ da teachbot gets well narky an’ sez step houtside an’ bare lectures man for breakin’ school rules an’ bein’ disruptive. 

Active J sed wot rules? So teachbot sez Joshua is carryin’ a can of Monster, itchin’ for a vape chug, an’ wearin’ skanky Air Max 95s? Dem rules. Fam, man’s swag ‘as never, hever been so hoppressed an’ disrespected. Miss Jackson wud never ‘ave disrespected Active J like dat. Man wished her woz back, innit.

Dat night, man ‘ad a peng idea. Active J went to school da next day bustin’ a mint boxfresh pair of 95s man woz savin’ for a family weddin’. Dem’s woz smellin’ factory fresh an’ lookin’ black as da night. Active J woz uber peng-nang, fam.

Teachbot hasked man to stay behind hafter form, an’ Active J thought man woz gonna get detention, but no, fam, da teachbot praised man for makin’ a heffort wiv da 95s, heven though dem woz not ooniform. 

Den teachbot stood up an’ man saw him’s feet woz like treasure, fam. Da teachbot woz a sneaker freeker trainer collector an’ him woz wearin’ a pair of cold blue Air Max 95 Colorways designed by Stash, one of da bare nangest 95s hever! It woz da first 95 to feature a speckled midsole, fam! Active J went dizzy an’ ‘ad to sit down. Mr. Harrison den let man try on him’s Stash for a Hinsta photo. Mr. Harrison is bare peng. 

Hafter school mandem crew wanted to meet on da hastroturf but Active J went straight to him’s crib to do a list of trainers, colour-coded an’ ranked in order of pengest to bare rankest for Mr. Harrison.

Dat night man cud not sleep coz Active J woz too hyper-hexcited to see Mr. Harrison an’ talk habout trainers an’ show him man’s list an’ dat. But when Active J got to form teachbot Jackson woz back, an’ sed man’s hair woz very smart an’ stylish.

Yeah. Gassed, Miss. Wotever.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday
privacy

This week in Mash History: Agatha Christie decides there's no reason murder can't take place somewhere lovely, 1920

MURDER. Once it was an ugly word, referring to vile acts that took place in filthy alleys and the homes of the destitute that it was besmirching to even read about. 

But in 1920 all that changed. Because that was when a visionary from the upper-middle class of Torquay asked if murder wouldn’t be much nicer if it was committed in the drawing room of an exquisite country house within sight of a manicured lawn.

That visionary was Agatha Christie, and papers discovered recently record the very moment of her revelation. She wrote: “What a grubby business murder is. So unworthy of the English soul.

“But as I watched the blood run between the cobblestones, it came to me: murder doesn’t have to be unpleasant, or uncomfortable, or take place in such low-light settings. It could be pleasant, cosy, and present the reader with an intriguing little puzzle to solve.

“Striding away from the body, I realised when performed on the Lord of the manor in a stately home approached by an avenue of lime trees murder could be a suitable entertainment for the educated and monied with no grubby trappings.

“I arrived home, washed my crimson hands, and settled down to write just such a book. Fictionalising recent events, I soon had a manuscript in which murder was a mere parlour game and easily solved by a clever man.

“I had gentrified murder and, it occurred to me, if millions of women like myself could be sated with fictional murder in nice locations with well-spoken suspects, perhaps they would not be driven to the same depths as I. And it would all be worth it.”

So Agatha Christie created the nice, safe, Laura Ashley-print country house murder novel enjoyed by so many middle-class women repressing their urges today.

Next week: to Vienna, 1913, where Hitler, Lenin and Trotsky dismiss as nonsense any claim that too much strong coffee leads to delusions.