Run Johnboy Run: The Glasgow Chronicles 2 by Ian Todd Read Free Book Online

Bunty, The Beano, The Victor, The Dandy, The Beezer or any ae they other wee crap hauf-sized Commando comics that Ah kin see peeping oot ae some ae yer bags.  Four…there will be nae slings, whiz-bangs, pea shooters, elastic bands, squibs or stink bombs in ma class,” he’d scowled, voice rising steadily as he coonted through they wanking fingers oan that haun ae his, getting himsel intae a right auld tizzy.
      Unfortunately, Daniel Boone...nae guesses as tae whit his da’s favourite programme wis when he wis born…who wis sitting up the back, tae the left ae Johnboy and Senga, hid jist woken up at the sound ae aw the commotion.  Daniel hid let aff whit Johnboy considered tae be a fair-tae-middling-sized fart that wis probably louder than it should’ve been, oan account ae the solid shiny wooden seats everywan sat oan, and him no lifting the cheeks ae his arse up high enough.  It hid kind ae hauf-ripped and hauf-rattled across that oak seat ae his before trailing aff intae whit sounded uncannily like the bugler oot ae ‘She Wore A Yellow Ribbon’, Johnboy’s favourite John Wayne film at the time.  Aw the class’s laughter hid stuck in their throats…no because ae the clap ae thunder that hid charged oot ae Daniel’s arse, even though it wid’ve probably moved up tae the middle ae the first division in the farting league…or because it wis bloody rancid, which it wis…bit because Mr Poke hid shot across that flair and up that row ae desks like The Flying Scot fae across the road in Rattray’s Bike Shoap.  He’d grabbed Daniel by the scruff ae the neck before he’d fully wakened up and lifted him, squealing like a hauf droont cat fae his seat…making the classroom smell even mair rancid…and hid hauf run wae him back doon the row, across the front ae the class tae the door before slinging him oot intae the corridor oan tae that smelly arse ae his.
      “Don’t ye dare darken the door ae ma classroom ever again, ya dirty, smelly, filthy wee cretin, ye,” Dave Stem hid snarled, slamming the door behind Daniel before returning tae where he’d been before being rudely interrupted, hauns oan hips and feet wide apart at a quarter tae nine.
      “Noo, where wis Ah?” he’d asked pleasantly, looking aboot at the frightened faces in front ae him.
      “Please sir, please sir?” Tinky Taylor…nae relation tae Johnboy…wan ae the goody-goody wans…hid squealed, haun shooting up. 
      Clearly getting in there early, Johnboy hid thought…the snivelling, snottery, wee shitehoose.
      “Oh, aye, in case Ah furget, Miss Hacket won’t be back this term as she’s no well.  Her summer holidays wur spoilt because ae aw you lot.  Ah hope youse ur aw well and truly satisfied.  Well, Ah’m here noo and Ah’m her replacement fur this year.  It’s ma way, or no way.  Hiv youse aw goat that?”
      Tinky Taylor’s haun hid shot up again at this proclamation.
      “Name?”
      “When will...”
      “Name?”
      “When will Miss Hacket be back, sir?”
      “Don’t ye worry aboot that, boy!  You jist concentrate oan whit’s staunin up here in front ae ye,” Dave Stem hid retorted, as forty four sets ae eyes aw zoomed doon oan tae that broon corduroy-covered cod-piece ae his in horror.
      Johnboy hid felt Senga tremble in her seat beside him.  He’d wanted tae nip up there and gie the big basturt a moothful ae dandruff fur upsetting her, bit he couldnae lift his arse up aff ae his seat either.  In fact, he couldnae hiv done a thing even if he’d tried, especially when he realised that his legs wur shaking jist as much as Senga’s wur.
      “Right, you withoot a name? Aye, you, dafty,” Mr Hard-on hid snarled at Tinky.  “Go and grab they jotters aff ma desk and haun them oot tae everywan.  When ye’ve goat yer jotters, Ah want ye aw tae write a wee story, withoot any filth in it, aboot whit youse aw goat up tae in yer holidays.  If anywan needs a pencil, take wan fae the box oan ma