Percy was studying hard in maths class when the loudspeaker interrupted his revision.

"Percy!" it went. "You are urgently required to come to the principal’s office."

Percy stood up to lave the class.

"Sit down, Percy," his teacher groaned.

"But I have to go to the principal’s office," Percy argued.

"Don’t make me ask you again," the teacher warned him. Percy sat down.

"Percy Pumpernickel!" the loudspeaker boomed. "Get your arse in here!"

Percy stood up and approached his teacher. "Sir, didn’t you here that?

He teacher smiled at Percy and shook his head. "Percy. You know as well as I do that you’re just trying to skip class to go and smoke flowers at the back of the oval."

Percy looked at him strangely, but didn’t sit down.

"Percy, I am really starting to get sick of you. This…this bad attitude of your has to stop. Now I’m going to speak with the coordinator, and hopefully you’ll be expelled," he said kindly.

"PERCY!" echoed the loudspeaker. "If you don’t get your anus in my office, you’ll be expelled!"

Percy was fed up. "Sir, that’s it. I’m going whether you like it or not."

His teacher stood up out of his chair and slammed his fist on the table. "That is it. That is it!" he shouted. "Go and tell the principal exactly what you just told me!"

"Uh, okay then," Percy said, and left the classroom.

The Vice-Principal, Mr Cubicle, was awaiting Percy’s arrival anxiously. Mr Cubicle had been bald ever since he was born, but that was a secret. That’s why Mr Cubicle wore a wig! Just thought it should be mentioned. He sat in his armchair facing away from the door when Percy stepped through.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" asked Percy.

"Yes, about ten million light years ago!" he yelled as he swung around in the armchair to face his tardy pupil.

"Light years?" asked Percy.

"Shut up," he snapped, and offered Percy a sultana.

"Th…thank you."

"So," Mr Cubicle smiled. "How are you then, matey? Settling into school are we?"

"I’ve been here for three and a half years, sir," Percy told him quietly.

"Quiet. I’ve heard that you’ve been a victim of bullying, young Percy."

"You have?" Percy gulped.

"Unfortunately yes," Mr Cubicle sighed. "I’m sure you’ve been aware that recently, my glorious school has begun what we like to call an ‘anti-bullying’ campaign."

"Yes, I know you have," Percy said.

"Silence! Now listen, my boy, this school is dead-set against this sort of behaviour. It shouldn’t be tolerated."

Percy nodded his head.

"Now I understand that the black eye you have was given buy a fellow classmate of yours."

"Yeah," Percy sighed. "It was."

Mr Cubicle leaned down towards Percy. "Listen, you know that you can tell me tell me anything. I won’t bite."

"You won’t?" Percy asked him. At that, Mr Cubicle bit Percy on the arm.

"Take that!" he laughed. "Seriously, though, Percy, the child that gave you a black eye. Was it…Stav?"

"What?" Percy asked as he rubbed his sore arm.

"Was the bully Stav? Was it…Stav Don Buolmwipe?"

Percy sighed again. "Yeah, it was. But don’t tell him I told you."

"Actually, Percy, he told me personally," Mr Cubicle smiled.

"He what?" asked Percy in astonishment.

"This bullying has gone on for long enough Percy. How do you suggest that we eradicate it?"

"Well, could you ask Stav to leave me alone, sir?" asked Percy.

Mr Cubicle laughed. "Oh, Percy, I’m afraid you’re being unrealistic. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s your fault."

"My fault?"

"Well, the victims of bullying in general, Percy. I can’t understand how it’s only the minority of kids that are bullied while the rest seem to live in peace in harmony. The victims are the failures. Therefore, it’s their fault."

"What?" Percy asked in shock.

"Percy, I’ve had a talk with Stav. Great guy, by the way. He and I have both agreed that you’ve brought this problem on yourself, you little runt."

"How?" asked Percy.

"You’re hairstyle, Percy."

"My hairstyle?"

"Or rather, your lack of style."

"What do you mean?"

"It is shithouse."

Percy was hurt. "It’s only a little out of fashion sir, but…"

"It is shithouse!" repeated Mr Cubicle angrily. "Only failures wear mullets!"

"I see," Percy pondered. He thought that his mullet looked nice, really.

"I can’t let my brilliant school become a shrine for bullying. If you don’t have your hair cut to a reasonable style by tomorrow morning, I’m going to expel you."

Percy gasped. "Expelled? Just because of my haircut?"

"Either cut your hair, or find another school that enjoys mullets. Life is all about decisions and school is all about compromise, you little runt."

"Yes sir," Percy nodded.

"Now be gone! I don’t want to see that smelly mullet ever again! And before you leave, Percy," he asked, sticking out his hand.

"What is it, Mr Cubicle?"

"The, uh, sultana that I lent you."

Percy tapped his stomach. "I ate it," he smiled helplessly. "Sorry."

Mr Cubicle’s jaw dropped in horror. "You…ate my lucky sultana? How dare you!" he thundered.

"I’m sorry sir," Percy protested. "But I thought that…"

"Get out!" fumed Mr Cubicle. "You’ve ruined my life for the last time!"

"I’m really sorry," Percy apologised. Mr Cubicle marched up to him.

"Get a haircut, Percy," he snarled. "Get a haircut."

Percy quickly left Mr Cubicle’s office and went back to class.

That afternoon, Percy kept his eyes peeled for a hairdresser. However, Stav Don Buolmwipe had charged him ten dollars in tax to leave school as per usual, so he had no money. It really was a shame, because if he didn’t get a haircut he would be expelled. Although Percy could have given himself a haircut at home, he wasn’t intelligent enough to devise such an ingenious scheme.

As Percy wandered aimlessly down the street, he was greeted by a familiar voice.

"Hey kid, need a haircut?" asked television’s Ray Martin.

"I sure do!" replied Percy.

"Runnin’ low on cash, are we? Don’t worry, there’s a hairdresser down the road where you don’t have to pay anything!" Ray Martin told him with a grin.

"Well, I might just do that, Ray!" Percy smiled back to him.

"You do that, and say hello to Uncle Peter for me!" Ray said as he swam away.

As Percy had been told, he continued walking down the road until he saw a tall man in a top-hat standing outside a newsagents.

"Ah! Percy I believe! I am Uncle Peter, and we’ve been anticipating your appearance for donkey’s years! Enter my hairdresser, and we shall determine, provide or emit your festivity! Do you understand my hypothesis?"

"Well, sorry sir, but I don’t," Percy told the eccentric man. "I’ve come to get a haircut."

"A haircut?" he asked himself slowly. "Oh! You a inquiring for a hairy!"

"That’s right," smiled Percy. "Is it true that this place is free?"

"Absolutely, without fail!" Uncle Peter laughed. "There are some things money can’t buy. Significant things. Such as the mighty haircut!"

"Well, I’d like to have a neat style, that…" Percy began. Uncle Peter glared towards him.

"You’ll just take what you’re given, you frog-like egomaniac!" he cried angrily. "Now upstairs, chop-chop!" he commanded, pointing to a set of stairs at the back of the newsagents.

Percy scampered up the stair into an empty room, except for a saddle.

Uncle Peter followed him inside. "Place your buttocks on the saddle, wee lad, and I’ll obtain some scissors."

Percy sure felt silly as he sat on the saddle, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to go through with, to avoid expulsion.

Uncle Peter left and returned with a pair of plastic blue scissors. "Only ninety-nine cents at the newsagents down stairs," he grinned, wiggling his moustache. "That’s the way it ought to be!"

Percy really thought this place was a little strange for a hairdressing salon, but at least it wasn’t posh.

"I’m sorry if this place seems posh," Uncle Peter told him as he licked the scissors clean. "We just had the curtains put in last week."

"Okay, then. Can you cut my hair, then?" asked Percy.

"Don’t rush me, you partially blind non-essential balloon! Now stay still, this won’t hurt a bit."

It shouldn’t hurt, Percy thought. However he was soon in a great deal of pain.

"Ow! Ow! It hurts, it hurts!" Percy cried, and held his earlobe. This hairdresser of his had cut off his right earlobe!

"It hurts! I do apologise from the bottom of my heart, childlike chap. Let me give you a free head-lice inspection."

"What?" cried the bleeding Percy. Uncle Peter quickly and efficiently shaved of Percy’s hair, then left the bleeding boy alone for a moment.

"What on earth is going on?" Percy howled. The pain was excruciatingly naughty.

Uncle Peter returned with a hole-puncher from the newsagents. Percy fearfully stepped off the saddle and stepped back.

"Percy," Uncle Peter laughed. "I haven’t examined your other earlobe!"

"Why?" asked Percy in anguish. "Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I’m not paying you?"

Uncle Peter said nothing, but continued to advance towards the small boy, ready to punch a hole in his remaining earlobe.

"Please, don’t!" Percy cried, but was trapped in the corner of the room.

All of a sudden, luckily, came Percy’s hero, Ray Martin!

"Ray! Save me!" cried Percy. He ran away from Uncle Peter and hid behind television’s Ray Martin. But Ray took hold of his arm and withdrew a Stanley knife!

"What are you doing, Ray?" smiled Percy to his hero. Then the smile slowly left his face. "Don’t tell me…you’re in on this too!" Percy wailed. Ray held him tight and cut Percy’s remaining earlobe. Percy let out a distress call strong enough to awaken even the sleepiest Myna bird. And enough blood to drown a bull ant!

"Ow!" cried Percy. "It smarts!"

Ray Martin looked at Percy sternly. "I’m sorry it had to be this way, Percy. But I’m afraid that you may have what we like to call the ‘Don Burke’ disease."

"What?" asked Percy as he held both of his bleeding earlobes. Uncle Peter strolled towards him.

"Well, we didn’t want to alarm your exemplary self, young fellow. But what you had inside your earlobe was a squishy rock."

"What the hell are you talking about, you weirdo?" Percy demanded to know.

"There’s no need for name-calling, Percy," Ray Martin said quietly. "But look!"

On the ground, next to the remains of Percy’s earlobes, were grey-coloured rocks.

"So observe, ignoramus. Those squishy rocks could have meant your early retirement in the later years of your life!" Uncle Peter declared.

"You are both sick weirdos! I don’t even know who you are, hairdresser, and as for you Ray, you seem nice on television but now I see that you’re really a viscous man who needs to be locked up with gibbons, as the gibbon you are!" Percy fumed, his face as red as a…well, gibbon.

"I’d say I’m more of a gorilla," laughed Ray Martin, and began beating his chest and making typical gorilla noises.

"And I bare a striking resemblance to a penguin," Uncle Peter laughed, and began to dance in quite a silly fashion.

As the two men imitated animals, Percy ran down the stairs, out of the newsagents. His ears were still bleeding.

With all of the excitement of the last ten minutes, Percy realised that his hair had been all but shaved off. He was a skinhead! Was that a normal hairstyle? Would Mr Cubicle accept it into his school? Percy hoped so. He hurried home to put bandages on his two ears and hide from the strange world he lived in until the next morning.

Well, little Percy arrived at school the next morning as a skinhead, rather than a mullet-man. This was the day that decided whether he was to be expelled or not. Just to be on the safe side, Percy wore the college hat over his bald scalp.

There was an assembly that had been called for that morning. The whole school was to attend.

And they did, including the little skinhead Percy. Mr Cubicle stood up on the stage.

"Good morning to you all. This assembly is primarily to celebrate victory over bullying in my glorious school. But first I’d like to call up onto the stage the newly appointed school captain, Sir Stab Don Buolmwipe!"

The crowd applauded as Stav stepped onto the stage.

"Hey guys," he said into the microphone.

"Hi, Sir Stav!" the crowd replied back in unison.

"Say, what did Hamlet say when he saw an elephant in the pond?" Stav asked them with a smile on his face.

The crowd didn’t reply.

"He said ‘there is a hammer dropped on the elephant!’" laughed Stav.

The crowd laughed too.

"Well, Mr Cubicle told me that a certain failure in the school wanted to apologise to me!"

The whole school looked in Percy’s direction. Percy knew what he had to do, and walked up onto the stage.

And Stav pushed him off the stage.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mr Cubicle. "Sir Stav, you’ve still got it!"

Percy limped up the steps and onto the stage.

"Haven’t you got something to say to say to Sir Stav, Percy?" asked Mr Cubicle. Percy looked at the crowd, who were all looking at him coldly, with their arms crossed.

Percy knew what they all wanted to hear. "I’m sorry," he said into the microphone. "I’m sorry for the bullying that occurred at this school as a result of my hairstyle. I apologise for any inconvenience caused, Stav."

"That’s okay, just don’t let it happen again," Stav said, shaking Percy’s hand.

"Yes, quite," muttered Mr Cubicle. "I trust that your mullet has vanished and is replaced by a nice hairstyle."

"Well, it’s…" Percy began.

"Take off that hat, Percy," demanded Mr Cubicle.

He reluctantly did what he was told. There were gasps from the other students as his skinhead was revealed for all to see.

"You bastard!" scorned Mr Cubicle. "You complete and utter bastard!"

"It wasn’t my fault, sir," Percy tried to explain.

"Let’s see," Mr Cubicle said, trying to stay calm. "You’ve brought bullying into my school. You’ve stolen my lucky sultana." He began to breathe heavily, then took off his wig. The students in the school hall started laughing. Mr Cubicle was furious.

"You little runt. Making a fool out of me by shaving yourself bald, no doubt to take the piss out of me! Well, that’s it. Percy, you’re expelled! Pay the remainder of your school fees and get out!"

As Percy lowered his head, put his hat back on and walked off the stage, Stav took hold of the microphone.

"Not so fast, Mr Cubicle," Stav interrupted. "I’m sick of you, sir, with your anti-bullying policy. How can we call each other classmates if we can’t pick on someone every once and awhile?"

"Keep going," Mr Cubicle said, adjusting the wig on his head.

"Mr Cubicle, if it weren’t for these victims, these failures, like Percy here," explained Stav, "no one would have anyone to bully! We need him!"

Mr Cubicle was silent. The crowd applauded.

"He’s right!" a student in the crowd called out. "If it wasn’t for Percy, I would never have punched him in the eye!"

"Neither would I," Stav smiled. "Neither would I. So what do you say?" he asked, looking in Mr Cubicle’s direction. "Let Percy stay."

Mr Cubicle paused, and looked at the pathetic Percy. "Oh, alright, he can stay," he smiled. The crowd cheered. "Now come on! I heard that it’s Percy’s birthday! And we all no what that means, don’t we!"

And the students and teachers alike ran to Percy and beat him within an inch of his life.