Richard Stock reckoned he was the hardest kid in our school. He also reckoned he could do a shit, and that before it broke off, he could suck it back into his arse. Turned out he was wrong.

Squatting naked before a circle of encouraging adolescent boys, he parted his buttocks with both hands and duly delivered an inch of log from his dilated anus. So far so good, but before his piece de resistance could ensure his legendary status, an involuntary spasm prematurely snipped the turd.

An gasp swept through the crowd. It was like watching a high-wire walker sway from side to side. A high-wire walker whose arsecheeks were festooned with bob.

He was forced to waddle from the changing room to the toilet, to wipe his chuff. He returned clutching a ball of toilet paper, atop of which was a solid lump of shit. Sensing he had face to regain, he planted the stool to the forehead of James Turner, the computer-liking type who had been trying to get changed without getting involved.

Turner's reaction of disbelief at this squalid turn of events inpired instant remorse from Richard, who offered "I'm sorry James, that was too far. You know I'd stand up for you if I ever saw you in trouble."

Like, if someone had daubed your face with shit.