Author: Peter Wright
Date: June 2005
After a short holiday from the world of spreading malicious rumours, there really was only one story I could look into. For those yet to mature, i.e. Years 9 and 10, brace yourselves for something that is probably illegal the world over. And, just to make it sound like one of those feelgood Hollywood films, it is [mostly] a true story.
Mr. Marshall is a kind and thoughtful teacher (don�t laugh!) who believed that, if he gave out his mobile number to certain students, they could contact him to help with their revision. Ho ho ho I hear you chuckle, has this intelligent man lost his mind by opening himself up to the likely possibility of drunken prank calls at 3 in the morning?
Yes, is the short answer to that one, but also something else. One of Mr. Marshall�s favourite sycophantic toadies is Pierpaolo Barrett, aka Roberto, famed for his status as the �gay Italian stallion� of the Big Boy house. Pier likes to make his presence known to him on all possible occasions. But what if they are separated for more than one hour at a time? Or, God forbid, a whole day apart?
Astounded, I had to question Pier more. After some hot nipple torture, I eventually wangled the truth out of him. It seems that Pier, pushed to the point of infatuation, has been visiting Mr. Marshall�s house on regular occasions. This isn�t an isolated case either. Martin Jones and Sean Allen have also been named as frequent visitors to this den of mystery. What goes on inside? Like a smaller and less accomplished Deep Throat, I had to find out more.
For the benefit of his privacy, I won�t mention his address here, except that it�s in Wallington: A surprisingly downmarket location for a Tory. I was under the impression that the Conservative Party bought out whole areas of Epsom and Ewell to house these sorts of people. At any rate, it was late on a Saturday evening, and I was snug in a nearby hedge, gripping my notebook and tape recorder. The waiting was long and pointless. Occasionally there was a twitching beyond the net curtains, the sort old ladies do when they see me walking past looking shifty.
At about 1am, the door opened. I quickly scribbled down what was said:
[Door opens]
Marshall: Are you sure you don�t want to stay for another one, Pier?
Pier: It�s alright sir�got to get home and speak to SJ [his girlfriend].
Marshall: That�BITCH? Are you still with her?
Pier: Yeah.
Marshall: You don�t need her, Pier. Don�t leave now, Martin�s getting his toys out, we�re going to play Monopoly in a minute.
Pier: No I, really think I should be going�
Marshall: Fine Pier, I won�t invite you anymore, you homosexual New Labour tart!
[Door slams]
Pier: Fuck that shit, yo.
Why did Pier feel like leaving? Is there a hidden innuendo to �playing Monopoly� that I missed when I thought it was all top hats and free parking? Why does Pier think he�s black and from the ghetto? Peering in at the windows, I couldn�t see anything: evidently, the group had withdrawn to some inner sanctum where they could play their games without disturbance. Rifling the bins brought no luck either: only empty baked bean tins, a pair of soiled Y-fronts and crumpled Tory Reform Group newsletters.
Back on the 154, strange thoughts were going through my mind. It was like I�d stumbled on something out of Eyes Wide Shut, or the Satantic Rites of Dracula (Mr Marshall as Christopher Lee, of course). Confused, bewildered, a little aroused: The emotions were massing. Realising I�d left my tape recorder in his hedge, I was also fairly angry. I had to gain entry to this house of infamy. Like Tom Cruise, this would require a gold mask, a dark cape, and a hot poster of Nicole Kidman naked.
It was only later, I discovered, that the real trouble would begin�
Part Two coming soon�
Author: Ben Ross
Date: June 2005
One week ago today, the 7th June, the new year8s began their CCF life. Little do they know what will go through their lives in the next 12 months and the difficulties they will face, clearly many will quit, but many will stay. One main danger to their innocent lives will be the culprit Phil Evans. He has on many occasions both offended and perved on the younger years without shame, a famous incident on Main Camp 2004 where he made many of the Year9 girls actually cry for their groomed lust over him.
Phil will be the man to watch over the next 12 months as he tries (and probably fails) once again to groom sucessfully a member of the lower years. "I saw the year8s last wek and they were pretty fit"...."i cant wait till im 25 cos then i can do a 15 year old!...10years difference".
The Shame Continues...But what will Phil resort to on Main Camp?
Author: Worried Cadet
Date: June 2005
Its happened, music is taking over the world and the first to go is the CCF. Live8, a rock gig on July 2nd, features confirmed artists like Elton John and Robbie Williams. But July 2nd? Isn't that the SAME DAY as the first day of CCF Main Camp? What are our cadets meant to do? From early reports it looks as if they are not going on main camp, or at least they will do a Greenfield and miss the start of camp. "OMG OMFG l33t W00T Killerz Snow Patrooool w0000t" proclaimed one trendsetter, Miss Emily Best, on the subject. The dependable Pierpaulo Barrett however had this to say on the subject, "Im not going, missing CCF Camp is not worth it" So how many will turn up at Sutton Grammar on the morning of July 2nd? Is music taking over? and is, If such a minor event for Africans can destroy our patriotic spirit, the CCF in danger of self destruction?
Author: Anon Agony Uncle
Date: June 2005
Late one night i received a message from an ex cadet. He went by the name of Grandpa. I knew this cadet from years gone past, he quit because he was a short fat kid who couldnt run yet pretended to his Dad for over a year that he was still in the CCF. He mentioned the Green Giant, another nickname, who was in the Cadets for a long time before he quit to pursue other interests (drugs). Both cadets have since left CCF and the school yet are still regarded as infamous subjects from both year12 right up to old SNCO teams from when they were in year9. Grandpa came to me with a problem, apparently the Green Giant had began to pester him to join his homoerotic activities.
Grandpa did not know what to do, should i reject him kindly, or should i act in this activitiy for this one off chance of getting off with my best friend? I advised him in the way i felt was only appropriate. The next day i received a giant basket of Green Peas with a thank you note. I felt fulfilled.
However later that night such an activity bothered me. Why is it fair that ex-cadets can be gay?! Are they breaking the new rules of the CCF that you cannot be gay. Or is this a reversal, have what were very homosexual characters now become gay because the once homosexual cadets are now straight *cough cough*. It is a confusing and maybe even slightly arousing topic....no wait....no.
Author: Peter Wright
Date: June 2005
There is more to magic mushrooms than meets the eye. Sure, they look like the aftergrowth of cow manure, and almost certainly are, but what they do is amazing. Consumption breeds madness; madness gives genius; genius provokes insight.
So it is with these drugs. I�d dried them the night before, making them a Class A drug � Class A means it�s the best type of drug � so that they�d make some good eats. Supermax and I jumped off the train at Hampton Court. Barely minutes after sitting down in the park with other people, we ate those shrooms.
The first inklings that I was in for the most intense experience of my young life came when I discovered that I had started laughing and couldn�t stop. My mouth seemed fixed and unable to revert to my usual sombre gaze. Next, my leg muscles developed a complete aching and I had to lie down on my jacket. My so-called friends were watching, pointing and giggling, as I gave up control of my body.
Suddenly, I noticed my eyes changing. Looking at the sky, on that beautiful summer day, it seemed like I was watching a magic eye trick. Colours and patterns began swirling into each other. Everywhere I looked, a different image appeared. There seemed to be such beauty all around me, my heart felt like it was going to explode. I lay motionless, looking around me, as I saw the most incredible things.
The green grass became a rolling sea, which I was swimming about in. Trees were enormous animals, rearing their colossal heads in the sun. Clouds were beautiful women, swirling around on a Sistine Chapel ceiling. An amazing image of a spider surrounded by flashing lights appeared in front of me then vanished as I stared into my coat. The most amusing thing was watching the Beatles� Yellow Submarine float gently across the sky.
The trip grew gradually more and more intense. My laughter and smiles were broken only by a comment to Max. "We�ve poofed off to Shrooooooms!" I repeatedly shouted. "We�re in a whole other world. Nobody else understands or knows what we�re seeing." It was an incredibly anti-social drug. I wanted everyone to piss off, as I felt they were laughing at me, and so I could concentrate on the beauty before me.
Madness was setting in. The daisies became small aliens, craning their necks towards the Submarine. Out of nowhere, monsters seemed to appear out of the clouds. My smiles degenerated into looks of fear and horror. It was like I was stuck on a ghost train and couldn�t get off. Simultaneously I was terrified and amazed, relishing the experience. I no longer seemed to be in my own body, but behind it. Stumbling towards a bench, I found that my movements had changed completely; time was crunching and curling forward in front of me, and I was merely filling in afterwards.
Massive lines of monsters waved about in front of me, then eyes, hundreds of horrible eyes flashing at me from out of a tree trunk. I then realised that things had gotten nasty, as some pikeys had turned up to disturb the people stil in the Normal World, and that I had to find Max and get out of there. The people were no help. Andy Lowe and Ben Smith, wearing identical black shirts, seemed to be evil pointy goblins. Goths became monsters, everyone else strange aliens hopping around. My vibrations were getting nasty. But why? I was terrified, curious. Was there no way of getting out of there? Had I become a loser junkie like my friend over there?
My scrambled brain picked up that the police were on their way after someone called them regarding the pikeys. Two 17 year olds roaming around Hampton Court, more spaced out than Neil Armstrong, would be no match for some Nazi law enforcement agency. We�d be stripped, raped, and thrown into prison with all the other weirdos and child molesters, left to fend for ourselves until we escaped. I didn�t want that to happen. Somehow we boarded a train, a rather peculiar multicoloured one. Max had something growing out of his chin, whilst all the other passengers were busy shifting into animals. The clouds outside were looking like hungry alligators, but I knew the frenzy was dying away.
By the time we reached Honor Oak Park, the trip was wearing off. The final afterglow was still there as we discussed our new insights. A quick smoke of the devil weed before I was off back to Sutton, nicely toasted. The whole experience led to some strange conclusions: Not only that Colombians are the best, but that reality is entirely what you make of it. Fiddle with perception using hallucigenic chemicals and you reach another world. I have seen a better place, and I swear that I heard Tomorrow Never Knows whilst I was there.
Edit by Ben: You said you were paranoid cos you thought everyone was laughing at you, well your wrong cos everyone WAS laughing at you. And we dont remember you saying anything, you just sat there giggling....repeatedly