Richard Marx Proves - 'We Don't Need No Education'
By Sarah Hutchings.
Marxie's life was becoming a little repetitive. Falling in love, boozing
and playing the occasional tune was not satisfying his deepest needs.
His heart hurt, his guts were constantly giving him gip, and even Richie
had to admit that songs like "Right Here Waiting For My Pizza"
were not a patch on such tear-jerkers as "Right Here Waiting For You."
The logical solution was to get some schooling up his sleeve, so he
decided to finish Year 10. 'The Heights' being his favourite TV show
next to 'Malibu Shores', he decided to find a school on the wrong side
of the tracks - full of flannies, motorbikes, leather jackets and tough
but vulnerable girls that it would take a lot of patting on the shoulder
and saying "I've been there, dude," to befriend and ultimately bed.
To cut a long story short, he found one. It was called 'Rockefeller High',
which sounded enough like 'rockin' fella who's high on drugs' to suit
Richard.
When he swaggered into 'Biology 1' in an acid-washed ensemble, his puff of
hair catching the light from the window in a spectacular halo, the class
gasped.
"Who is that old guy......is he the teacher?" they murmured.
"I think I know him from somewhere." Richard smugly smiled, greeted the
class with what he believed to be the latest catchphrase:
"Yo," and straddled a chair in the back row. His television education
of classroom etiquette was serving him well. First, he cadged a ciggie
from the boy next to him. Second, he lit it. Third, he crossed his legs
on the desk (a difficult feat for a person straddling a chair).
He then decided to make a friend to play with at little lunch and turned
to the boy seated next to him. This youth had a shaved head and a
Guns n' Roses t-shirt.
"Aah, a rocker," thought Richard and planned his opening remark accordingly.
"Heard the latest Bad English album? ...fuckin' goes off." The youth
ignored him.
"Know who I am?" he asked, casually studying his fingernails. The boy
didn't answer. Richie stretched and yawned.
"Oh...just...ahhhhhh....Richard Marx," he finished and shot a sideways
glance at the gunners fan, who remained oblivious. Marxie persisted
and in a louder voice began to sing.
"Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here..."
"Hello class, My name is Mr Ickhead," a voice announced. The class laughed
quietly. Richard's face remained blank.
"Laugh now and get it over with. I'll be taking Biology 1 for the rest of
the year..."
"Ickhead, what's funny about that?" Richard pondered,
"His head is icky? Wait a minute! Sounds a bit like dickhead!" at this
inspiration he voiced his thoughts.
"Hey everyone! his name sounds like dickhead! he must be a dickhead!"
he yelled. Instead of exploding in laughter and electing Richard
class clown, his classmates shot Richard scornful looks, and rather than
allowing Richard to cement his place as 'class toughie' by engaging him in
a battle of wits, Mr Ickhead raised his eyebrows at Richard and continued
the lesson.
"There are three main subject areas.."
Here Richard's attention wandered again and he began to study his
classmates. Three seats up from him sat a girl only rivalled in beauty
by Cher. Her hot pink stretch mini-skirt was cinched by a wide, studded
black belt. Her beautiful green eyes were framed by a generous amount
of blue mascara and her hair had been crimped to perfection before being
swept to one side of her head, obliterating one of her eyes in a style
Richard found bewitching. He tore a piece of paper from his book and
composed a letter.
"Do you like me?" he wrote, "tick yes or no."
under this he drew two slightly wonky boxes. He then pushed his books
on to the floor in a most casual manner and passed the note to her whilst
retrieving them.
The girl, Cindy, was also well versed in classroom
etiquette, taking all her behavioural cues from "Revenge of the Nerds."
Consequently, she sexily winked and tucked the note into her top.
Richard tuned into the lesson again.
"The first assignment will be based..." Marxie's eyelids started to droop.
When the bell rang for recess he awoke with a start, a pool of dribble
on his desk.
"Here's where I shine." he thought and ran out to the
playground.
Assuming a position in the middle of the asphalt, he took out his
inflatable guitar, inflated it, and launched into his best concert routine.
When he opened his eyes that were squeezed shut with concentration, he
noticed that a circle had gathered around him. Their smiling, happy faces
and fingers pointing at him in appreciation restored his ego.
"Thank yoooouuuu...ROCKEFELLER HIGH!" he finished and felt sorry for the
students who were so worn out from studying that they couldn't clap
properly.
After the impromptu concert he spotted Cindy, who was chewing gum
and writing in her diary away from the crowd. Checking that she was
watching, he got out a texta and wrote on the wall
'Q. what's an elephant? A. A sheep's tampon!'
Jokes had never been Richie's strong point. Luckily, understanding
jokes wasn't one of Cindy's strong points so she was visibly impressed.
"Hey baby - one man, one woman - you do the maths." he approached her.
"Oh Richard," she breathed "But what will my parents say? This is crazy,
I'm only fifteen and I think I'm in love."
"Fifteen?" Richard gasped, "Listen, Cind, you mean a lot to me,
and this is why I care enough to tell it to you straight - fuck off."
She dissolved in tears, which comforted Richard because she didn't look
half so pretty with her eyes all red and snot coming out of her nose.
"Maybe I'm too old for this school lark," he mused, while hanging upside
down on the jungle gym, his hair brushing the tanbark.
"The chicks are jailbait, and the lessons are boring."
He swung back and forth and after gaining enough momentum,
attempted a death drop.
He landed on his knees, not only experiencing pain but dirtying
his perfectly starched jeans.
His vision went blurry and his chest heaved.
"I want to go h-h-home!" he wailed. So he did.
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