Pointless McSutcliffe

EXQUISITE CORPSES

They weren't exactly good artists, the pair of them.

Sure, Stuart could produce decent paintings, but boring school classes didn't allow for his canvases and oil paints, and if that wasn't the medium then he didn't care for the result.

Paul knew jackshit about art. He just doodled naked ladies from time to time, because porn was hard to come by for the average teen back then, and his dumb schoolmates happily took his crude pieces in exchange for a few pennies.

They also hated each other. And being stuck side to side in almost every class was torture.

They'd resorted to pretending the other wasn't there unless they had to work in pairs.

But sometimes lectures extended, and it was just impossible to find any sort of distraction from the endless diatribes of their teachers.

So one of them, usually Stuart, would take out a piece of paper, and draw shoes. Sometimes cowboy boots, sometimes ratty sneakers, sometimes pretty sandals. And passed the paper.

And Paul drew legs. Long ones, short ones, hairy ones, boney ones. Pass the paper again.

Stuart then drew torsos of all shapes and sorts, dressed or naked, male or female. Pass the paper.

Paul finished with arms and heads, more often than not the head of whichever professor they were desperately ignoring.

It was good for a laugh. Their funky 'exquisite corpses', as Stuart informed Paul those were called. Original game initially consisted of folding the paper as to keep the other participants from-

Paul blocked him out too, doodling more nonsense onto the paper. He was in for the entertainment, not the art lessons.

***

For two lads who loathed each others, they were interestingly close.

Paired homework was Hell, sure, but neither was cruel enough to leave the other do all the work.

Paul had visited the Sutcliffe household more often than he wished to admit, had politely greeted Stuart's mum and swiftly dodged his annoying sisters, and worked on equations or biology diagrams or spelling packets for hours on end with Stuart, each focused on work and work only.

Similarly, Stuart had gone through the mortifying ordeal of being surveyed by Paul's father and poked in curiosity by his younger brother, silently accepting the judgement that came from being still stuck in high school at his age.

Paul also mocked him for that, sure, but he also drank most of the beer Stuart's age allowed him to purchase, the little fucker.

***

Most of their classmates knew better than to poke fun at them right on their faces.

Behind their backs, sure, it was common 'knowledge' that they were queers who dressed like women on their free time and gave blowjobs to any willing lad on the back of the art building.

But never on their faces. Stuart was older and couldn't be bothered with teenage drama, but Paul was one scrappy fucker when he wanted to, for all the praise he got from teachers and parents alike for his good behaviour.

They had matching switchblades and bruised knuckles and drank and smoked more than the average stupid teen should.

***

Paul supposedly spent his free time at church choir. Actually he just hung out with some loser friends of his and played pretend with them.

Sometimes they were actually mean kids who got in trouble and broke stuff, the rudest teddy boys around, the terror of Liverpool.

Sometimes they were the biggest band there had ever been, with crazed birds chasing after them at every turn and more money than they knew what to do with.

They passed all sort of stuff around and downed it all with alcohol and laughed at everything even if it wasn't funny. Paul stuck with cigarettes and beer.

***

Stuart was a loner.

In any bigger town he'd surely find his crew, a group of quiet, troubled, artsy youths who contemplated the meaning of existence.

Sadly, beatniks were extinct in Liverpool, so he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Fucking himself up was never his deal, he much preferred locking himself on his attic and painting until the fumes made him forget what a loser he was.

He planned of finishing with school for once and all and then get the hell out of this grotty little town forever.

But that still was months away, and exams away, so here he remained.

***

Stu played Paul's scapegoat more often than not.

Mr McCartney didn't particularly liked his son hanging out with a burnt out loser like him, but he preferred him over his usual group of good for nothing troublemakers.

Stuart was also, surprisingly, excellent at mimicking voices.

Either 'Paul' or 'Mrs Sutcliffe' usually picked up the phone when needed.

'twas a bit of a hassle, but also kinda funny.

***

For how much they loved to hate each other, those two had at the very least something in common:

Neither knew what their plans for the future actually were. They just knew they wanted out.

Parents pressed for college and proper education, but both knew life teaches more than school anyways.

They had big fucking aspirations, for two idiots that went around wasting themselves one way or another.

***