Barber S

I bet you don't even know what David Wilkie looks like. Well, he looks like the guy on my I Swam With David Wilkie badge.

[img]

No, I haven't got Sports AIDS. Jesus, you're so jealous.

Jon B

The DIY Vasectomy Kit consisted of a razor blade to perform the operation with, a sewing kit to patch yourself up with (different colour threads available for the man about town), a can of premium strength lager as your anaesthetic, and an instruction manual.

The artwork was fairly good considering none of us could draw anything but knobs, which we were banned from drawing despite our pleas that it was vital to the project.

The kit proved to be quite popular, although the teacher confiscated the can of Stella so that we “wouldn’t get caught with it.” We later went on to design more DIY surgery kits for our own amusement and I actually gave the DIY Vasectomy kit to a friend at Christmas once.

Scott L

In 6th form I bought a toy panda from the Nick Park ‘Creature Comforts’ animal range, made a ‘Y’ incision, took out the stuffing, made cuddly guts stuffed with the self-same fibres recently taken from its innards, and added a zip. This was then presented to my friend Beth at Christmas as the ‘Psycho Panda Home Surgery Kit’ (complete with illustrated instruction booklet), so named because of the mad staring glazed eyes it retained throughout the procedure.

Our brutality to soft toys did not end there. That same year we drew a huge pentagram on the common room table with tipp-ex and staked down a teddybear. We also sacrificed numerous hockey socks to our dark lord Marilyn Manson, though to be honest why he would want half a poorly knitted grubby item of girls sporting footwear is beyond me.

Het P

Eventually my patient father encouraged me to get on in life, fend for myself and embrace the defecation related hygiene that came with it. In time, I had almost forgotten about my brown jingle .

That was until I reached comprehensive. I’ll never forget the mix of shame and fear I felt hearing my older brother and his gang of rough bully-boys yelling ‘Da-dee I have Fi-niiiiiished’ across a packed playground on my first day.

[anon]

On reading the instructions I quickly realised it was quite complex and not as light-hearted as the cartoon had appeared so I got an expert (my mate who’s older brother was a d&d keener) to help me set it up.

Me and my other mate sat for what seemed an eternity but was probably just over an hour, rolling dices while the ’expert’ wrote down the values next to our powers categories.

On rolling the final dice, the ’expert’ looked at our 2 figures stood on the board, deftly flicked them over and announced ‘you’re dead, you’re dead’.

No explanation. No Nothing. We packed the game away and went out to play footie.

[anon]

[anon]

Alan said “Well, I wouldn’t do this”, stuck out his bottom slightly and then proceeded to shit himself. We played less with Alan after this.

Yellow H

Dairy Lee was the name given in primary school to Lee Stocker, because he was on milk tokens due to his family having no money.

Old S

If you do this whilst your deaf teacher’s back is turned, she will think her hearing aid is broken and fiddle with the knobs on it.

What are they, volume or something? Fuck knows.

Jon B

Colin, the school loser, thought he’d celebrate a boarding school weekend by holding a party for himself in his study with a bottle of spirits. He partied hard that night, did Colin.

Harry found him. It was the horrendous niff in the toilet block that aroused our initial suspicions. Upon closer inspection, a flaccid, pale leg was seen poking out from the bottom of one of the cubicles.

The door was pushed open to find a half-naked unconscious Colin and an oozing mixture of piss, shit and vomit gradually fanning out across the floor. Well, there’s only one thing to do in such circumstances. We got a camera and took a whole roll of film.

Somehow, Colin got wind of the forthcoming poster production, and he tore Harry’s dorm to pieces, destroying every roll of film he could find including the incriminating one. However, instead of hushing up the event, this act of desperation just added to the legend. Before long, everybody knew about it, and Colin’s status as school loser was set in imperishable crystal for future generations to admire.

Barry B

By contrast, my poorly funded state school experience of a similar incident occurred on a trip to France. It wasn’t the hum of cack and puke that attracted us to Stephen Bell’s unconscous, drunken body. It was the smell of Johnny Buchannon setting fire to his hair.

Poor kids eh? we should feel sorry for them, really.

Tony G

Wayne was entirely sober on our school trip to France, being only 10 years old. However, that didn’t stop him from laying an enormous log in the bidet, which was removed the next day by an enraged Mr Strudwick.

Sweden S

During our school exchange visit to France, a day trip was organised to a seaside town. Five of us snuck off and bought loads of cheap froggy beer and wine and set about quaffing it.

Being a cunt, Jonathan Evenett got drunk and tried to snog a (male) French lifeguard on the beach.

“But they all do it in France!” was his feeble defence.

As if that wasn’t sad enough, Jonathan then tried to snog one of the ships officers on the way home, resulting in our entire school being banned from P&O ferries.

He’d only had half a shandy.

Dan S

We were 14 and on a school trip in Italy. What else is there to do during the evening in a hotel other than sit on a balcony and get wasted on a bottle of Southern Comfort? We thought that as there were ten of us, we wouldn’t get that pissed.

Just after we’d finished the bottle, another pupil rushed in to report that checks were being carried out by the teachers, including the dreaded smelling of the breath test . Cue a mad rush to the bathroom to fill our mouths with toothpaste. Apart from Baldeep, that is, who ate a load of Clearasil instead. He laughed about it at first, but retired to bed and spent the next 8 hours lying in a seething swamp of his own shit, puke and piss.

The look on Mr Brough’s face when he discovered why Baldeep refused to leave his room the next day will stay with me forever. That and the chorus of “What’s that smell?” when Baldeep was finally forced onto the coach.

He should have stuck to Biactol.

Stefan M

[anon]

[anon]

Following several rehearsals, Dave and I stood up to present our five-minute piece:

Me: Oi you, give me your lunch money.

At which point he punched me full in the face, thus ending the play.

Unbelievably, I then got a bollocking for ‘provoking’ Dave - Mrs Young clearly oblivious to the fact that a) it was a piece of theatre, and b) it was Dave who veered wildly and violently from the script.

Gareth W

Secondary: Anus means “grandmother”.

Sixth form: Eheu (a ho) means Alas ; Euge (pron. “you gay”) means “Hooray!”.

Postgraduate: Pedicabo ego et uos irrumabo means “I will sodomise you and ejaculate in your mouth”.

[anon]

Dance, Dance,
Wherever he may be.
For I am the lord of
My dad’s settee,
And I’ll lead you now,
Wherever you may be
And I’ll lead you all
In my dad’s settee.

This never really made much sense, but I never questioned it and sang along with everyone else in assembly. Jesus was in charge of a piece of furniture and he could dance on it or fly around on it as he saw fit. Because that’s what Jesus does.

Al B

I’m so glad I’m not the only one. However, instead of the prosaic ‘dad’s settee’, my version featured the more mysterious ‘dawn settee.’ The accompanying mental image of Jesus standing on a sofa, arms raised, with a psychedelic sun rising in the background was quite stirring.

Salad M

Minus the sunlight
Minus the morning
Here in the bright light
Of the SPARE DAY

Equally baffling was the reference to “springing, fresh from the lawn” which only added to the surreal imagery of the lyrics, perhaps referring to the blackbird who has pulled up some tasty worms.

[anon]

As Paul Talbot found out, Dean will sit you in it and you’ll have shit smeared all over the arse of your red shorts.

Lee

To set the delicious scene; Paul was NOT your normal school league pop kid. He looked like H from Steps had been interrupted whilst morphing into a football. His fringe and forehead seemed thrust together as a result of seperate, geographically divorced planning committees. His shirt cuffs were always a good seven inches prouder then his jumper sleeves.

He was good at all subjects and correspondingly bad at all other aspects of life - including not being considered a bed wetting chess club stalwart.

He happily admitted doing an hour of voluntary “study” (not homework, study ) each night at home, as if this deserved anything other than scowls and occasional violence. His sister showed solidarity with her brother’s cause by sprouting a moustache at the age of 14.

Despite all this, Paul scored minor pop kudos for a keyboard backed lament about nuclear war one assembly day. We begrudgingly gave him credit for his efforts.

Flushed with success, a later assembly found him sitting behind a “drum kit” assembled from the kettle drum, a snare drum, and all the other crap the dumb kids got to vent on during group pieces. To our delight, he proceeded to thrash (alone, without any other accompaniment) arhythmically like a waterheaded Keith Moon, whilst trilling in an odd adolescent contralto;

Dance to the music,

rock rock rock.

Everybody is doing it,

rock rock rock.

Please note his failure to conjugate “everybody” and “is” into a less rockless “everybody’s”. Oh yes, he even incited group bachannalian abandon politely. Of course, we laughed. A sound which his brain appeared to translate into applause.

He never performed another self-penned opus, so this remains the highlight of my school life. Paul, if you’re out there; home studios are very cheap now. Please, Paul. You owe it to rock.

Drew S

No, we hadn’t.

“It is rather funny, you know”, he said, only twitching a little bit. “So, this is your one and only chance to call me donkey .”

It absolutely, incontrovertibly wasn’t.

Harry G

In spite of this ambiguity, it didn’t stop Phil’s parents sending him out into the dark and rainy night to scrub it all off.

Tony G

Dear Mr Fisher,
I was feeling pretty canny,
I tried to fuck your daughter,
But I couldnt find her fanny!

When I found her fanny,
It was hairy as a sock.
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't find my cock!

When I found my cock,
It was hairy, long, and thin,
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't get it in!

When I got it in,
I wiggled it about,
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't get it out!

The true conundrum lies with the subtext. Initially it seems that the author is boasting of his sexual adventures, but maintaining a respectful distance by addressing the recipient as “Mr Fisher”. However, this rapidly declines into a litany of sexual dysfunction. Perhaps the author is requesting assistance or even the physical presence of Mr Fisher, to see what the actual problem is.

More importantly to the boys, this raised the hither unforseen concern that 'it' could get 'stuck' 'in there', and no amount of wriggling could get it out.

Spastic S

Down in the valley where nobody goes
There sits *insert name here* without any clothes
Along comes *insert name here* thick as a brick
Down comes his trousers and out comes his prick
He fucked her till her tits turned blue
His prick was black as charcoal
When it got dark he missed his mark
And rammed it up her arsehole.

space m

Hello Mrs Murphy
How's your heart and soul
I tried to ride your daughter
I couldn't find her hole

At last I found her hole
Covered by her frock
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't find my cock.

At last I found my cock
as straight as a pin
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't get it in

At last I got it in
And waved it all about
Fot fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't get it out.

At last I got it out
All sloppy and sore
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
your daughter wanted more.

This is kinder to the daughter than the original, giving her a nice frock instead of a hairy fanny, and enquiring into the “heart and soul” of Mrs Murphy before regaling her with the tale of fumbling, wild-eyed sex with her daughter.

It also enjoys a certain level of exasperation with the voraciousness of Mrs Murphy's daughter, who seems unsatisfied with someone sticking it in, panicking, and pulling it out again.

[anon]

This is a kind of http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=657 lite, for people unwilling to put their fingers into their anus for a joke.

Clockwork C

At this point, we would all repeatedly scream “DEFFO!”, which, rather than reassuring him that his hearing was fine, would instead induce a near cardiac arrest, and, on a good day, cause him to piss himself.

Professor Brazen G

A : “Do you like to shag old grannies?”

B : “No”

A : “Well, why do you do it then?”

The correct answer is “I don’t shag old grannies”. A useful exercise for Year 9 pupils.

Howard K

The crime? Stealing a plate of cupcakes and leaving nothing but some crumbs and a note reading ‘Ha ha! I stole your cupcakes!’

Mr Shakeshaft’s solution? Amateur sleuthing.

We were called individually to his study to write out a cleverly concocted phrase that would allow him to trace the perpetrator through his guilty handwriting.

The phrase chosen? ‘Dear watertank has a life of about fifteen years.’

The whole episode was so mind-boggling that we hardly even believe ourselves when we recollect it. I can only conclude that the cupcakes were what tipped the scales after years of real brutality and substance abuse cases. Presumably police assistance was no longer required after Brian’s detective work, as we heard no more on the matter.

Tyrannosaurus F

or you might get a penis up your bum,

don’t be silly, he hasn’t got a willy,

you must have mistook it for his thumb!

As far as I’m aware, Harry had a fully functioning penis, but the very fact I find myself reflecting on a penis at this developed stage in my life identifies me as a bender, so I wouldn’t trust my word as far as I could suck my own arse out.

Martin T

Curiously enough, my name was the only one to appear in the book, before the Devil had got bored and filled the other pages with squiggles.

[anon]

You call that a death book? ( them’s fighting words - jamie ) Richard Burns’ dad was a forensic scientist, and one day Richard smuggled one of his dad’s books into school. It featured full-colour glossy photos of atrocities. These were way, way beyond the coping abilities of the dozen or so 12-year-olds who clustered innocently around to look. I remember a stab victim with multiple wounds, a shotgun-in-the-mouth suicide, a woman who’d died in the bath from loss of blood during an attempted DIY pregancy termination, and a guy who’d had a heart attack and fallen chest-first onto a circular saw.

Now that’s a death book.

[anon]

The seriousness with which this was treated was such that even the entrance of a teacher wasn’t enough to put a stop to the titanic struggle between two boys having a tug-of-war over the last remaining safe seat at the start of a lesson.

I still check the back of every seat I sit in.

Simon C

There was hardly a single chair at my school that didn’t have a penis drawn on the front of the seat. You would often find that you had suddenly acquired a new marker pen cock, which was poking out from between your legs in a suggestive manner.

The practice became so widespread that the headmaster had to address the issue at assembly. He prefaced his announcement with, ‘This is not in any way a laughing matter,’ before continuing, ‘It has come to my attention that male genitalia have been drawn…’

Despite the headmaster’s protestation that the word ‘genitalia’ was ’not funny’, the speech was swiftly abandoned.

David P

On one occasion we were told to measure out a quantity of some very volatile and noxious substance. No-one told us how to do this, so I decided that a mouth pipette would be approproiate. For those mercifully unfamiliar with chemistry, here is a man using a mouth pipette. Note how unsuitable it is for sucking on noxious liquids.

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

I put the end of the pipette in my mouth, then woke up surrounded by flames, smashed glassware, and my jeering classmates. And not one teacher rushed to offer me an out-of-court settlement of sixes of millions.

Tom B

I was a school contemporary of ‘Tom Brown’ in those halcyon days (Careful - Jamie) before the nanny state took all the fun out of chemistry lessons.

At my class’ strangely ill-attended 25-year reunion, the conversation among the half dozen of us who were capable of finishing a sentence without the use of respirators soon turned to asbestos mats. Those crumbly grey panels, so essential for the health and safety of the lab tables, were suddenly replaced at the start of our Second Year with sheets of hardboard. These weren’t nearly so much fun and flatly refused to leave fibrous impact marks when hurled frisbee-style at each other across the room. Hell, you couldn’t even snap bits off with your teeth.

We all agreed that it had been political correctness gone mad. Still, it raised a hearty laugh and several ashtrays full of thick, brown sputum.

[anon]

(Always the day before, too. Never “earlier today”. This means that Paul Murray must have stayed behind after school to shit in the drinking fountain every single day.)

ryan j

This became a surprisingly successful craze at my school, lasting for a good few weeks before a teacher was told about our glamourous and highly illegal exploits and broke up the cartel.

jon j

Get everyone’s pencil sharpeners, and remove the blades. You may need a screwdriver.

Then, turn the ceiling fans up to full, and when the time seems right, yell " duck or get stabbed “, and throw the blades into the fan.

Children and teacher alike would then dive under their desks to avoid receiving a chaotic facial slash.

This being Australia, the teacher probably didn’t cry and leave the teaching profession forever. She probably said “heh, nice one, blue” before hopping onto a jetski and doing a double-dunny in Gedunga Bay, or something like that .

Pogglesnatch

A playground urban legend amongst had it that there was a command you could type that was shrouded in mystery, and fashioned by the devil himself. When executed, this command would destroy the computer. This command was called the death poke.

This command was <code>POKE 59458,62</code> .

To make our crime untraceable, Pete wrote a small program that waited for someone to press a key before exploding. The rules of he-who-touched-it-last would then apply. Then, Pete asked Mr Samuals why his computer wasn’t working.

Mr Samuals stared at it for a while, then tentatively tapped at the keyboard. And the dread poke was activated. We all stood well back - actually I think we leaned back - to avoid the shards of glass.

The display was reduced to a single line. A mild inconvenience, but no-one was picking sizzling electronics out of their face.

A quick double-flick of the on/off switch later, and the eerie reign of the death poke had ended.

Andy C

My mate, already tolerating my childishness, fixed Miss with a look of limitless contempt, sighed, and said 'Not really , Miss.'

But Miss was made of sterner stuff. She picked up the book, and read the four words out with such undisguised relish - “tit… BUM… fannies… nooooooobs…” even contriving to give the word “knob” five syllables.

The class went wild for this reading, and my friend was given weeklong kudos. Which is a bit unfair, considering I wrote it.

Bitching P

Miss Spooner decided to make an example of us when we vandalised James’ rough book, by reading out loud some of the cartoons we had drawn.

Oddly, she chose one of her being fucked by James while she said “Oooh Yeah! I love it! I am a fat minger!” while both farted raucously.

The Boy T

Jimbo B

Surprisingly hard. Surprisingly painful. Predictably popular.

Charlie W

We had two big squishy rubber dice in the playground, and the game was played by assigning a particular dare to each number (for example running round the back of class 4, which wasn’t allowed, or chucking a stone at a dinner lady.)

Alternate versions played included 12 people coming up with one BIG dare (like knocking on the headmaster’s office window) and each taking a number in the lottery of doom. No-one ever refused to do something once the dice had decreed it.

I can’t see how the relatively consequence-free ‘knocking on the headmaster’s window’ is a bigger dare than chucking a stone at a dinner lady - unless Sam’s headmaster was, like, a demon or something.

[anon]

For about 40 minutes he refused to entertain the idea, until he finally decided to shut us all up, once and for all, by looking in the cupboard . An earlier raid of the drama rooms and a cleverly disguised 3rd year slumping to the floor ensured that Mr French screamed like a bitch.

You can’t expect children to take you seriously after you’ve screamed like a bitch.

Rich S

When men were bold,

And women weren’t invented.

They drilled big holes in telegraph poles,

and walked away contented.

I think the implication is that they fucked the hole in the telegraph pole. Otherwise it’s a pretty weird way to get your kicks, drilling holes in telegraph poles then walking off.

For those of you who didn’t know that women were invented after telegraph poles, here is the first ever telegraph conversation.

<img src=“http://www.disappointment.com/playground/daysofold.gif">

[anon]

Consider also:

In days of old

When knights were bold

And Durex weren’t invented

They just put socks

Around their cocks

And babies were prevented

Authors note: Possibly the oldest allusion to a “wanking sock” on record, this rhyme appeared in the appendix of the Domesday Book, under “In this village Harold Rex had a Poshe Wanke”.

Nick H

In days of old when knights were bold,

And johnnies weren’t invented.

They had to wrap their cocks in socks,

To keep the wives contented.

Towards the end of the Dark Ages, women were becoming more aware of their own sexual needs. Here we see how early sock contraception could be adapted to heighten and enhance the pleasure for both partners, as well as preventing unwanted babies and AIDS.

[anon]

Moving swiftly on to medieval pooing habits, we see the return of the telegraph poles.

In days of old when knights were bold,

And toilets weren’t invented.

They dumped their load,

At the side of the road,

And walked away contented.

In days of old when knights were bold,

And toilets weren’t invented,

They wiped their holes,

With telegraph poles,

And walked away contented.

Being a Catholic primary school, we didn’t know about Durex until secondary school.

[anon]

Tomato sauce was subsequently removed from the dining hall. In my opinion still the most versatile table sauce.

Attic R

Getting pissed on a fourth year trip to Stratford, knicking a traffic sign and singing ‘On a Clear Day You Can See My Penis’ outside the girls’ dormitory at midnight.

<code>SUSPENDED FOR TWO WEEKS</code>

Bringing ice-cream to school for his packed lunch. Ice cream melted in his bag, ruined his books.

<code>GOT BOLLOCKED</code>

Bought a frozen dessert from Tates for his lunch, tried to defrost it by putting it under his armpit, ate it.

<code>GOT STOMACH CRAMPS</code>

Jacked off into a 35mm film canister as a love gift for Natasha Holmes. She ran off.

<code>TREATED WITH WARY DISDAIN FOR SOME WEEKS</code>

Got smashed on vodka in the 6th form, puked up neat vodka through his nose onto his pudding at lunchtime, continued eating it.

<code>GOT THROWN OUT</code>

<code>LAST SEEN SELLING CUSTOMISED CLIPPER LIGHTERS AT CAR BOOT SALE</code>

[anon]

I mean, fucking Disney movies? Where’s the kudos? WHERE?

bucket m

rachel r

“Did you see ‘Indiana Jones’ last night?”

“No? What channel was it on?”

“Oh, I watched it on video.”

This wasn’t at attempt to be funny, to his unadvanced mind - the same mind that had him violently playing the willy guitar to a small crowd of nonplussed friends - it was simply an attempt at conversation.

Uncle M

The rumours of nude flashframes also abounded in E.T., and the video for Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s Relax. I think this is a common urban myth, and not serving as a cautionary tale (as most do, someone has sex then a lobster hatches in their anus), was probably put about by Disney themselves. Incidentally, I was told that Frankie’s Relax was banned from radio play because just after he said “When you want to come…”, he cheekily added, in a barely audible whisper, “ let’s have sex ”. Not understanding the concept of holding back from ejaculation - in fact, practising the exact opposite as often as possible - this seemed much more shocking to me. Frankie was, in fact, whispering an invitation for everyone to join him in a big sex; that’s why it mustn’t be played over the radio. I’m rambling. Log.

pepe l

Not so, my good man:

http://www.snopes.com/disney/films/rescuers.htm

Jasmine S

This urban legend did the rounds every year, even after chimneys were virtually unheard of, until it became so crippled and tired that even the teller would dispense it with a weary offhand cynicism.

If you hear anyone telling it this year, kick out their sex.

benzaemon b

If you can’t hear crinkling, they must be wearing some new space-age diaper where they’ve fixed the crinkling issue.

[anon]

“They dobbled in the darkages, they dobbleth now, they shall in the future dobble with metal gloves.”

alex w

The first time we were alone and unsupervised, I discovered that if you stood on your desk, you could reach the celing and push it up to reveal around a foot of empty space.

My eyes flicked from the foot of storage space, to the huge stacks of red dictionaries in the corner.

So, over the course of the year, the dictionaries slowly migrated from the pile to the rafters. Our teacher, sure of theft, started staging random bag checks, at which we huffed vaguely about human rights. And still the once-proud pile of red dictionaries dwindled.

She ordered another hundred dictionaries.

We put them in the rafters.

To celebrate the end of the year, we snuck out of the year-end assembly, climbed into the portable, stacked some desks and made a pyramid out of the 200 or so dictionaries. It was Itchycoo Park-level beautiful.

bucket m

(a) She didn’t bear a disturbing family resemblance to David.

(b) She didn’t constantly stink of cat piss.

Pete S

Tom Danby’s sister looked more like a boy than he did. That’s saying something when you consider that Danby looked like a big chimp with a stress vein on its forehead, stuffed into a school uniform.

Gotty G

System E

Andy M

Also, if the giver belches or burps, the giver must yell ‘SAFETY’! if anyone calls ‘WINDOW’ before the giver say ‘SAFETY’ then all hell is loose again. Same rules apply as with farting.

[anon]

Jon B

Considering how http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=305 this was, I’m amazed I didn’t get rightfully beaten up.

Nath D

Alexander P

I saw him and his brother on Knightmare, the old kids show, and according to an interview of one of the cast of the show, they won it, cos he remembers when Dickon found a trumpet, he shouted “Dickon’s got the horn”.

Hello, your friendly editors here. Oooh, we agonised over this one. Truth? Kate Thornton-esque apocryphal nostalgia a la Seaman Staines and Master Bates? If you know any more about this, PLEASE write in. -The editors.

Andrew W

It might very well be true:

http://knightmare.v21hosting.co.uk/clips/series4/

And I quote, “Dungeoneer Dickon from Team 6 unlocks Motley from the stocks, then an Ogre appears.”

You can even listen to it here: http://knightmare.v21hosting.co.uk/clips/series4/4mot_ogre.rm

Thanks Nick! And thanks Dickon!

Nick H

Well, it’s only partly true. Dickon got the crown, not the horn.

[anon]

<div class=“image”><iframe width=“480” height=“360” src=“http://www.youtube.com/embed/8W7S_huO9C4?rel=0" frameborder=“0” allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

Alexander P

Alexander P

See also Mein Hummer fonctionniert nicht .

Alistair G

Kann Ich bitte das Brot haben mein Stabhausrecke is hungrich…
Can I have the bread please, my stick insect is hungry

Another triumph of vocab over use

Ginger S

I’m still learning German. My dictionary reckons that ‘stick insect’ is ‘Gespenstheuschrecke’ which apparently literally means ‘ghost-hay-fright’. Sorry to bother you. I love you.

nathan b

Made you look,
Dirty duck,
You stuck your head in cow muck

You see? They stuck their head in cow muck. Because they turned around.

Also consider “Made you look, made you stare, made you lose your underwear.”

Nick H

I made you look, I made you stare,

I made you cut the barber’s hair,

The barber’s hair was full of dicks,

I made you eat them all but six.

The six dicks (dickies, or lice - not willies) could then stage a kind of post-apocolypse Friends.

Craig H

Paul Equinox C

Ah, Mr Herrington - “Technical Ted”. God’s gift to race relations. One winter’s day, he walked Gabriel Cheung, a boarder from Hong Kong, up to the window, and, pointing to the whiteness outside said “This is snow Cheung. You’ve probably not seen this before.”

Chud B

[anon]

Until you do it with a mirror to the umpire of a cricket match from one of the upstairs classrooms and the whole class gets detention.

Julian B

This requires some effort, but if a number of you can convince your parents that you need a pocket mirror for a class project (on the speed of light, or the science of reflections, or something like that), then you can faithfully reproduce the searchlights from a concentration camp.

If the lights land on anyone, in particular someone haplessly entering your class, you can then divide into two groups - one howling like an alarm, the other barking like guard dogs.

This will make the person entering the room feel as awkward as it is possible for humans to feel.

Rupert B

will l

Some kid in the year below pissed right up himself, all over his jumper and in his own face, trying to beat me! He pissed in his own face!

I was the best in our first school at this, cos I’m well tall. I heard once that I’d managed to get a little bit of piss on the ceiling one time, but I think someone got a little over excited (as you would) and made that bit up.

Davy

It’s very possible to hit the ceiling. I saw someone do it once and thought it so incredible that I tried to emulate the technique myself. However, from where I was standing, it looked like he had held his foreskin shut, before letting a thin jet of extra high pressure piss shoot to the ceiling. I tried this, and it ended up filling up rather too rapidly for control, then I released my fingers a little too much and the whole ‘balloon’ of piss emptied over my shoes.

The point I was missing? You grip the actual end of the cock itself, pinching the piss hole half shut so that it’s really small. Then start the flow, and you’ll have a fantastically long-reaching stream. Great for standing at one urinal and pissing sideways into one that’s about two or three down.

[anon]

We had outside toilets with no roof at my primary school. John Climie was to be able to piss over the wall (must’ve been 9 feet high), with a whip like flick of the hips. We’d come out and see kids looking skywards, holding their palms upwards, checking for rain.

[anon]

Little M

Weak insult, even by five year-old standards, but we laughed at the time.

Julian B

Simon B

Wearing Lotto trainers made one girl in our school the ‘Lotto Monster’ for quite some time. No-one had much against her bar that.

Davy

Neil R

Readers! Have you been in a band that’s main purpose was to fanny about and shock people? If so, tell us your band name. We’d love to know… - Log

Matt F

Hevi Sosij - 'Mr Fatgit's Casio Keyboard Compendium' (1988)

Thrill to the sounds of underage drinking in Matt Kitching's garage whilst a bossa nova beat sounds from Hubble's sister's Casio keyboard.

Marked the beginning of my rock n roll lifestyle that has most recently resulted in http://www.philglanville.com/music/men_are_from_mars/.

log : Any loss of fluids or balance faculties from listening to Phil's own interpretation of music are not the responsibility of The Law of the Playground.

Phil G

Lesbian Ashtray was formed whilst waiting for a taxi outside Manhattan’s in Southport. Our success was based solely on the name, as only our drummer had ever seen or played an instrument. Our manager, Big Gay Al, probably added to our glamorous mystique.

[anon]

Our school band came *this* close to being called Bigfoot and the Groincrushers, but the powers that be made us choose something far wankier.

Harry G

Our thrash metal band ‘uncle fester’ had a song called ‘Bush Dog’ which was all about our Sociology teacher and Sixth Form Head, Mrs Bush. Remarkably, I can still remember all the lyrics, and I lay them below for your perusal :-

Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog.
(chorus)
Bush Doooooooggggggg
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog.
(chorus)
Repeat to fade

- supermoving

The ‘school band’ due to play at our 6th form leaving do was called “Dad’s Big Log” - I think because they were shit. They were forced to change the name, but kept the same initials - “Dark Brown Lada.”

The G

I’m proud to day that I was the guitarist in the Purple Headed Warriors. Which is an even worse band name than that of a bunch of nutters I once met called ZX Rectum.

RL

The principles of starting a teenage band are simple.

<OL><LI>Choose band name.<LI>Choose first album title.<LI>Design first album cover.<LI>Plan how to spend first million made by album. <LI>Disband for artistic reasons.</OL>

The pinnacle of teen fame was reached by my friend Simon’s band ‘The Myra Hindley Creche Facility’ when they actually reached the play-off of Battle of the Bands in Bristol.

Andrew D

Back in school, the hairy rockers in the year formed a band called “Sandpaper Fanny and the Rough Cunts”.

Cornelious E

“Skrote Hed Alien” My poncy band’s ‘side project’ based loosely on a disliking of Slipknot, with the song ‘Bike with a Spike (Pain in my Ass)’, which contained the lyrics “bike with a spike”, “pain in my ass”, “bleeeeeeed!” and “wheeeeeee!”.

The politically geared follow up ‘Rape Room’ based on the idea of Saddam Hussein’s fictional rape room, performed in boiler suits, one of which had ‘poo’ written on the back.

1 goal
2 holes
3 poles
4 walls
The 5 balls of dictatro will destroy you all.

The number five is a combination of Hussein, Stalin and Hitler’s testicular count.

Chris P

I was in the Muleclops Ding-Dong Banana Band. Our principal members were Melanie Whiplash Haystack III, Verucca Tipex, Valmon Darkfire and Princess Leia (real name David). My solo project ‘I spanked your dad’ was not nearly as successful.

jenny h

I played the drums in a band called Satanic Asylum. Our debut single Frisbee Grenade was also the title of our first album, which also included such songs as Nervous Auntie, Sick On My Shoes, Bone Cancer, I Love You (Despite Your Appalling Injuries) and Incest Vest.

Actually, when I say I played the drums, I mean that I would have played them if we had any drums, or in fact if we did anything more than make up song titles and lyrics. But we could have been huge.

Rock H

In the 2nd year, Ed Pinto copied everyone’s taste in music, so we invented a rock group called Triangle Sex Gods, complete with their own logo. We talked about them for weeks, mentioning the imminent release of their new single and album until Ed finally started claiming he’d heard them and that they were great. When we revealed the nature of our ploy, he denied it all, like the little twat that he was.

Roger Y

I was one half of the experimental duo ‘Kipper Knickers’. We even took the cover photo for our first album: the two of us standing holding our noses in front of a giant pair of brown pants hanging on the washing line. We were 18.

Jo B

Our school’s contribution to progressive playground rock were called Bellend And Balloon, and comprised two highly-talented songwriters shouting into a tape recorder.

Their most well-recieved work was entitled ‘Phil, How Many Fucking Grans Have You Got?’, inspired by the persistent absenteeism of a classmate who seemed to suffer family bereavements far too regularly.

They achieved school-wide notoriety due to the daring artwork of their demo tape cover, which was a collage of pictures of male genitalia from porn mags interspersed with polaroids of their own cocks.

Tony G

We were required to form a band as part of our Music lessons and this was the result.

‘Ice Desert’ were:

Guitar : Butler

Keyboard : Ratcliffe

Hitting a glockenspiel with one stick : Smithy

“Lyrics”, “singing” and “artistic direction” : Me

Our first (and only) song was a cutting insight into apathy, caused by the monotony of everyday life. I believed, however, that my voice was louder than it was, and that the levels on the mic were far too high compared to the other instruments.

Our first (and only) gig consisted of the others playing what passed for the tune, while I occasionally spoke, “I don’t want this”, into the microphone, which was being pushed desperately into my hands by the teacher with a frantic look on her face.

Gotty G

Nottingham boasts a number of bands that sound like they were made up by schoolkids. Enjoy the melodic, Half-Biscuitesque strains of “http://www.myspace.com/jesusofspazzarethband".

What do Jesus of Spazzareth sound like? It is a noise that cannot be tamed and contained by microphones.

<div class=“image”><iframe width=“480” height=“360” src=“http://www.youtube.com/embed/7By1pB7bZGs?rel=0" frameborder=“0” allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

[anon]

Matt F

The following graffiti appeared on the outside wall of my house: Peter Pointer is a dinlow. Yes he has.

This proved nothing beyond the fact that the anonymous author was something of a dinlow.

Jimathon E

Chris W

When he looked up and saw his audience, the shock in his eyes confirmed it all. Four reliable people saw it. This was the birth of Doctor Tug.

Not G

Tut, the insensitivity of youth. Everyone knows that if someone’s brother dies of a heroin overdose (it was big in the Eighties) you must perform the entire rap from Grange Hill’s “Just Say No!”, preferably at the memorial assembly, or, simply rework the lyrics from the Flash Gordon theme into a cautionary message. “Smack! Ahhhhhhhh!” –Susan.

Susan T

Donkey K

Dinner D

Q: How did Mr Ashley win the disco competition?

A: He crossed the floor to get some crisps.

He also had polio and consequently two walking sticks. Hence the name.

Radimus p

A West Country version of “gutted”. West Country viewers, if you know what a dubbin is and why you get them from the Daily Mail, write in.

Susan T

Also “Bunnage” - as in “Ahhhh, feel the bunnage.”

Can be accompanied with a shaking finger to increase the shame.

Dave T

Actually, a dubbins is an old term for a wank used by prozzies in days gone by. As in, “It’s a shilling for a dubbins, half a crown for a suck and a sovereign for all the way.”

[anon]

Bobs M

It involves shouting duck! , and then hitting the victim around the head with a hard object.

After some time, the subject may get wise to the game, and take steps to defend himself. At this point, simply shout duck! after hitting him with the hard object.

[anon]

The guy was Italian and scary. The ice cream tasted weird and we told him Steve’s was way better. He smiled and winked and told us that HIS ice cream was better because “It’s full of the stuff that little girl’s need and little boys know about” He laughed and handed over his “ice cream”.

The guys loved him and used to rush out shouting “Deeeeeeno! Deeeeeeeno!” thinking that this guy was just the dogs bollocks…the girls used to avoid that side of the playground altogether and Dino eventually disappeared once a girl in Year 10 claimed that he tried to grab her. We never got a new ice cream man. Thank God.

[anon]

Sung to a recently bereaved child thus: “Hey there you with the Dead Mum, go back to my place and dig her up…”

It didn’t really rhyme, but it usually caused the unfortunate child to cry and/or explode in violent rage at the injustice of the universe.

Stuart H

I’m not sure if this counts as a playground memory, seeing as how I was nearly 35 at the time it happened, but I was a teacher in Detroit, Michigan, USA, when one of my students came to me crying.

He had been “playing the dozens”, you see (a game in which you engage in singular combat making fun of one another’s mother. High comedy. I still do it myself) and another player had pointed out that, “DeShaun, you’re mother is so ugly she could win the Dead Momma Beauty Pageant.” It turned out that DeShaun’s mother was, indeed, dead.

So she could, realistically, have won this pageant. DeShuan disagreed.

[anon]

Kirk I

In years seven to nine, there was a persistent rumour that you shouldn’t touch the toilet doorknobs with your bare hands because people pissed on them.

While it was true that the doorknobs were always wet, and that in a world where children shit up walls and in hats, it wasn’t inconceivable that disturbed children would stand there and piss directly onto the doorknob, I still feel that it had more to do with the broken hand driers.

[anon]

Thanks guys! I don’t miss any of you.

[anon]

[anon]

Another tale of schoolboy drug peddling. It’s a jungle out there, kids.

Adair once sold an oxo cube to Bewey, claiming that it was finest uncut Columbian Red Gold Leb Squidgy Seal or something along those lines.

When Bewey realised he’d been conned, he demanded his 40 quid back; otherwise, he said, he would tell the head of year .

The laughter didn’t stop until long after he had realised his schoolboy error and stomped off with moths fluttering out of his empty pockets.

Gotty G

My mate Dave has no sense of smell. This was demonstrated when he turned up to school with a baggie full of ‘cannabis oil’, which was actually some delicious mint sauce.

Charlie W

Living in the sticks, one has an abundance of vegetables. The darkest, outer leaves off a cabbage, when allowed to dry out long enough in the airing cupboard, then chopped up, are very easy to sell as Monkey-Dance Ganja .

Monkey Dance got its name after the noises and actions that young Chappers made, when he found out he’d spent £20 on inhaling some coleslaw.

Cookie

My friend Jon and I once sold plaster of Paris to the new 2nd years, pretending it was cocaine. We used the catch-all “everyone does it all the time - I can’t believe you’ve never tried it” to shame them into paying us 50p a bag.

We made enough for 20 ciggies each from our sales, while our clients walked unconvincingly into walls, saying, “man, I’m really out of it” and occasionally snotting out little hard balls of greenish plaster. The cunts.

steady t

Pushed for time? A perfectly believable ‘joint’ to sell on can be created using tabacco, and your and your friends’ pubes and bum hairs.

It makes a satisfying crackling noise when smoked.

Johnny R

Jaded F

I got to use that one when asked if my mum knew I was out dressed like that.

In your face, record shop owner.

Still burns, does it, Het? Actually, even after all these years, it’s still plainly obvious that the record shop owner won THAT round. AND he owned a RECORD SHOP. If THAT’S not coming first in the lottery of life, frankly I don’t know what IS. - Mansh

Het P

It took me years to make the connection between calling someone a Delve in a stupid voice whilst violently slapping the back of my hand/head and Swanwick Delves, a school for the mentally handicapped a few miles away. Div.

Chris L

Why do they give ‘special’ schools such names? Our local one was called, for about two years, Ruggets. They probably changed the name when they heard hundreds of kids calling each other Ruggets in playgrounds all over the area. Of course if you were called a Rugget, the only acceptable recourse was calling them a Rugget reject.

[anon]

The names of special schools make for strangely credible christian names; For instance, Carlton Digby, Beck Meadows, and at a push, Swanwick Delves.

Anyone would think that the founders of these mong sanctuaries are trying to give normal schoolkids insult ammunition.

Hazel Hurst is a good one for ladies who " might be better off with a more vocational education “.

[anon]

Leaving you to sit under it, instead. A mixed blessing.

[anon]

We had one teacher who, on entering the classroom would close the door unneccesarily hard, possibly to make up for small or non-functioning genitalia. Having enjoyed sticking a generally disliked chap’s pritstick to the ceiling as a form of bullying for some time it was decided by most of the class who owned pritsticks that we should prime a trap for the soon to arrive teacher. We managed to get approximately ten stuck just inside the door before our lookout ran into the class, clearly excited. We sat, to a man bricking ourselves, in silent trepidation. I could hazard a guess that i wasn’t the only person who, seconds before detonation, wished i hadn’t taken part, or wasn’t even in the room. events transpired as follows:

1: Teacher enters the room, turns, slams door.

2: 4 or 5 pritsticks fall on and around him

3: Teacher goes spastic.

Its great looking back, but i genuinely feared for my life at the time. We all got detentions, even the kids who were too poor to even own pritsticks, the twats.

Incredible H

Tyrannosaurus F

Then you got punched in the face.

Paul Equinox C

Holly

Matthew L

[anon]

Also known as “absailors”

John C

We had the same sort of thing in the US. More of a dangly-orangy. We’d drink orange juice, leaving a nice, sticky, orange mess in one’s mouth in place of spit. Then we’d do the dangle.

Someone had the genuinely bright idea of using potato chips (crisps to the Brits) as targets. Bonus points would be awarded if you could dangle your spit, pick up a chip, and direct it to your mouth.

[anon]

At the age of 14 or 15, he let it be known that he had joined the navy, and his given reason was that he wanted “to go and bomb pakies in Bosnia”. Over the next few months we got running updates on his naval exploits - about how he had sworn aboard ship and been fined £10, how he had got angry and punched his captain in the eye, and as a result had had his hat taken away, and to top it all off, his commanding officer let him take HMS Belfast, one of the biggest ships in the fleet, into dock, but he had run it up on a sandbank, and would have to go back the next night to rescue it with a crane.

He would come into class with technical manuals for a Ford Capri, and a bag full of spanners. He laughed like gas coming out of a tap, a horrible whining groan of a laugh. He would say “I don’t mind them niggers, but I just can’t stand pakies.” He was obsessed with Star Trek, but appeared to have never seen it.

He had 4 brothers - Wayne, Dan, Stu and Steve. Wayne was apparently “inside for welding a paki to a lamppost”. When we asked him how he had defied the laws of physics by bonding skin and metal with a flame, he said that he hadn’t actually bonded them, but had carried the poor fellow, still conscious, up the lamppost, tied a metal bar round him and welded that in place. Strangely enough, we still didn’t believe him.

Dan W

Speaking of Wayne, there was a morbidly fat, pigeon-toed boy in my year called Wayne. His older, bespectacled brother, similarly fat, was called Glenn (like the fat kid off Grange Hill). I can’t hear those names now without thinking ‘fat’. Did anyone else know any lithe, slim, fit Waynes or Glenns?

spadge m

I know quite a few fit Waynes, but you’re right about the Glenns. Every Glenn I know is short, fat, and wears glasses and roleplays.

For a moment, reading your submission, I thought “Roleplays” were a kind of shoe. Maybe they should be.

Chris C

All Glenns are short, fat and wear glasses, and all Barry’s are immeasurably overweight. Without fail. There are no exceptions, not even exceptions that prove the rule, except Glenn Madeiros and Barry McGuigan, and they’re just the exceptions that prove the rule, and probably don’t even exist.

Alistair G

Ms

Walrus

Matthew S

Macker

Joe S

Jon B

Katy

One boy at our school was deemed to be so much of a der-brain that he actually beamed rays of pure der, like a lighthouse.

Deciding that “Der-Ray Flasher” sounded like the name of a country and western singer, we wrote his eponymous debut song. Well, I say a song, but it was more along the lines of pretending to play the banjo and singing “I’m Der-Ray Flasher” in cod-American twang.

stickle b

Anne-Marie

Karl N

A guy called Dave in my class was hauled up in front of the head on suspicion of writing something on his desk. Rumour has it that he was accused of writing ‘Dave is gay’. Almost certainly not true, but there’s no smoke without fire.

(It’s a classic example of double bluff, the like of which Call My Bluff’s Sandy Toksvig would be proud. Wait a minute…Sandy Toksvig? A ha! Dave is SO DEFINITELY GAY. Hoisted by your own petard, Dave. -Susan)

[anon]

Harry the New Boy was so incensed at being greeted by the grafitti “Harry Cleans Desks” every time he sat down that he took it upon himself to remove the scrawl off all the surfaces on which it appeared, thus corroborating the allegation.

Perhaps you had to be there.

Matt F

Christopher J

SmallPaul

Apart, perhaps, from eggy dribble, sly old fox, and emery dermis.

Jon B

Also a really bad name for a LOGO computer program. When you’ve been allowed to work on the school’s only computer (a BBC). Which, through your incompetence, contains an infinite loop. That causes the computer to stop responding to any of the buttons. So the teacher, noticing your concern gets the headmaster to help. He knows the key combination to stop the program. And when you stop a program running in LOGO, it always tells you the name of what it was doing when it was stopped.

(We would feel more sorry for you, Rich, but for the fact you used the word “dicksplash”, you massive dicksplash.)

Richard T

Paul

You can imagine my disbelief when it was revealed to me at high school that classes were now referred to as ‘divs’ (apparently short for ‘divisions’), and the confusion in my playground-savvy brain as successful dodging of questions such as, “which div are you?” only led to the discovery that it was, in fact, a legitimate enquiry. It was a trying time.

[anon]

Matt K

Jon B

Jon B

The accepted sequence is

* Do you live in this town?

* Do you live in a house?

* Does it have a kitchen?

* Does it have some stairs?

* Does it have a bathroom?

* Does it have a toilet?

* Do you use toilet paper?

The victim will answer ‘yes’ to all these questions. Ask them slowly to create an involving and eerie atmosphere. After the last question, simply say “I don’t, I use my hands.” Another success!

Note: If you are tricked into the victim’s role, and you are aware of the procedure, you may effect a daring reversal by answering the last question with “No, I use my hands.” Blockered!

Nick D

Taking this from the opposite angle, simply ask someone fat / ginger / small whether they use their left or right hand to wipe their arse.

When they tell you, simply say “I use toilet paper” and run off to tell everyone, making the the universal “uuuurrrrrrrr” sound of disgust.

John W

Matt F

Jon B

Dyfrig J

Will D

Jon B

I invented this game.

Andrew B

You can’t have done, because I did.

Jon B

Everyone did. I know I did.

Loz

aka Cross Fires. With Cross Fires you can have up to four players. Any more and the whole situation becomes unmanageable.

Sam M

This was also known as Jesus’ Cross - when streams were crossed, each participant would shout ‘Jesus’ Cross’ as loud as possible, so that everyone in the surrounding area would know what had occurred.

Harry N

Buchan you’re a liar. You didn’t invent this game because it is a blantant rip off of light-sabre fighting. Everybody knows Star Wars predated Ghost Busters by years you spaz. The game was made all the better by making light sabre noises when the streams clashed.

hans b

Also “cross swords”. In a Blur video my mate had, Damon and Alex play cross-swords in a motorway service bogs. No wonder Graham quit.

[anon]

Jon B

Chorlton

A boy pointed at me and said to his friend, “she’s always crying.”

This made me cry.

[anon]

Stephen B

Anne-Marie

Olly L

Jon B

That was me. Going round to the geek HQ at 6am with “the cool gang”, in order to noisily disrupt their charity 48 hour Dungeons & Dragons marathon (naturally, they were asleep). And then turning up in the afternoon to do my stint as Dungeon Master.

God knows how I got away with it.

sane m

A 48 hour D&D marathon would not have even charted on the radar of a real “cool gang”, and they certainly wouldn’t have bothered to get out of bed early to go and disturb it. They’d be too busy sleeping off hangovers or receiving blow jobs from their flesh and blood girlfriends.

Unless, of course, your “cool gang” consisted of a bunch of Robert Smith wannabes who took pleasure in mocking all who did not share their pretentious nihilism. In which case we - I mean you - were most assuredly not cool in the eyes of everyone else.

Phil G

I must object to the way you (Log?) edited my submission to read as if I was a member of a “cool” gang of Robert Smith wannabes. I couldn’t even make it as a member of that gang; in reality I was unceremoniously dumped by my friends when they “discovered” the Cure, and went back to the charity D&D marathon, notching up an impressive 36 hours before falling victim to Sleep +1. To add insult to injury, I was later ostracised by even the D&D crowd when they discovered the wonders of smoking pot. It’s only a matter of time until you pair realise just how tragically sad I really am.

Phil G

Don’t be silly Phil! We know exactly how tragically sad you are.

*Oh dear, a brassy, Two Ronnies style “Waaaah-waaaaahhhh” sound is filling the website. *

Susan T

Ben A

Dan W

Matt F

Jon B

Jon B

Richard S

Craig S

“Green Flash” trainers were re-released in 2001, with stands of them in fashionable places like Schuh, and Raw. I haven’t seen one pair being worn during or since this feeble attempt at a comeback. Even the lure of retro couldn’t shake off the fact that they were still pretty affordable.

Jon B

Grey Flash trainers were for those whose parents considered the Green Flash to be an unnecessary extravagence in a world of tennis shoes gone mad. So unpopular they went full circle into having an unheard-of sense of specialness about them. Cheaper, crapper, greyer.

Uncle G

Amber Flash was the bargain basement of the range. The only plausible reason for their existence was to make Green Flash a more attractive prospect. The flash wasn’t even amber, more of a light diarrhoea yellow/brown. Which needs no further comment.

Mr H

Oh, we are the lads from the durex club,

and you’ll never get a better bit of rubber on your knob,

it sticks to your dick like evo-stick,

and you can’t get it off in the morning…

Imagine my horror when I learned that leaving condom removal to the next day was generally considered to be socially unacceptable. Also,

I’m Popeye the sailor man,

I live in a caravan,

I go to my granny,

And tickle her fanny,

I’m Popeye the sailor man.

Being from Burnley, I can believe it of many of the people who sang it.

Paddy

To the tune of Uptown Girl;

Uptown Wally,

He’s been living in a Tesco Trolley,

He’s been going out with Action man,

They’ve been screwing in the A-Team van…

Uptown Wally’s friend, Uptown Slag, had it slightly less cushy, and lived in a paper bag.

Ian E

He’s Popeye the sailor man

He lives in a caravan

With a crack in the middle

Where he does a piddle

He’s Popeye the sailor man

There was also a crack in the roof where he did a poo.

Ivan V

An alternative version of the Popeye song still has him living in a caravan, but adds a healthy dose of generational incest for good measure:

I’m Popeye the Sailor Man

I live in a caravan

I live with my granny

And play with her fanny

I’m Popeye the Sailor Man

Unta F

A timeless replacement for the Coco Pops tune:

My name’s Coco and I live in a tree,

I used to sell condoms for 25p,

Some for five and some for ten,

But I’d rather have one i could use again

Or the slightly more risqué:

My name’s Coco and I live in a tree,

I used to sell drugs for 25p,

I kept my drugs in a little red box,

But I’d rather have it off with Samantha Fox

Of course, the more risqué version isn’t quite so ’timeless’, as only a geriatric old Stringfellow would want to shag Sam Fox these days. Probably.

[anon]

Another of the Popeye variations (did Elgar write these as well)

I’m Popeye the sailor man

I live in a caravan

I love to go swimmin’

With bare-naked wimmin'

I’m Popeye the sailor man.

Related to me by my errant father. It was very risque at the time. So much so in fact, that I distinctly remember my mum giving me a clip roud the ear for reciting it.

Michael F

yet another variation

My name’s Coco and Im a junkie like you,

I take lots of speed and heroin too

I love cocaine and ecstacy

But I’d rather have a bowl of LSD

iam d

I’m Popeye the sailor man,

I live in a frying pan.

I turn up the gas and I burn up my ass,

I’m Popeye the sailor man.

[anon]

a slightly surreal coco pops variation:

My name’s Monkey,

I’m a coco like you,

I live in the jungle,

dressed like a shrew,

I swing from the shops

cause there aren’t any trees,

but I’d rather have a bowl of cornflakes please.

The only reason i remember this at all is because the headmaster was so proud of the kid who thought it up he asked him to sing it in class.

dan u

My name’s Coco, I’m a monkey like you,

I live on drugs and a little bit of glue,

I have a condom in a little red box,

But I’d rather use it on Samantha Fox (oh yeah!)

Rob M

He may have been the most powerful man in the universe, but even He Man was the target of abuse, with this, our version of the cartoon theme tune:

“I have the power to pick up a flower

for half an hour or more”

Sometimes he’d pee on the flower, rather than pick it up. I guess it depended on what kind of day he’d had, fighting Skeletor and that.

Nick H

Come off it, that doesn’t even fit the he-man music - it was actually “i have the power, to pick up a flower, it’ll take me an hour or two”.

( Dan, even that doesn’t REALLY fit the He-Man tune. The version I used to sing was He has the power, to pick up a flower, in only an hour, or two… So there. Ner. - Log )

dan u

no No NO! it’s;

I’ve got the power, to fart on a flower, but after an hour, it hurts.

Well, it would.

Richard S

I don’t really want to add anything to this over-elongated list, but I do want you all to know just how much I hate how wrong you all are.

Davy

He’s Popeye the sailor man

He lives in a pot of jam

The jam was so sticky

It stuck to his dicky

He’s popeye the sailor man

For some reason, I saw fit to relate this particular version to my mum who, in turn, thought it would be a good idea if I sang it to my great granny down the phone. I was a bit unsure about this but she seemed to like it so that’s OK. She’s dead now.

Will H

To the tune of Free, by Ultra Nate

My momma’s got no money,
My daddy’s on the dole,
They sent me off to Netto,
to nick a sausage roll.

I’m running home, with my Netto sausage roll,
I’m running home, with my Netto sausage roll.
Freed from starvation, with my Netto sausage roll.

The reason we found this funny was a combination of factors; first, the idiocy of stealing from the cheapest shop. Secondly, the lack of ambition in the theft; a single sausage roll, held aloft like the Olypmic Torch on the long run home. Thirdly, because we were from Barnsley, where people still throw rocks at the moon.

George H

Conrad G

Making sure the board rubber was fully loaded, run up to someone, and start battering the baord rubber with your hand, or batter still, a second, fully loaded, board rubber, producing a cloud of chalk dust which would envelop the unfortunate victim. Skill (http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=646) was required not to suffer blowback.

If blowback does occur, however, take advantage of the situation and have a cartoon fight, in which spectators will only see the occasional arm or leg coming out of the dust cloud as you shout “Ooyah!” and “Take that!”

[anon]

Jon B

Jon B