log : That's very interesting but you've called your story Bloodshot Buttocks, and when you've got a title that magnificent it behooves you to get on with it. I'm a busy man and I demand my bloodshot buttocks.

We were using bits of corrugated iron we had found as sleds, and we were going higher and higher up the hill to gain more speed each time.

On what would turn out to be the last run of the day, I was in the lead - but I fell off my sheet after hitting a bump. Tony came down after me, slid over my sheet, and screamed.

Skimming over my sheet had had an effect on his buttocks not unlike taking a large ham slicer to them. He lost two large round chunks of buttock muscle, and his bum ended up looking like two bloodshot eyes staring out of his shorts.

log : Is Tony Jenkins reading this? Can we have a look at your buttocks please? We tried looking you up on Facebook but we just got some sex pest from Kentucky

[anon]

If they'd just used a bit more French language and Catholic

imagery, it'd basically have been voodoo.

[anon]

A positive reply would be met with the ear-splitting declaration “Ian has a baldy half-incher!”

Negative replies would be met with the slightly less offensive “What, so you don't have a big hairy invader?” On the whole, we preferred the positive response.

[anon]

Madame: Deuce, qu’est-ce que Père Noël va te donner pour Noël?

Deuce: Une voiture.

Madame: Ha. Bon chance.

Jacques: BRULÉ!!

Also useful when, during a project on French cooking, Charles actually does burn himself on a bowl of hot shrimp.

[anon]

Mike S

Many thanks to all the Cockneys who completely missed the fucking point and wrote in to tell us that berk is actually rhyming slang for cunt and very rude indeed, actually. ‘Cuntybollocks’ is rude. And so is ‘why don’t you just bloody piss on your nan’s bum, you cuntybollocks’. ‘Berk’, ’nitwit’ and ‘der-brain’ are not. Jesus. - Ponky

Cherry G

Richie J

Benson was the butler in Soap. He was so loved in America for being a servile black man surrounded by his white betters, that he got his own series. So, if you asked anyone for a favour, they would comply grudgingly, and say “just call me Benson”.

John: Steven, could you pass me that book?

Steven: Tch, for God's sake. Just call me Benson, why don't you?

At some stage, this developed into a full rendition of the theme tune to Soap, whenever anyone was asked to do anything .

[anon]

On coming back to school after lunch, it turned out an older kid had heard Nobby’s happy news and poured a can of coke over his head.

[anon]

Once the pissing operation is complete, he kicks the ball as hard as possible at someone’s chest. At this point, utter mayhem breaks out. This continues for the entire break time, or until a teacher comes in to see what all the fuss is about.

Participants in the game can be later distinguised by the collection of little yellow ‘medals’ proudly displayed on their previously clean white shirts. A true badge of honour.

Tom P

One day during recess, all the boys in class went for a squirt behind the trees. Guy took his uncircumized weenus out and someone screamed, “He’s got a bottle dick!” So we beat him. Sorry, Guy.

Readers: Was there an American boy in your class with a ‘mutilated cod’? Did he walk around, thinking that there was absolutely nothing wrong with having a ‘circumsized weenus’, even though he wasn’t Jewish - nor did he have some kind of life-threatening medical condition which made him piss upwards into his kidneys, hence the need for his parents to cut half of his knob off and keep it in a jar for keepsake?
What did you call him? Perhaps it was “Crayola cock” or something. For example.

[anon]

Derek M

Much as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to get this connection out of my head.

captive a

Unfortunately, things quickly went awry on Mr Blissett’s arrival, as instead of seeing him drenched, class 3G bore witness to him being knocked out by a full bucket of water falling but not tipping, cracking his forehead open on the floor as he crumpled under the weight. The water handily spilled from the bucket so as to wash up the blood from the spouting wound in his forehead, and I earned a one week suspension.

Fortunately, Blissett was back at work a week later with only his sense of humour badly damaged.

Jason

The temptation to include a Metro-style feature of “predictive text ambiguities I have noticed” is so strong, that it can only be a terrible idea. So I won’t. Log “I damaged your ex”

Jelly T

I remember one day, I made a woefully feeble yet heroic attempt at a goal, which was easily deflected by our opponents. Taking his job seriously, our captain explained to me about the taking part being rather more important than the winning.

My response to this was to run around the pitch, attacking members of the non-shit team with my bare fists, tears in my eyes and roaring at the top of my voice. It still hurts now. Hurts bad… So bad…

rob s

1. In an impressive display of coordination and efficiency, he was brushing his teeth with his other hand.

2. He frequently paused in his manipulations to slap his cock energetically against the basin.

John was dubbed Basin Basher for the remainder of his school career, and “Arm & Hammer” toothpaste suddenly became hilarious. The event was immortalised in the following song (to the tune, vaguely, of Do your balls hang low? ):

*Is your name John or Jason,

Do you bash it on a basin,

Do you cover it in Colgate for better lubrication?

Does it give you satisfaction,

Does it get a big reaction,

Do you use Double Action for better foreskin traction?*

The beauty of the final line is that John was a quiet, earnest student: the image of him diligently evaluating toothpastes until he found the one with optimum sensual enhancement was entirely plausible.

[anon]

He will stamp on it instead.

Bitching P

We all failed History that year.

Cookie

Greg would put both legs through his swimming goggles and then pull them up to his waist, where they nestled just above his winky. This would miraculously make the face of a wizened old man (wearing goggles, of course) who had a long nose (about the length of a 9 year old’s winky) and a wrinkly chin. Greg would then dance around the changing room as the rest of the class would sing a rousing chorus of

Boh-oh-ong-go JIM!
And his peppery penGUIN!".

I have to confess to being at a loss as where a peppery penguin came into the equation.

Rumors that Greg made one of the girls kiss bongo jim on the nose are unconfirmed. Ooh la la!

Rancid N

What it actually did was give people a perfect excuse to stumble around aimlessly and break things (“but I’m blind, miss”) and savagely wield the provided white sticks in the playground, leading to an awesome clacking sound that could be heard several miles away.

The finest moment came when one pupil was led around the school blindfolded by his or her ‘carer’. I certainly understood the pain and suffering felt by blind people, especially after I got pushed down a small flight of stairs and hit my head on the radiator.

I feel I now have a better understand of the blinds. Thanks, school.

Alistair G

This encouragement was roundly ignored. If you played near it, the teachers would come over and point out the lonely children and make you ask them to join in. Hence a large area of permanent emptiness formed around the buddy stop, and after a while, no children, no matter how friendless, would ever go near it.

Seeing the unused buddy stop, the teachers probably congratulated themselves on running a school with no friendless pupils. As usual, they were as wrong as I don’t know what.

[anon]

A suitable girls’ reply was never established. “Fine, thanks” seemed to suffice.

Nick H

‘Hopefully big and hairy’ was the standard response to the Irish version, ‘How’s the Craic?’

The ‘hopefully’ is the key to understanding the Irish psyche. We like ’em big and bushy, ladies.

Em B

Nobody knows what became of Scott after we left school. Rumour has it that he fights crime in his spare time. Which I suspect he has a lot of.

Nipple J

A game with no winners, only losers. - Matt

bob j

Far from receiving the hero’s cheer that would normally meet such an act of derring-do, we edged away from him, and couldn’t meet his eyes for the rest of the day.

Why would it be hairy? Why would that happen? Hair on the arse would just get… covered in shit… why would the body do that?

Steven J

Barebacking involved grabbing someone, lifting the back of their top up, and then furiously slapping the victim's back. It was just something that occasionally happened to you - it was never a tool for singling out the weak, and it was never personal.

Unless you were Abdullah. He would get chased, entirely topless, across the playground, before getting body-slammed into a wall and punched in the spine for fifteen minutes.

log : What other terms for specific kinds of fucking have been stolen by schoolchildren to mean acts of sexless brutality? Did your school use “double fisting” to mean two punches? Maybe you thought “rainbow kisses” were something to do with sherbet and ponies, or something. Let us know!

Name W

Tony G

It was kind of like conventional ‘it’, but instead of tagging your victim you had to simulate bumming them.

Obviously I never took part, I just watched. Rumours that I played to county standard are unfounded.

Mark

BUMMING/RAPIST INCIDENTS:
We do not want bumming of any form at Arnold Hill School.
If you are being bummed, or know about bumming or rapist incidents, then speak to someone in school and/or fill in an incident form.

This would probably be a more efficient policy, but was never enforced; the school was full of bummers, and three out of four in my year went on to become successful rapists.

[anon]

There are obvious flaws with this; the anonymity means that there is no proof of any misdemeanour, and the system is clearly open to abuse by reporting innocent people. But by far the biggest flaw is that the box has never ever been opened.

My theory is that it has become a kind of Pandora’s Box, and if it is ever opened, all the dead arms in the entire world will be released at once.

Bionic S

I am still at school and we have a bully box. However, another flaw in this initiative is that nobody ever goes within four feet of it for fear of getting their arse kicked.

Bullies 2 Chumps 0

[anon]

Let me stop you there. Recent surveys have shown that Bruce Springsteen was, in fact, a B ent O ver S heep S hagger. Moreover, he’s the bent-over sheep shagger, having pipped everyone else to the number one spot in a gruelling week-long animal shagathon.

He prefers the bent-over position, because he likes to feel the freshly shorn wool against his tummy, and this also allows another sheep to mount him, as he plays lucky Pierre in a raunchy ovine three-way.

Be careful when accepting this compliment, especially when it’s preceded by “a”, “the”, or “my”.

Jon B

There was a time when exclusion didn’t involve technology. I remember it well - Conor

Bionic S

cf : You know what, I think the thing that upsets me most about this is all the gaps between everything. How can you make USA take up nine characters? Jesus WEPT

Mitchell J

The Boy T

[anon]

Boys would jump off walls, making a scraping sound because it was in slow motion, and run around at ostensibly super-bionic speeds.

Dave Walker took this one step further - by inserting wires down his sleeves and socks, he would take trusted people to one side, show them his ultra-bionic wiring, and tell them that he was no ordinary eight year old boy.

Now over 16, and keen to impress girls, Dave doesn’t like me bringing up his bionic past. Which is lucky, as it’d be no fun otherwise.

Dave P

Ben J

jon j

Tom B

If he says " that’s a waste of resources “, simply reply " what’s a waste of resources, sir? "

The Boy T

Sadly, his eardrums were not perforated. However, he did complain of a ringing in his ears. The ringing of bells. At his wedding. To Betty.

The Boy T

The progression was as follows:

1. Pencils

2. A test tube

3. A test tube rack

4. A bunsen burner (yellow flame)

5. A bunsen burner (blue flame)

6. Retort stand

7. Upturned stool, signifying ‘4 pronged pleasure’.

We thought this was the pinnacle of implied but unsubstantiated cornhole abuse, until Gettings returned to his chair to discover that he had in fact been sitting on Adrian all lesson, and Adrian was crying.

Tony C

sparky .

Hmmm, I would’ve thought that a bumming y would involve someone getting bummed by two people at once… The person to be bummed would bend over and touch his toes. The bummers would bum side by side, keeping their legs behind the bummee and leaning their upper bodies out on either side. Now that I think about it, this may not be physically possible. But at least it’s proper bumming.

Hannah P

When I were a lass, “Bumming” also meant only to hit someone with the arse, not the greasy anal violation we take it to mean now. For example, “I bummed my sister so hard in the face that she fell over and broke a tooth.” Brilliant!

Cherry G

I like to imagine that she ran around every other classroom in the building, saying “how can black things be shiny?”

Mike G

Instead of running, or walking off swearing, Babb, chose to skip contentedly behind the bus. He only fucking skipped . For long enough for everyone to see.

Subsequently, when you had a conversation with him, there were people queuing up to do a Babb behind his back. From that day, Babb was cursed to never have another conversation with anyone who wasn’t laughing at something that wasn’t quite him.

[anon]

Kevin D

[anon]

This was written, of course, so that in later years aspiring young wags could enjoy variations on the following classic wordplay:

Q. Did you get your head around the Balzac?

A. I’d always considered the Balzac a little hairy but once I got a taste of it I couldn’t get enough!

La hilarité est ensuivant - Human Comedy indeed.

Phil G

One of Balzac’s minor works is “Cousin Pons”, If you were reading said book in the sixth form common room, it wouldn’t take too long for someone to notice and come to the conclusion it is pronounced “ponce”. Since you’re reading a book with that title you must either BE a ponce, have a cousin who is, or be at least seriously considering a career in poncehood. I suppose the lesson is: don’t read poncy books in the 6th form common room.

red a

Whatever you do, do not bury your swag of multi-coloured marker pens in the school ground under some leaves. Not underground - under a few fucking leaves.

I would also advise that you don’t write your name all over the boxes in multi coloured felt-tip, in order to test them out.

When the stash was found, and the police were called, it was lucky they had Sherlock fucking Holmes on their team. It didn’t take him long to figure out the culprit, and I was consigned to three days suspension, which let me catch up on some serious Let’s Go Maths! .

Alex F

• Song of Songs 5:2-4 contains passages about honey soaked, er, passages. - Philippians 3:8 has Saint Paul using a bad word. Um. - 1 Samuel 25:22 has King David using the phrase “he that pisseth against a wall”. - Isaiah 66:11 has a little breast play. - Proverbs 5:19 has some sound marital advice - plus nudity, rape, besitality and bum sex galore!

A rich playground for the horny teen looking to spazz out during a dull RE lesson.

Tom B

Ezekiel 23:20 talks about a woman who enjoys the company of lovers who are hung like donkeys and who can ejaculate like horses.

Editor’s note. We were a bit sceptical about this claim, but it turns out that http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ezekiel%2023:20&version=31 And how about 23:21? “So you longed for the lewdness of your youth, when in Egypt your bosom was caressed and your young breasts fondled” . Phew! It seems that the whole of Ezekiel 23 is pretty damn filthy. It starts off like the premise of a Tania Russof movie and ends up in a Tarantinoesque bloodbath. The smutty bible-writing perverts .

Phil G

This was seen by a teacher, who said ’now that was silly, wasn’t it?’ to the fat kid as he groaned on the floor, ignoring the obviously guilty group of boys standing not ten feet away with their arms nonchalantly folded.

[anon]

He had his own theme tune. It rhymed ‘Gill’ with ‘cunt’, as I recall.

( I knew someone called Wilfred Wilberforce Willwong at University. Triple Will. He came to England from Trinidad without a faith, studied every religion, and chose Catholicism. Curazy dheys. -Log)

Jasmine S

Try Rolf Runceton Rumley for size. He was very proud of his name (and that in the future he would drive a ruby red rolls royce), had mould green hair and refuted the possibility that his parents could have had sex in order to conceive him.

Gentle B

Boba Fett’s rocket was not detachable. There was no entertainment to be had in his backpack. I’m sure there’s a valuable life lesson to be learned in this somewhere, but I can’t detach the damned rocket to find out what it is.

Tom G

Did you notice his name was Mr Conteh? Well, that alone had us in hysterics, but eventually he found the class so lacking in concentration he started a disciplinary talk. This included the repetition of the phrase ’the ball is in your court'.

Unfortunately in his thick accent, this sound like Mr Cunty telling us that the ball was in our cunt. I mean, he could talk, being called Mr Cunty. And so, after an hour of uncontrolled laughing, another supply teacher tied up his belongings in a spotted hanky, and walked off into the sunset. (Actually, to my sister’s school, where the same thing happened again)

Kris W

Early on a Saturday morning several young boys duly arrived at the woods near Parker’s house with a camera to take photographs of the badgers.

Naturally, the sett couldn’t be found, and it was suspected that, much like Parker’s uncle who built a talking robot, the whole thing had been a figment of the boy’s imagination.

Getting everyone up early on a Saturday to participate in a fictious extra-curricular activity should have been sufficient grounds for a beating, but when the film in the camera was developed, it transpired that Parker had sneaked off with it and used it to take photographs of his cock.

Bob M

To be clear: they weren’t from the pikey/charver/radgie school of bullies - no, those were confined to the B stream and mainly restricted their murderous attacks to unfortunates from own kind. Alastair and Mark were the middle class type of bully, whose style of misery-infliction was made infinitely worse by their middling intelligence, which allowed them to systematically destroy the self-esteem of their chosen victims in a way that others deemed hilariously funny, and even their victims came to believe themselves rightful targets of what was usually a heady and unpredictable combination of evil hilarity and utter disdain.

As is not unusual between the ages of 13 and 17, their favourite targets for vilification were anyone deemed to be a ‘hom’. For these unfortunates they reserved their worst and most sustained mental bullying campaigns. There are some, guilty of nothing more than being good at art, whose lives were made an utter misery, and who still live in the shadow of being made to feel like so much shit on this gruesome twosome’s shoes.

Which makes their current state of complete gayness all the more startling.

There are those who will say, quite rightly, that the signs were always there - the hair, the earrings, the inseperability, the protesting waaaay too much about suspected gayers. But at the time it was completely inconceivable that they might be secret bum-chums. They went out with half the female population of our year. They were always getting sucked off in French or on the back seat of the coach. They were, in short, horrible, chauvenist, unreconstructed 80s spivs.

News of their subsequent volte-face came about via FriendsReunited, and rarely has an entire ex-school community been so awestruck. There was anger, there were tears, there is laughter still.

But one has to wonder: did they really know all along, in which case their treatment of other woofters, real or imagined, is all the more unforgiveable, or did they discover their prediliction for bum-love only in later years? Will schadenfreude intervene and cause them to be vilified as they vilified others? Will they discover an activist streak and become vocal protestors for gay rights? And when exactly did they first exchange sex wee*?

* Got to be the ski trip. It all makes sense now.

spadge m

Even if it’s not a law of nature that bullies will eventually turn out to be screaming mincers (or single mothers), it’s so satisfying when it happens that you really want it to be.

Consider James Bain. A fat and extremely angry young man given to punching other kids and arguing with teachers, he was expelled from two secondary schools. Last seen working full-time in a motorway service station selling £3 Santana CDs with outlandishly gay relish.

He informed me one girl who, by the age of 24 had scored three children - one from a squaddie. Once attractive and stuck-up, now fat and given to trawling Friends Reunited, trying to strike up old non-friendships.

I think I feel justified in saying “Ha!” to the lot of them.

Gareth W

Bob M

But there was a third person to whom we turned during the 80’s to take the piss out of, through fear and dread. Thanks to Desmond Wilcox’s ‘The Visit’ programme, we were introduced to the third member of this holy trinity in 1980:

David Lopez a.k.a. ’ The Boy David ‘.

It was important that it was pointed out in the title that he WAS a boy; when first discovered by a holidaying plastic surgeon, he had no more than a big hole in his face with two eyes on top. To eat, he sucked lollipops between his tongue and the base of his brain - a process which could be mimicked by slapping food into a friend’s face and shouting “NNNNNGGGGGGG… DAVID LOPEZ!! "

Here is a picture of David Lopez today, after more than 100 operations. On the right, note the moderately attractive woman taking the piss.

<img src=“http://www.disappointment.com/playground/boydavid.jpg">

Andy M

At my school, which was a school for the blind, we played football inside a fenced off area. Occassionaly the ball would go over the fence and as we were all blind we couldn’t see where it had landed. To get round that problem, one of us would stay inside the fenced area and the other nine would go to the opposite side as directed by the bloke inside the fence. We would all then lie in a line and roll around on the floor until one of us found the ball. (Or some dog poo).

Benedict R

Nothing odd about the story. Blindies use balls with bells in them to play soccer. The trouble is when the ball stops moving the bell stops ringing.

Oh PLEASE let this be true! Yes, it’s cruel to mock the afflicted, but if they voluntarily choose to run about in the dark listening out for a jangling hamster toy, they deserve everything they get, frankly.

[anon]

Go to http://www.britishblindsport.org.uk for the lowdown on lots of blind sports, including football.

By far the best blind game is goalball, however - I saw it on TV a while ago, but had completely forgotten it until just now.

This, people, is GOALBALL!!!

<img src=“http://www.disappointment.com/playground/goalball.jpg">

Davy

Blind cricket employs similar devices. The bowler lobs a football-sized zeppelin filled with ball bearings and the batsman swishes around vainly trying to make contact. As the fielders are scrabbling around following the rustle of the ball the batsmen have the potential to run hundreds, if they only knew where the fucking wickets were.

[anon]

The name of the school was written on the front cover of the books, and by removing the lower left dot of the P, and the two lower dots on the O of Portland, hundreds of blind children looked aghast as they fingers told them they were attending Great Fartland Street.

Not the rudest thing in the world, but just thought you'd like to know there's a lighter side to perpetual darkness.

Benedict R

For the Bulldog obsessed, we offer http://www.odps.org/glossword/index.php?a=term&u=5ba9ac5c5d5baead, which not only demonstrates just how unsuitable the subject is for the Law of the Playground, but also how much better we are at this sort of thing than they are. I mean, honestly .

Phil G

Conor F

But Chakka Khan.

Andy M

[anon]

It is only with hindsight that I realise that it sounds more than a little gay.

Chris C

Back in our first year of school, we formed a football team and challenged anyone who thought they were hard enough to come and have a go.

We were from Bulwell, in Nottingham, so we devised a catchy and tough name for ourselves; the Bulwell Bandits.

No one took up the challenge, and the Bulwell Bandits never played a game. Probably for the best.

the mysterious w

However, we arrived back at the hostel to find Tindle with his head between Mrs Marchants legs in the communal area and she had no pants on.

We were 13 and didn’t know that oral sex existed, and Nigel Shuttleworth informed his mum that he had seen Mr Tindle ‘biting the rude parts’ of Mrs Marchant.

By a narrow vote, we decided to believe this story. If it does turn out to be a plot from Terry and June, please inform us. Like you always fucking do.

[anon]

has anyone else noticed that this entry has appeared before but on a different month, thus highlighting the fact that all the entries on this site are from the people who put it together.

monumental twats.

Just to prove that we don’t do this all on our own, anonymous user , I’m going to include your completely off-topic insult. That’ll show YOU

.

Sometimes I wish we did concoct the stories ourselves; it’d reduce the amount of time I have to spend wading through shit like yours.

Other readers! If you feel the need to insinuate that we make this all up, at least have the courage to pen your name alongside your insults. And try to use the shift key, too.

[anon]

[anon]

Richard B

Alan B

uncle m

Well, I’ve just googled “banana boat shoes” and got 4 references. Sure, there’re no pictures but that’s got to be worth a hand job, at least…

Nick H

If I whacked off every punter who managed a few oblique references through Google, I’d have arms like Precious McKenzie. Close, but no chafed cigar.

Don’t know who Precious McKenzie is? We didn’t. So here’s the google link to this South African http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&lr=&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&q=precious+mckenzie&btnG=Google+Search. Can I have a hand job off Nick Hunt please? - Log

uncle m

I last saw the Boar’s Head in an industrial dustbin when they shut the school down. I would have rescued it for posterity, had it not been covered in garbage and rotting food.

Conor F

As in “I went to Burton Joyce with Nick last night”. Can be reversed - Joyce Burton - to describe cunnilingus, for the experimenting lezzers there.

Nick H

There is a place in the UK (I forget where) called Dunham-On-The-Hill. This is funny. Don’t think about it, just laugh.

Alistair G

Dick H

Jon B

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more love for another man than at that moment.

Andy M

Dennis was told to leave Chemistry by Mrs Tench. For some minutes, he continued to pull faces and flip v-signs at the window. Mrs Tench announced, rightly, that he would get bored of his juvenile behaviour if we just ignored him.

Sure enough, he disappeared. Minutes later, he roared past the windows of the classroom in Mrs Tench’s crash helmet, riding Mrs Tench’s moped.

Mrs Tench remained admirably stoic throughout the incident, ignoring Dennis’ antics until other teachers dismounted him mid-donut and led him away.

Tony G

In a desperate bid to end the scrunched-up paper-ball war that erupted in the middle of a chemistry lesson, our substitute teacher took an unusual step.

Adam had belted one at the whiteboard which, unfortunately, connected with the teacher’s forehead. He told Adam to come to the front of the class, while drawing a circle on the white board. Adam was then intructed to put his nose in the circle, presumably in the same way that dog’s noses are rubbed in shit.

With a patronising disdain, Adam eyed the substitute, emitted a weary ‘Oh, do fuck off’, and elected to send himself out of the class with a swagger, to a ripple of awestruck applause. The look of eyebrow-raised disbelief on the substitute’s face suggested the law of immunity in excess had been applied.

[anon]

So annoyed was our Irish teacher with one lad’s persistent attempts to derail a lesson that he reached over two desks, caught hold of the boy’s lapels and, in time-honoured Regan-from-the-Sweeney-fashion, began to shake the living shite out of him, proclaiming “YOU’VE INTERRUPTED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, YE WEE TUBE YE!!”, through the most gritted teeth I had ever seen, at that stage in my 13-year existence. Mr X then proceeded to haul the boy over the aforementioned desks and throw him out onto the corridor. He then did that “Anybody else want some?” routine, believing that peace would now reign over the class. He hadn’t realised that one of the pupil’s shoes had come off in the altercation and completely lost it when the boy feebly tapped the door and came in waving a white sock in mock surrender to ask the teacher if he could have his shoe back.

Aidan D

This phrase has become legendary.

[anon]

In fairness, I’d rather be accused of bleaching the skids out of my kex than leaving them there to form gold watches . Better still, I suppose, would be to go through school entirely skid free. I can dream, can’t I?

Phil G

petrocelli

As we all remember, there was an initial jab which would inflame should the antibodies in question already be in place. For a fortunate few, this meant no actual BCG.

Dov came up with the idea of artificially inflaming his test jab. So he spent a week attacking the test spot on his wrist with an arsenal of pencils, drawing pins, fingernail etc. The result was not so much an inflamation as a gaping Richey Manic style lesion.

The nurse wasn’t convinced that he was already super -immune, and that his massive trauma was the product of really fucking kick-ass antibodies.

Phil J

After receiving his BCG, Duncan Horn proudly declared, “now I can’t get arachnophobia”.

[anon]

In certain circles (such as the US Military), B.C.G. stands for birth control glasses, referring to the thick lensed and framed specs that could prevent most anybody from being pulled. Nerd Glasses.

[anon]

“You can’t hit me on my BCG,” declared my younger sister confidently, “it’s too small.”

I fucking could. First try. YES.

Alana

Geography class with Mr Pickering was always full of anticipation and excitement, as we tried to predict just when and why Dean would be thrown out of class.

During BCG week he managed to top all his previous efforts (swearing, fighting, general arsing about) by eating his BCG scab. Although I still almost vomit at the thought of it, it made a change from oxbow lakes.

Unknowing V

On the morning of our BCG, a huge mass panic was caused by the rumour that Jemma Holt had tensed her arm muscles mid-injection and snapped off the needle. Later versions of the story included the nurse being forced to remove the broken end with a pair of pliers. This caused a wave of hyperventilation, tears and fainting affecting around a third of the year, who all had to be laid out on mats in the gym until they had calmed down.

Not from an inner city comprehensive, then. They’re all used to the sight of needles these days thanks to incredible amounts of intravenous drug use. According to Francis Bloody Gilbert, anyway. - Matt.

hongdo g

Undeniably racist but justified given his tendency to refer to himself as ‘Rad Komaz’and the fact that he thought Five Star were ‘really wicked’.

Phil J

[anon]

[anon]

There appeared to be no aspect of competition, and I’m not sure whether they realised that they weren’t fooling anyone.

chin t

Doctor B

Andy M

Our scalpels as sharp as the average plastic ruler, so that the overall effect of attempted dissection would be a thick paste and a teacher’s disbelief that none of us could “find the lens”.

Jack H

Teacher training notes. Pigs liver dissection:

Don’t warn your class at the beginning of the lesson to ensure they do not leave any bits of liver lying around due to the stench it makes when it rots. They will simply spend the entire lesson cutting the liver up and hiding it around the classroom and in peoples’ pencil cases.

[anon]

Betty Swollocks

Paul Smeenis

Mary Hinge

Kelly Smunt

Joe Blobb

Tex Soy

Trevor Nyanalsecks etc.

Not to be confused with more direct humour of names like Mike Hunt, Hugh Jarse etc.

[anon]

You missed out Keith Burton.

Rob Y

The fun of these cleverly invented names turns to heartbreaking tragedy when you meet the unfortunate girl named Vicky Pagett, who has led a needlessly difficult life.

Robert R

A few of us were trying to think up new Betty Swollocks variations when a lad from the year below, missing the point a bit, suggested the name Nig Bipples.

It’s hard to batter someone when you’re crying with laughter.

Nig B

Mr C

[anon]

Once, in Biology, an amusing remark generated such mirth in me that I accidentally hawked up a copious amount of nasal mucus onto Richard Hull’s biology book. The resultant beast sat there on the page, quivering like a transparent jellyfish laced with red veins. Unimpressed with the new life-form that I had created, Richard tore out the offending page and threw it away.

[anon]

Hidden in those bushes were anything from one to five naked men who would bum any boy who came too near. They would drag him into the bushes and bum him until he liked it and thereafter he, in turn, would bum others and so on…

A brave group of boys once stormed the bushes and found no naked men but they did find a few lolly sticks an empty can and some string. This was all the evidence needed to confirm that some victim had been tied up and bummed with such vigour that a refreshment break had been necessary.

As the legend grew bolder the naked men were given names. There was Ram Bottom - the leader, Captain Kinky, Big Billy Bendy Bollocks and two others who always wore masks but were thought to be Mr Ellis (Geography) and the old man who swept up in the market and who had been caught masturbating in a public convenience.

Bob M

He got sent out the class for screaming in agony, but still asked me to be his best man in later life. Although he was soon divorced, mind.

Diving B

also consider :

random and impromptu slashing of the neck with metal combs, and surprise karate chops to the Adam’s apple 10 seconds before a teacher enters the class.

This results in a complete inability to breathe, so you won’t be able to answer the register. Which will obviously be your number one concern, what with not being able to breathe.

dave e

In Chemistry one day, Sam remembered we had a French exam next lesson. Nothing serious, just a round-up of a chapter in Tricolore.

However, Sam hadn’t prepared for it, so asked me to smash him over the hand with the base of a retort stand. I obliged, and hey presto - one French exam avoided! Not to mention the kudos of having two broken fingers and spending days in hospital.

For a later chapter in the book, he actually stabbed himself in the hand with a Stanley knife.

Dave H

Having both forgotten our swimming kits, a friend and I searched around for something - anything - that could help us avoid the inevitable splashing about in pissy water wearing some gippos’ swimming cozzies from lost property.

We ransacked our bags for something to help us get out of PE. Unfortunately, the best we could do was a lowly packet of Strepsils. Clinging to the forelorn hope that the packet’s warning against eating too many Strepsils in a 24 hour period would cause illness or some kind of allergic reaction, we devoured the entire packet of the potentially lethal lozenges beween us.

Not a lot happened. We didn’t choke on our swollen tracheas, or experience even the slightest form of anaphylactic shock. And so it was that we found ourselves swimming in pissy water wearing gippos’ swimming cozzies from lost property. The inevitable tabloid headline “School’s Shocking Strepils Suicides” would have been less embarrassing.

Het P

Nominate the beast and give him a heavy ruler. The beast begins captured under the desks. Everyone else (the beastkeepers ) would try to stop him escaping by holding the desks down, all the chairs in the way, and so forth.

When the beast finally did escape, he’d run around hitting everyone until we got bored.

griff

Alex

Ricky D

• Simulation of gas leaks by blowing through a bic biro, leading to regular evacuations of the class. - When told to stand outside, it was essential that you actually went and stood outside the school and wave at him through the window. - Whistling in class until he ordered the whistling boy to get out. Then, every boy would stand up and stand outside the school and wave through the window.

Baz Bucklow has since died of a heart attack.

Adam B

BMX boys have a lot of fun,
sticking their handlbars up their bum.

This is true.

[anon]

Everybody was born originally black, but because this was a dirty colour, God made a big lake and everybody had to have a wash in it. So, everybody came and bathed and washed off their blackness and became white.

But, the lake was drying up and so there was only enough water for some to wash their hands and feet.

A great story, for many reasons - its mindbending racism, for one. Also the implication that God just didn’t bother refilling the lake, and thought “fuck it, let ’em stay black”.

Andrew N

How odd. In hot countries, most people bathe at least once a day. In fact, in my grandparents’ era in India, people avoided the whites because the pikey soap-dodgers hardly ever washed.

Luckily, we now live in a time of racial tolerance and these outdated stereotypes are forgotten. See the jolly black woman bathing in the Radox advert! She is what she is .

Chud B

Allan A

The game was won in two ways, either one player would hit an Ace (a burp so loud that it would bring him close to vomiting, much to the applause of the audience) or would run out of burps.

rob r

budbud d

Hey Kids! Sometimes here at PGL we get sent submissions so disturbing it makes our flesh creep. We’d like to share that sensation with you now. Here’s our most recent submission for the “bullying” thread. Note the lack of remorse. *Shudder*

Although I never got anyone to actually kill themselves, I still consider myself to have been the best bully I have known.

I was suspended once for telling the diabetic kid in our school that he was “a bit a of a freak”. This was the official reason given to my parents on the letter of suspension. But the truth was that, through two and a half years of relentless bullying, the stress had actually caused him to DEVELOP diabetes, and move to a new school. It wasn’t very clever stuff (‘You’re gay’, ‘You look like a cat, Catman’, ‘your mother is a hermaphrodite who tried to seduce me’, ‘your (8-year-old) sister is actually your father’s 34-year-old gay lover’ etc. etc.) but it was never-ending. I remember the head of middle school telling me as he sent me home that the poor boy would “have to inject himself with insulin every day for the rest of his life.”

Well, I met him not six months later and it turned out that the diabetes had completely disappeared after the bullying stopped, so he didn’t have to inject himself anymore. Someone owes me an apology.

I think I’m owed an apology.

The Boy T

Oh, how the head of our lower school must have congratulated himself when he struck upon the cure for bullying, so beautiful in its simplicity. We had to wear blazers, and had to carry our school calendar in our breast pocket (A5 card folded into three, nice blue colour which poked out of the pocket, and looked a bit like one of David Niven’s hankies - very dapper). Everyone in the school was instructed to clearly write their name on the top of the calendar, so we were all effectively wearing nametags. Now here comes the genius of it: as the most likely bullying targets, we lower school boys were told that, upon finding ourselves in a sticky situation, we were to look our aggressors in the eye, point at their name tag, and inform them,

" I know your name. "

Then, for fear of repercussions, or because of the humanising element, bullying would cease.

Sadly, and almost unbelievably, this was not to be the case. Many of our school?s ingenious thugs simply wrote something on the back of the card, then in times of violence or escape, they could simply reverse the card. These “dummy plates” ranged from the names of members of the bee-keeping club and librarians, through to “Michael Ryan” and various gung-ho statements such as “Eat Lead” and “Feel the Fist”.

the Y

At secondary school, I am thankful to have been privy and not subject to the “Count of Monte Cristo” ritual. Two pliable youngsters were manhandled into adjacent lockers, and the unit was lowered face first to the ground.

In a way, it was kind, because it gave the prisoners someone to talk to. Like Richard Chamberlain and him from ZZTop, in the classic aforementioned film.

Harry H

(I wish Log had had this in his backlog rather than me. Now I have a mental picture of him in a nice easter hat with chicks all over it and daisies woven in his beard. Thanks. Susan.)

Neil R

Having been saved, the girl was then allowed to go back to doing handstands against a wall.

Burt B

billy b

Sleeping was frowned upon, as anyone who so much as closed their eyes for longer than a few seconds had their eyebrows shaved or lots of shaving foam spunked on their forehead. There was always someone who’d drop off first, usually Roger, and he’d usually end up going apeshit mental when we tried to put a banana in his mouth, crazy scamps that we were.

I’m pretty sure every school in South East Anglia had to endure the torture of Bradwell power station at some time in their life, unless you took pissy History and spent all day looking at Mr Newton’s gay little drawings on the blackboard.

Alistair G

I shit you not.

Alistair G

Pink W

[anon]

B: Beef Stew

A: What if the beef stew was made with poo, would you rather eat the beef stew or just the poo?

B: Beef Stew

A: You want to eat beef stew made with poo!!!

[anon]

There was a variation where you held two crooked fingers over your mouth, and your victim had to do the same, and woe betide them if they got it mixed up… Woe betide indeed.

Sus

Another way to make someone have a large amount of boyfriends/girlfriends would be as follows:

1: Put your hands together, palms facing you, fingertips touching.

2: Approach someone and ask them to “Open the gates”. They will then have to pull your hands from the middle so they swing out like saloon doors.

3: Tell them to “Pick some flowers” and watch as they pick imaginary flowers.

4: Ask them how many flowers they have. If they say “One”, keep asking until they say five or many more.

The number of flowers they have after you’ve stopped commanding them to pick more damn flowers corresponds to the number of boyfriends/girlfriends they have. Not a very good insult considering that the person making the joke is highly unlikely to have a boy/girlfriend of their own.

Charlie W

The number of partners you have of the opposite sex is linked directly to how gay you are. For instance, a boy with over twenty girlfriends is pretty damn gay - but if he had fifty girlfriends, his gayness would shoot through the roof. Similarly, a girl with two hundred boyfriends is such an impossibly up-front lesbian that she might as well have a velvet-tipping machine strapped to her jowels.

<img src=“http://www.disappointment.com/playground/tipping-hat.jpg">

<font size=“1”>A woman with 225 boyfriends wearing her newest velvet-tipping machine.</font>

[anon]

shaun a

shaun a

[anon]

Often phrases like “fuck your mum” were chosen by the running team - knowing that the weakest and saddest members of the team would get caught first. The only way they would therefore be able to stop the beating is by shouting “fuck your mum” at the attackers, which obviously sounded more like a spirited defiance, and left you five times likelier to get your nose broken.

Jeff S

Also the name given to a retaliatory attack following a fart. A cry of ‘beats!’ would be the call to arms for those nearby (the ‘fartees’) to quickly deliver painful blows to the farter’s face, chest and lower torso, and so the previously disrupted moral equilibrium of the playground was restored (although the amount of ‘beats’ were probably never entirely proportional to the offensiveness of the fart).

More devious students would carry out controlled, easily transferable farts in the company of an individual for whom they concealed intense and sinister hatred. This would allow for a beating to be administered without revealing any dark, evil intentions/repressed sexual feelings to the victim.

matronboy n

In Croesyceiliog School during the 60s and 70s retalliation for guffs took the form of shouting “Sixes!” and raining blows down on the farter. UNLESS, that is, he or she had immunised themself from the violence by shouting “Taxi!” immediately post-chuff. Insofar as I can remember, said protection was strictly observed, although no taxis ever actually turned up. Tuh, taxis, eh?

Eleanor M

Chris B

After falling out with a friend in 1982, I decided to write “LAWRENCE MEDWAY’S HOUSE IS THE ARGENTINIAN HQ” in big letters on a wall.

I think I was hoping that the shame would drive him and his family from the village, but only after he admitted that he HAD stolen the light sabre from my Darth Vader miniature figure. The cunt.

Matt F

Richard S

Jon B

Also called spit backs, for plainly obvious reasons, you idiot.

blee a

Also known as a backflush, often abbreviated in usage to a simple flush .

For example, " you lousy fucking shit, you’ve flushed me can “.

Pim P

larry m

Peter M

John C

Belm is also used to denote that ones interlocutor is a passenger on the sunshine bus. A spaz, div, cretin, biffa, scoper etc.

Peter M

John C

How Kenneth got into bus spotting was actually a charming story. " I remember seeing a book bus outside my window when I was five and it was all painted and I just started liking busses “. Aw.

Andrew T

TEACHER: “what’s the volume of a cube with sides of 2cm each?”

PUPIL: “eight”

TEACHER: “eight what? bananas?”

Pupils would often fall out of their chairs and asphyxiate with laughter.

peter t

Also accepted as an inherently funny thing , like bananas are, are elephants. Hence “Eight what? Elephants?”

Reminiscent of that stage of mental development when simply saying “mango” was funny.

Charlie W

A further alternative was:

Pupil : Sixteen

Mr. MacPherson : You nit!

Pupil : Sorry, sir - sixteen Joules

Here, the amusing similarity between ‘unit’ (the missing unit of measurement) and the ludicrously mild term of abuse ‘You Nit’ assured hilarity. *cough* As did said Mr. MacPherson’s habit of calling Richard Williams ‘Willy Bums’.

Jim A

[anon]

haha n

Neil W

In no way homosexual, homoerotic, or anything other than lots of straight boys having an innocent non-sexual bumming session.

[anon]

Good God. I am reminded of a time when the pure energy of class 2B’s non-sexual anal-train managed to shunt the teachers desk (large, wooden, full of useless educational pamphlets) from one end of the classroom to the other in a shockingly innocent congo bum line.

Hindsight is not helpful in this instance. It is still unfathomable. Unless, of course, you posit that we were all terrible little homos.

[anon]

Often resulting in panicked trial and error and a stream of steadily less discernable numbers.

Leigh L

Participants are offered one cup of squash diluted with tap water, and one cup of squash diluted with river water that has just trickled through the corpse of a sheep.

They are then offered the chance to say which is the real “Barker ‘95”. Their answer is entirely irrelevant.

[anon]

Phil G

Rat’s penises are remarkably similar to a grain of white rice. As this lesson was just before lunch it seemed the natural thing to do was to remove the organ and flick it into the rice salad in the canteen.

Julian B

We dissected rats in Year 10 Biology. The boys paraded an opened rat, guts-a-glory, down the corridor in an attempt to nauseate the Year 9s. The girls were much more subtle. Rat foetuses make intriguing earrings.

Toby T

Ben B

Karma A

Almost every lunchtime during the third, fourth and fifth form we made a BFOSD by pretending to eat our school dinners, but in fact each sneaking spoonfuls into a plastic bag. These creatures were then named and taken out to the playing field, where they developed a personality of their own as they were thrown around until they burst - usually on Wayne.

The best BFOSDs tended to be composed of a base of mashed potato, custard and segments of orange, along with other associated foodstuffs. The acidity of the orange was generally believed to curdle the milk in the custard, turning the BFOSD into a stinking near-lethal chemical weapon.

Early BFOSDs tended not to last more than fifteen minutes or so, and required rebagging at frequent intervals if their lifespan was to be increased. Then some genius suggested putting the BFOSD into a sock taken from the PE Block lost property basket, and a whole new era was born.

Putting a BFOSD into a sock meant that, when the plastic bag burst, the mashed-up food that was its very essence did not escape onto the ground. Instead it oozed into the material of the sock, making it very, very unpleasant indeed, but also maintaining the BFOSD’s integrity. This meant that, rather than lasting for an hour or so, BFOSDs could last for days or even weeks before the foul stench of rot caused us to discard it.

With the lifespan of the BFOSD extended almost indefinitely, all sorts of shenanigans ensued. The contents of the BFOSD leaked from their M&S terry toweling home at a reasonably restrained pace; school blazers were frequently dotted with stains, but nothing approaching the full-on 1963 Dallas head-shot stains that bursting plastic bags left.

And so the BFOSD managed to live past the lunch hour until after school when they made their way into Walsall town centre - where hilarity inevitably resulted: thrown onto crowded buses, pushed through open office windows, deposited on the shelves of the local Sainsbury’s. We behaved in a manner that brought shame to both our school and our families. But we didn’t care - we were young rebels blazing through puberty, and we did it with stinking socks in hand.

Phil G

In America (or American films at least) they call it ‘brown bagging’, and it’s quite a hip thing to take your lunch into school in a paper bag. In this country, a Kwiksave bag (or worse, the plastic bag the bread for your sandwich came in), marks you as the worst kind of pikey. Not like a good pikey, the kind who’s mum doesn’t pay the rent but keeps her kids in Reeboks and nose studs and consumer durables, but the rubbish kind of pikey who can’t afford school trips and has to stay behind at school pissing about with bean bags in the gym with a dinner lady.

The moral of this story is: buy your fucking kids lunchboxes.

Susan T

If bags full of school dinner become boring, steal sheeps eyes from the biology lab and sling them around until they burst. The black ooze in the middle is… unpleasant.

griff

Stephen B

A factual inaccuracy here: B.K. could not actually whistle, but it never stopped him trying.

Also, Stephen Bray ran like a girl.

P R N

Stephen B

Yeah, that was my banana. It was actually a banana-shaped biro. Very realistic it looked too. He also confiscated a cycling cap I got given by some American friends. Not available over here, that. My mum assured me that he wouldn’t confiscate either item permanently. Nice one Ma. Still no novelty bananapen, nor exclusive cycling cap.

P R N

Stephen B

No T

Jon B

Stands for Big Tits . Requires two participants and a big titted girl. One boy shouts “beeee… teeee..”, the other runs up to punch the tits and shouts “Cellnet!”

Then both parties run away, because punching girls in the tits gives them cancer.

[anon]

Pete

“Breaker Breaker 10-4-10-4-John Wayne Payne”

Potentially the World’s Longest nickname. Now there’s a challenge…

John Payne was our Form Binner. The one who endured shouts of Gyp-Gyp-Gyp-Gypo! everytime anyone saw him. But, in that way that only happens at school, his life was defined by one careless statement in Second Year French.

Ms. Bissesseur, whom everyone fancied, was trying to teach us numbers in French, and so, sensibly decided to have the class recite their ‘phone numbers. Not a bad idea, you would think.

This went swimmingly until we got to John. John told us he didn’t have a phone, which would have been fair enough had he left there. But John decided to tell us that instead, he had a CB. Trevor Corrigan started up with 10-4, 10-4 John, and that was it for John. I don’t remember where the Wayne came from. Just because John Wayne was one letter away from Payne, and because somehow saying John Wayne Payne in that ‘Joey Deacon’ way was somehow funnier. Made more so because one so unlike John Wayne you could not hope to meet.

Probably not the funniest story ever, but saying Breaker Breaker 10-4 10-4 John Wayne Payne still makes me laugh.

Ian D

He was later joined by The Poo With The Flaxen Hair, who had this theme tune;

The Poo with the Flaxen Hair,
The Poo with the Flaxen Hair,
They seek him here, they seek him there,
The Poo with the Flaxen Hair.

Then there was Megaslap, just about the only thing I could draw. Here they are, the pricks.

[img]

Jon B

Dominic S

Martin C

Pissball : A new fluffy tennis ball is taken to the toilets and placed in the long piss filled gutter of the school urinal. Once nicely soaked it was hooked up with a deft foot and dribbled to the centre of the school yard. To commence the game, shout “PISS BALL” and boot the ball at the victim of your choice. This had three resulting outcomes. (1) A direct hit. The victim would smell like a trevor for the rest of the day, and a hundred boys would share the pride of having their piss on him. (2) The more sporty types with the quick reflexes may go for a catch. Pissy hand ensues.. (3) Miss. Needless to say a lot of kids stank of a lot of piss.

Nolan

Domball : Not to be confused with DoomBall. Similar to Australian rules football, two (sloppily defined) teams of people would attempt to score by carrying, kicking or throwing Dominic to their end of the common room. Additional points were allegedly available for mid-play manoeuvres such as posting (qv). Games were started unpredictably with the rallying cry of “DOMBALL!” whenever Dominic was in the common room, which became decreasingly frequent as the game grew in popularity.

Wilberforce O

Hennis : a game where one skinny lad is pushed between two bigger lads in a game of mock tennis. the winner is the player who makes the skinny lad fall over/cry/be sick etc etc

Andy M

Nick K

If more information about the bullets seems appropriate, offer them this;

One’s black,

one’s blue,

one full of chicken poo."

[anon]

Not quite as effective without the preceding steps.

Make a “gate” with your hands, middle fingers touching. Say to your chosen victim, in a manner similar to that adopted when asking them to smell your cheese, “Open the gate!”. Excited to see what will happen, your victim (the fool) will open the gate. Quickly, before they realise their mistake, make gun shapes with your hands, and shoot them down in a hail of “peeeoww"s and “er er er er er er"s. Repeat the rhyme over their twitching, bloody corpse.

Nick H

In addition to this, the composition of said bullets could be stated:

“One red, one blue, one made of doggie’s poo”.

Matt S

We were obviously less sophisticated at my school, where “opening the gate” would merely result in being punched in the face.

A triumph of substance over style.

Het P

No child wants to be a Baron. And those that do would be ill-advised to start that long journey by adopting a pair of cheap, aspirational labelled shoes. They do not command respect.

The stitching on my Barons formed a ridged lip around the top of the shoe. This rim would prevent water from draining effectively to the floor. This was noticed, and within seconds, I became Baron Fishponds. Baron Fishponds - the new-money peer who wasn't invited to top-tier social functions, because of his shit shoes.

Jon B

Peter G

In Wakefield we had the Stanley Royd infirmary, and I challenge anyone - Wakefield native or otherwise - to say the word Royd without thinking about the mentally ill. In particular, thinking of a young tardlet called Stanley Royd introducing himself to a smiling and plainly uncomfortable class.

This inspiring institution ensured the continuing popularity of spacker-derived insults for Wakefield’s schoolboys well into the post-Deacon era.

Kevin D

David G

My mate Greg Jolley was the undisputed master of barrrrrrn! Whatever he mimed, whatever he was describing, this all-purpose sound effect would be in there somewhere. Examples…

(Describing an episode of Hammer House of Horror) “And the hitch-hiker raises his hand up to the bloke’s face like this, barrrrrrn…”

“And this massive aeroplane went barrrrrrn…”

“And then this bloke came out and I went ‘peg it!’ and we went barrrrrrn…”

[anon]

Phil C

However, our Bazza replied, having had manners beaten into him by his parents, “Yes please”. But he drew out the word “please” in a slightly puzzled tone of voice, which obviously meant he was unsure that this was the correct answer.

This was confirmed to him by the entire class, including the teacher, pissing themselves laughing, and Barry just pissing himself.

Barry Walker's finest hour was the hour when he finally learnt to tell a joke. The joke going round was “Knock Knock! Who's there? Spitonmish! Spitonmish who?” at which the teller hocked a greeny on to the victims Clarks commandos.

Barry's rendition of the joke was less interactive. He'd just say “Knock Knock, who's there, spitonmishoe,” and never quite figured out why this brilliant joke ended up with him getting his shoes gobbed on.

Jeff F

Barry Tamkin was the stupidest kid in our school, although to be fair he did do a cracking impression of the Pink Panther walking into a tree. I hope this had stood him in good stead through life, as it was his only skill.

I’d be interested to know if anyone has ever encountered anyone called Barry who wasn’t either fat/a geek/stupid/generally picked on, as I don’t think they exist.

roj b

There was a Barry at our school, who incredibly wasn’t a geek, fat, or stupid. Unfortunately his surname was Tease. So, boys howled ‘Ooooh Barry is a Tease ’ in the gayest way imaginable. Actually, even gayer than that.

So he might as well have been a geek, fat, or stupid for all the bullying he got.

petrocelli

My unfortunate army brat cousin, given name Barry-John, was sent off to boarding school having become accustomed to being addressed as “BJ”.

When he returned from boarding school, his mother amended it to “Beej”.

It was too late.

[anon]

Barry at my school cried when someone stole the sticker he’d been given by his dentist, featuring a picture of a crocodile brushing his teeth with an oversized toothbrush. Barry cried so much we were all called in to an emergency assembly so the headmaster could explain that we should never touch other people’s belongings because even though they may not appear important to us, the things may mean the world to them.

Someone later stole the piece of tin foil that Barry had saved from his sandwiches. He cried even more about that, because he was really excited about adding it to his last year’s easter egg foil collection.

Lizzie O

Unusually, our Barry was tall and skinny with a friendly, honest face.

He did, however, have a phenomenal nervous tic, which manifested itself through Barry squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a fraction of a second - an industrial-strength blink, if you like - and a quick shake of his head. This occurred roughly once every eight seconds; every now and again he would do two in a row. Surprisingly, nobody ever mentioned it and he blinked and shook his way happily through school.

Dale T

We had a Barry who knocked himself out whilst attempting a backflip whilst breakdancing at the school disco.

[mansh]It's the long awaited return of Barries We Have Known!

THANKS, IVAN! KEEP 'EM COMING![/mansh]

Ivan V

Our class Barry had Barry as a surname, rather than a first name. He compensated for this in two ways:

(1) He only had three fingers on his left hand. In order to avoid drawing attention to this he would keep it in his pocket at all times . No only did this not work at all, it also earned him his first nickname, The Hooded Claw .

(2) Once, whoever wrote the day's roll had terrible writing, while the supply teacher who read it obviously didn't know the names of anyone in the class, and thus spent a good ten minutes attempting to track down someone called “Batsy”. This immediately became his second nickname.

[anon]

Harry G

Our 6th form stats teacher was sufficiently confused by the presence of two ‘Andy’s in the class that Andy C’s suggestion that he was to be called ‘Bernard’ was, in fact, taken seriously. Our teacher actually managed to forget his real name several times…

Andy S

On an exchange visit to the French school our penpals went to, several of us were ushered into an English lesson. The teacher asked us our names, and one by one, we all answered “Eddie Skez” the strange thing was, this was not prearranged, and (obviously) there was no-one called Eddie Skez.

- supermoving

Biget-anne was sitting in on our math class, god knows why, and we had a subsitute teacher, briget gave herself the name of a girl who was away that day, Nicola. after many such pranks in which she clearly repeated 'my name is nicola' she left, after a pole dance in a state of undress. Nicola got expelled and the subsitute got fired for ringing nicola and taking her out to dinner, why the real nicola wnet is not know, apart from her super slutty nature.

cf : Congratulations, you win the “I'm a massive fucking liar” award. On the upside, at least Biget-Anne won't find herself on Google, as her name almost certainly isn't spelled like that.

[anon]

Ben A

Pete M

Also consider " Shame on your batty when your batty get fresh “. Not sure what it meant, but rolled nicely off the tongue (not that an actual batty has ever rolled off, or on, my tongue you understand - that would be hideous).

Dust S

In my primary school it was the slightly less racially motivated:

Please Mrs Murray,
Does your bum smell of curry?
Let me smell (sniff, sniff),
Bloody hell!

The sniff wasn’t pronounced, you just inhaled sharply through the nostrils. We had a teacher with the surname Fettis; his bum may have smelt of lettuce. Which isn’t much of an insult, really.

Dust S

Doug S

Graham K

SR D

Lee F

Kevin D

Similarly, any response to a cry of “Oi, you’ve dropped your lipstick” would be enough to prove your gayness. But not for girls, obviously.

Nick H

The more intelligent kids would mime picking up the card, looking at it and then saying “There’s been a terrible mistake, this card has your name on it. And a little photo of you bumming your dad.”

Luke T

Paul R

David H

Butterfly garden? Hunh?

Jon B

Vic F

Also known as “bifter”, but not to be confused with “biffa”, which is a fat and unattractive woman.

Ivan V

Also, try Spina Smiffida for anyone with the surname Smith. And they’re ten a fucking penny, so it’s not like one of those if you know someone called Sigourney Weaver, why not call her Big Horny Beaver? entries.

[anon]

The stem biff can also be extended to form such classics as paedobiff .

Jack L

Watching the Biffa truck come to collect the Biffa bins fron outside school on Monday morning was always a great source of fun.

[anon]

The subject of spina bifida is, of course, best approached through the singing of the popular song “Spina man”:

Spina Man, Spina Man,
Does Whatever a Spina can…

Whatever Spinas can do, for the purposes of this song, is gurgle, flail, and roll around. So you should do that.

Nathaniel T

For my cousins, from Bristol, it was Spiny Biff - still among the most fantastic insults I have come across.

My mother told me not to learn any “toilet talk” from them when we went to stay.

gary s

We thought that ‘spina biffida’ specifically referred to spinal disabilities; so we often amended it when a child was hurt, to describe a localised injury, e.g a painful arse would be described as ‘arsa biffida’.

Cat T

Jon B

Josh B

Matt B

Simon E

Also known as nan flaps.

Petra D

Also known as chamois, from the fact that they buff your car as you clean it.

Although bingo-wings are more likely to leave a sweaty grease smear on your bonnet.

Kate W

Also known as “minger wings” in honour of a girl of truely gargantuan sea cow proportions in my 6th form who had HAIR on hers.

I still can’t think about it without gagging a little.

Oh, and she smelled of biscuits.

Aaaand she was a lezzer. She was a big minger winged, dirty, biscuit stinking, sea cow lezzer. Oh yes.

[anon]

Honourable G

When we hit upper sixth and were thus old enough to know better, it was decided that due to my being short, I should become The Bin Woman .

This surprisingly voluntary title involved removing the bin from its wooden home (like a McDonald’s bin), and I would sit in there, throwing rubbish back through the flap.

It wasn’t that funny, the dinner lady got pissed off, and I got beans in my hair.

[anon]

A horizontal variation on binning involved trapping Ben Egan in a small cupboard with glass sliding doors. After we got bored of looking at him, we turned the cupboard to face the wall.

Mike G

Once you have someone in a bin, they’re fairly helpless, so you can stage scenes around them.

**JACQUELINE’S TRYST

1. INT. DAY. CLASSROOM.**

Thomas : Good afternoon, Jacqueline. I trust no-one knows you came.

Jacqueline : Of course not. I value my position within the household, such as it is.

Thomas : You should know better than to… oh, is that the new flavour Monster Munch?

Jacqueline : You noticed. To be honest I am a little let down; I fear the flavour has gathered at the bottom of the bag, leaving the crisps themselves flavourless and cloying.

Thomas : Then there is only one thing for it!

Jacqueline : Whatever do you mean?

Thomas : You must spit a mouthful of the offending crisps into this bin!

Jacqueline : But Thomas!

Thomas : But nothing! Spit the crisps into the bin!

Jacqueline : But there is a boy in the bin, Thomas.

Thomas : Yes, that’s Steve. We binned him.

[ Jacqueline gobs her crisps onto Steve. Thomas takes a handful and does the same ]

Both : A hahahahah!

Jon B

[anon]

Also, “Bum,tit-tit,bum,tit-tit play the willy banjo.”

John C

[img]<div class=“caption”>The Bisto Kids, lifting the lid on a pot of farts they did earlier</div>

Simon H

Also used as a synonym for ‘fantastic’ - combined with french to create the ultimate praise: c’est la bisto .

When used to compliment a fart, the two uses combine quite nicely to create the image of an adorable thick brown fart.

[anon]

We converted the last line of a really bad Christmas hymn from;

‘Most highly favoured lady, Gloria’ to

‘Most highly flavoured gravy, aaaah…Bisto’

[anon]

Jon B

Darren J

Graeme

There’s a time and a place, Graeme. And this was both.

Jon B

Hugh M

The new PC version is ‘Batman’s wedding’ I believe.

[anon]

Nick D

For the revolving whiteboard scenario, where the boards are lifted and lowered to reveal fresh panels, the class can prepare for the teacher by concealing a massive, gushing, member on the rear board. Half-way through the lesson, when the teacher needs mo’ whiteboard, bingo! Guage the teacher’s reaction; did they go red, and not know what to do? If so, congratulations.

Jon B

Another way of contriving this is to write PLO (teacher talk for “Please Leave On”) on the full blackboards, and drawing a gusher on the rearmost panel. As the teacher searches for a clean panel, the cock draws ever nearer…

Rob D

Every time the country had a general election, our school would have a mock election. 6th formers would form political groups, make outlandish promises, and then do fuck all once in power. It was pretty realistic. (Satire)

One morning, while messing around in our form room before class, someone sneezed near the blank blackboard, spattering a huge amount of snot and phlegm across it.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Matt drew a big circle around the dripping greenie, and wrote ‘Vote for the Gob On The Board party’

Next assembly, our headmaster performed a dictatorial coup by telling us the elections were off, thanks to the disgusting contribution made by an unknown person in 4A’s form room. We of course, laughed until tears came down our faces…well, the boys did. The girls thought it was disgusting too. Tcha, girls.

[anon]

What you do is, you get a permanent marker, the sort that won’t come off, and you write OUT OF ORDER across a whiteboard. That wasn’t my idea.That was Nick Baxter’s. He beat some smug little shit up with a digeridoo.

[anon]

A small, geeky, unassuming child tries too hard to look good in front of cooler, funnier classmates and writes " Help, I’m a prisoner in a blackboard factory. Call the police and save me. " on an unattended blackboard.

The small, geeky, unassuming child then has the shit kicked out of him by the cool kids he was so desperately trying to impress.

In the back of his mind he’s sure that lesson applies to this website somehow, as well.

Nick H

Kids usually write other poeples names on the unattended blackboard - ie smudger is a twat, or some such similar. Being a bit dim I thought no one would be stupid enough to write their own name on a board, so I did, thinking that someone else, anyone else, would get the blame. Unfortunately, there being no markers around, I used one from Terry’s pencil case, and it was a permanent marker. so the words ‘Jon Robinson wrote this!’ remained on the board for a whole week, as no one would own up to writing it. They eventually came off with lots of rubbing.

Jon R

The larger ‘Rollaround’ blackboards were just large enough to hide a smaller member of the class. Once, prior to our maths teacher appearing, Ian Wright (no, not that one!) hid behind the blackboard armed with a piece of chalk. Throughout the lesson Mr Riat was most confused when the things he had written at the beginning of the lesson had mysteriously disappeared when we asked to him to explain them again.

Mate, I would have had as much faith in your story if you’d said it WAS ’that’ Ian Wright. If you expect me to believe that your mate was the elastic bloke out of the X-Files and that Mr Riat didn’t notice a pair of legs coming out of the bottom of the board, then, well, you’d better blummin’ well think again. Do you remember shortly after this happened, you woke up and ate your cornflakes? - Mansh

[anon]

1. Write the letters W-A-N-K-E-R using the technique of licking a finger, writing the letter, and then vigorously pounding the blackboard eraser on top of it so the chalk dust sticks to the moisture.

2. Cover the blackboard with ’normal’ writing;

3. Then wait for the teacher to come into the classrom and clean the blackboard at the start of the lesson. The ’normal’ chalk words are removed and HOOP-LA! the word ‘WANKER’ remains.

‘Proper’ vandals may consider the use of Pritt.

[anon]

Jon B

Jon B

Olly L

Callahan

Kris F

Jason

I misguidedly invented ‘Blowgun RISK’ for our physics lessons. Based loosly on the game of the same name. You got points for attacking other ‘continents’ succesfully, ie winning a ‘blowgun battle’. Other continents were other tables, The group of hard lads was obviously North America, the group of physics boffins was obviously Australasia. I spent ages working out elaborate rules. Unfortunately when I excitedly annouced our new activity to the rest of the class you can guess the painful result.

Joel A

Take the bit from the end of a shoelace. Fray out the lace, and push a pin through. You now have a small dart, which when launched through the trusty hollow biro will stick into someone’s body (or, more amusingly, face) and hang there in a relatively painless way, giving them tetanus.

[anon]

Holding a thermometer in a bunsen flame for long enough will eventually cause the mercury to expand, break the glass and spurt out of the end. With practice, this can be aimed.

Julian B

Jimbo

Its also what happens when each member of your biology class is given a goldfish in a beaker to study anatomy on. From memory, those that weren’t killed with the inking were finished by the vicious stirring with a ruler.

Rob A

Noel G

“Would you suck a black man’s willy for a banana?”

“No.”

“Would you suck a black man’s willy for TWO bananas?”

“No!”

“Well what WOULD you suck a black man’s willy for, then?”

“Nothing!”

Hilarity will ensue, as assuredly as night follows day.

[anon]

If the response is a well-thought-out ‘I wouldn’t suck a black man’s willy for anything’, this can be easily (if unimpressively) counteracted with ‘Oh, so you would suck it for SOMETHING then.’

Brendan W

Bob would rise from his desk, scattering books and sandwiches, and start lumbering blindly around the room in search of his antagonists. We would all run around the room, taunting Bob, hitting and slapping Bob, dodging Bob, yelling out “Wobert got no fwiends”, until someone's nerve broke and we would all make for the exit door. At this point, the trick was to SHUT THE LAST GUY IN.

The climax of the game came as we would hold the door shut from outside the room, listening while the victim trapped inside would vainly rattle the handle until Bob located and beat the living shit out of him. I never suffered this fate myself, but I was there the day that Alan Israel got locked in, and Bob broke his nose by smashing his face against the wall. This resulted in a high-level headmaster's inquiry and the eventual demise of Bob Baiting as a regular sport.

Another Bob detail: Bob had an unpleasant spitty laugh, a sort of “spllpllscchchchschschhh” that would spray his unfortunate interlocutors with saliva and bits of chewed sandwich.

I used to imitate this laugh when Bob wasn't around, so well that I'd get requests, and a new Bob-baiting game took off: run up to Bob, go “spllpllschschschschch” in his face, then sprint off.

Bob cornered me one afternoon and informed me that the development of this new sport was my responsibility, and he darkly warned me that for every kid who ran up to him and did the spitty laugh, Bob would give me a “dead leg”. And so for the entire rest of that fucking year and well on into the next, I lived in constant fear of Bob stampeding out of nowhere and kneeing me in the thigh.

Bob is now a barrister.

Simon M

Log : Fuck a shit head.

Paul : Who?

Log : Bodley Head!

Jon B

On a similar note, a six-year-old Mark Tilson penned the less graphic ode ‘Black Poo / Bamboo’. Only three words, but they rhymed.

Two decades and two English Lit degrees later, it still has a pleasing cadence and - to my mind - happily rivals the greatest stanzas of Eliot or Auden.

sam g

Jon B

Alan T

I actually saw a bogwashing happen once, to a young lad named Ben Tovey. Have you changed your name? Are you running from something? Are you trying to make the idea of bogwashing seem so whimsical and made-up that no one will ever accuse you of having been bogwashed? Huh, Ben? Well?

This deserves a reply. Come on, Alan. Are you really Ben, as Tom alleges? Did you get bogwashed, dammit? And if anyone else wants to ease the pain of those bogwashing memories by sharing them with the rest of the class, let us know forthwith. - Matt.

Pogglesnatch

At my previous secondary school, I was bullied unmercifully, and I received at least one bogwashing (my mind has since blocked out large parts of the year I was there), so it’s definitely not an urban legend. Urban legends tend to be drier. That said, I have been getting my own back recently, by seeking out the perpetrators and pounding the snot out of them. It’s very therapeutic.

[anon]

Peter G

Jon B

Despite your assurance that ’no one gets hurt’, whilst performing this very act, I once catapulted a younger and lighter fellow student so far and with such a rotational velocity that he landed most awkwardly and broke his arm at the elbow. It swung both ways in a most sickening manner. Sorry, Jason.

Paul R

My brother broke my arm doing this as well. I landed on my arse with my arm underneath me. I was concussed for about three weeks.

Andy T

Rob D

Ben C

Jon B

Jon B

Jack H

Jon B

To make friends the forefingers should be linked and shaken, to break friends the little fingers should be used. If you’re breaking friends and you really mean it, simple twist your hand during the ceremony and dislocate their finger.

That’ll teach them to use your protractor without asking.

becki m

Damian

Dan W

Jon B

Also a hairstyle on white people which is more naturally at home on black people. Brillo Pads can either spend all their money on hair gel, or bide their time and wait for the comparative tolerance of sixth form college.

Shady T

Jon B

Ian K

Gilbo

This, in later life, can be used to return a pint of beer you don’t want. Simply put your finger up your arse, hold the beer up to the barman’s nose, being sure to keep your finger on his side of the pint glass. Even if you don’t get a free pint, you can say “you just smelled my poo” to the barman. Also known as brown hitler, or shit lip

Jon B

Is also known as a Dirty Sanchez. An alternative is to run the finger all round the mouth giving a poo goatee rather than just a poo tash . This is known as a Dirty Beppe, and is considerably more difficult to apply.

[anon]

Jon B

Jon B

Miss Bruce had a terrible habit of trying to distinguish wrongdoers in assembly, by choosing the least distinctive features as a reference point. Such as; 1) You, in the grey jumper (90% of us) 2) You with the dark hair or 3) You yes you, no next to you, him! No not you, YOU! It was like a living breathing game of Guess Who?

Matt P

The science teacher, Mr Stewart (aka Brucie - never knew why), would reward a pupil’s correct answer, a rare event indeed, by placing a perfectly mined bogey on the pupil’s desk. For an exceptionally good answer, Brucie’s Bonus would be smeared on your science book for prosperity.

Nobber

Nick D

Regional variations on the spoken ‘Bud Bud Ding Ding’ is this song; “Bud Bud Ding Ding Tickets please, One to Bradford one to Leeds, One to Heckmondwyke if you please, Bud Bud Ding Ding Tickets Please.” Can also be substituted with Birmingham, Leicester and maybe Wolverhampton. If you must.

Anne-Marie

The song can be taken out of the bus environment and into the cornershop with this version Bud bud ding ding two ninety nine Went to the paki shop wasting my time i asked for reebok and they gave me nike i said “beep” i said “beep” i’ll wear what i like Most notable for the self-censorship of the last line. We never said fuck or anything like that.

Lo-Fi D

A Slight variation on the song reveals an innate fraudulence of our sub-continental cousins.

Bud bud ding, two ninety-nine/

Pakis rip you off all of the time/

You ask for Reebok, they give you Nike/

Two times last week, they tried to nick my bike.

Jack R

Clearly our school was more ‘urban’ and, indeed, ‘street’.

Bud bud ding ding,
Everybody sing sing,
Do
The Paki rap.

AYE.

Graham B

Nick D

Paul C

You were safe provided you were off the ground. Cue occasional hilarity as six-year olds scrabble to climb sheer brick walls, using the strange belief that running into a wall and waving your arms around will somehow make you climb it.

Julian B

Unsophisticated : Eur, no thanks.

Revolted : Eur, you fucking queer.

Precocious : I’ll wait until after PE, when you’ve loosened up.

Camp Camaraderie : Ooh, ducky pops.

Jon B

Derfel

[anon]

Rob Y

Eliot H

Adam T

There is also a form which includes “play the fanny banjo now”

Helene M

Roo A

If you substitute the last word of any book or film title with the word “bumhole”, it is funny. Note - one word titles have a limited appeal, but titles such as The Count of Monty Bumhole and Wuthering Bumholes will always be funny, even quite far into your twenties.

It’s true, it works for every book ! - The Tale of two Bumholes, Carter Beats The Bumhole, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Bumhole, Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Bumhole, Bravo Two-Bumholes, The Bumhole. It’s as true as gravity! - Log

Bomber

Geordie B

Richard D

2. Surprisingly trendy act of simulated buggery. There was homophobia, but at least there was an appreciation of irony. The pinnacle of this craze was one time when the teacher entered the room to find a line of 10 boys all pretending to “bum” the one in front.

Stuart

3. When sharing a cigarette, to suck so firmly and indelicately to leave the butt wet and/or covered in lip balm. Doing this bums the cigarette. You have bummed it. Regular cigarette bumming will stop people wanting to share a crafty B&H with you whenever there’s http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=986 spare.

felicity c

Sometimes we used to play a deliberate bumming game (careful now), where the cigarette would be passed around with each participant deliberately making the butt wetter than before. The ‘winner’ would be the last one prepared to suck on this disgusting morsel.

Andy M

Jon B

It seems unlikely that this is really based on serial killer Ted Bundy. We did a similar thing based on WWF wrestling star King Kong Bundy who was something of a legend at an age where we weren’t quite convinced that WWF was all fake.

[anon]

Jon B

Giles B

So am I.

Matt B

A more cumbersome variant common to Derbyshire was the ‘fart n blow’. You would have to get up, fart, bend down, and blow the fart upwards, and this would look pretty much like you were bending down to sniff your own fart, you scabby tramp.

The ‘fart n blow’ was largely eschewed in favour of the fart n waft .

Nick H

Used correctly, a small, snappy National Health glasses-case can be used to capture and store a fart for most of the duration of a double French lesson.

This in itself is not surprising. What’s more unsettling is the power that said glasses-case will exert over you as it sits on the edge of your desk, smugly full and pregnant with aromatic promise. You know perfectly well that it contains Spencer’s fart, but for some reason the urge to check and make sure exerts a rising, and ultimately irresistable, pressure on you.

Eventually I checked. It stank.

[anon]

Nick K

“Hey, Kent, have you found a wormhole?”

Ring any bells, Nick?

Nick H

Ben C