The Secret Diary of Iain Dummkopf Schmitt aged 8 and 1/4 years old: 5 August 1962

A illustration from IDS's secret diary.
A illustration from IDS’s secret diary.

It has been a an odd week for me this week. Things started off badly when my parents found my school report. My bum is still sore from the beating that I got from dad for not having go an good reports from my teachers at school.

The teachers keep writing Iain tries hard, and fails. The worst report was from the blind head master, who recommended that my parents forget about putting me forward to Wellington or Harrow. Rather that they should send me to Sea as a cabin boy on a tramp steamer at the earliest opportunity and save themselves a lot of money.

On the plus side, I followed the headteacher and his stupid guide dog ‘Lucky’ to find out where he lives. Then I looked at all the cars in the street to find one suitable for the next part of my planned revenge. A couple of doors down there was an brand new rover P90 that was unlocked.

I went back several times to make sure that the P90 was kept unlocked, and it was. The stupid twat of an owner deserved what happened next.

I went to the butcher and got a nice big piece of liver. I then waited for the headmaster to let his guide dog out into his garden to do is business. I then lured the dog out of the garden and into the rover P90 after having locked all the doors and closed all the windows.

The sun was already up. it was fascinating to hide and watch the dog get hotter and hotter as the sun passed midday and the temperature rose. It must have been the hottest day of the year so far.

Although it was fun watching the dog get too hot and expire from the heat I do rather think that the show was over rather too quickly. I will have to think about how to prolong it.

Later the headmaster came out of his house calling “Lucky!” at the top of his voice, and “Have you seen my guide dog?”

The neighbours started a search of the street all calling out “Lucky! here boy”, but he couldn’t be found until someone thought about looking in the cars.

It was then that they found the dog dead as a dodo. I had to leave at that point to stop myself laughing at the headmaster with tears rolling down his cheek embracing the corpse his beloved guide dog. That will serve the twat right for all my bad reports.

On Sunday the priest was nice to me during Mass, he gave me a new parting when I knelt before him. He asked me to become an altar boy.

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Author: Dr Suusi Watson

Editor of the Bastard

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