Law of the Playground

Flicking Bogeys at the Sun

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 00:00:00 +0000

I would like to share this lovely homage to the '70s hit “Seasons in the Sun” Courtesy: Southfields Infant School, Peterborough.

We had joy, we had fun
Flicking bogeys at the sun
But the sun was too hot
And the bogeys turned to snot

[anon]

forehead writing

Tue, 27 Dec 2011 00:00:00 +0000

It's the late 70's, it's going home time, and Darren is well impressed by the hard kids leaving the school gates with “AVFC” written on their foreheads in marker pen. Darren thinks it's the finest thing he's ever seen, and asks the lads to write “AVFC” on his forehead too. OK, say the hard kids.

Darren walked home that day with “FUCK OFF DAD” written on his forehead.

Ivan V

Farting etiquette

Sat, 29 Oct 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Back when I was at school - and right up to this very day - there is a rule of begging forgiveness for a flatulent outburst.

Trump - excuse me

Burp - pardon me

I still look at people askance if they get this wrong. Come on - its not fucking difficult.

log : If you do find it difficult to remember, simply follow this rhyme. “Excuse me poos” (because farts and poos are the solid and gaseous states of faecal matter)and “Pardon your hard-on”. For this second phrase, you need to imagine that you have just burped onto a man's erection. If you don't want to imagine burping onto a man's nice erection, try “pardon my lardon”, and imagine that you have burped up a bit of bacon into a priest's beard. Actually, this one makes more sense. Forget about the dicks.

Captain C

Fozzie Ferrison

Mon, 03 Oct 2011 00:00:00 +0000

A man named after his appearance - that of a muppet Michael Jackson. The most popular Fozzie-related sport was to roll up small bits of paper, dampen them in your mouth and fire them from your Bic biro case like a pea shooter, to get as much paper and other debris into Ferrison's hair without him feeling it. Alternately, you could empty the contents of a hole-punch into his hair like confetti.

The most notable game reached a climax with me losing five to eight. Matches were normally ended like a game of Buck-A-Roo, with Ferrison ruffling his hair and everything dropping out. This time, it ended with a more satisfying finale, when my poor aim led to a wad of damp exercise book entering a non-participant's mouth just as he breathing in.

Bertie C

fanny rumours, self-inflicted

Wed, 19 Jul 2006 00:00:00 +0000

A girl - let's call her TS-B, made the error in secondary school of declaring to everyone that she had shagged Tom Cruise. We told her she was lying, but she wouldn't confess - so it was her own fault that her sexual appetite had a kind of open season declared on it. She started it.

“She put a hamster in her vag face first and it suffocated.”

“She put stick insects up her fanny. They all died.”

Fainting in Class

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 00:00:00 +0000

A girl who sat near me in 11th grade English came into class one day, looking rather sweaty and pale. As the teacher read from Tom Sawyer, this girl began to moan low like a wounded animal. Suddenly, her eyes rolled up into her head, she barked like a seal and then passed out, her face slapping down on the desk in front of her. But as soon her head hit the desk, she let off a fart like a goddamned foghorn. A fart which smelt like death.

[anon]

Fleas

Mon, 06 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

How to tell if you have fleas

If you smell of alsatian wee and chip fat, you have fleas.
If you are poor, you probably smell of alsatian wee and chip fat. See above.
If you bring your lunch to school in a bread bag, or get free school meals, you are probably poor. See above.
If you sat next to Karen Bachelor in class, you now have fleas.

Note: Having fleas is worse than having nits or AIDS, because even a dirty haired gay would not bum a dog.

Deacon G

Fleas became such an epidemic in Primary school that Mr Hayes the headmaster was forced to give a lecture in assembly about how fleas aren’t dirty, and clean people can have fleas too, and anyway nobody in the school really has fleas so just shut up about them. Any questions?

Hand up at the back of the hall. “Sir, are you a clean person?”

“Why, yes I am, I bathe every day.”

Muttered stage whisper: “He’s got fleas.”

We were kept in assembly until half past ten that morning. I mean, HALF PAST TEN! By a fleabag!

Iestyn M

Leah Williams once attempted to ostracise me from my peers by announcing that she’d seen a dog flea in my hair. I didn’t own a dog, and she confessed that she’d planted the dog flea in my hair herself. This suggested that she had a ready supply about her person. I put this to the jury, but my rumoured flea had caught the class’s imagination, and nobody wanted to bully her instead.

Abby N

Fan of Fortune

Thu, 22 Dec 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Playground Australia Special!

A schoolroom version of the game show “Wheel of Fortune”, also called “Duster Roulette”.

On any hot summer day in Australia, the ceiling fans in each room will be running at the highest possible level. When the teacher leaves the room, a student in the front row dashes to the blackboard, picks up the board duster (which should be one of those big old wooden ones, not these modern foam versions which are, frankly, shit), screams “Fan of Fortune!” and then throws the duster into the fan.

A number of outcomes can occur:

The miracle of the duster passing through the fan untouched.
The fan smashes the duster in a sideways motion, sending chalk dust all over the room.
The fan hits the duster and propels it downwards on to someone’s head. Hard.

Naturally, (3) is the best outcome. I still recall with fondness the moment when Patrick Dwyer - the fat-ginger-freckly-twat - got hit by the duster above the eye, splitting his eyebrow and spilling claret. Fantastic.

The Evil T

Alternatively, attach one end of a metal slinky spring to one of the blades, retire to a safe distance and switch on. Congratulations! You’ve just created a whirling blade of terror causing maximum damage over a large area, with the brilliant included risk of blinding everyone in the room.

[anon]

Fat Eddie

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Fat Eddie used to get £3 for his dinner. In 1984.

Neal G

Andrew came to school, every single day, with a packet of digestive biscuits. What a fat cunt was the general feeling until his biscuits were stolen, Andrew became extremely ill, and the children of Charlton Primary had something called ‘diabetes’ explained to them by spittingly-furious headmaster.

Tony G

Fainting boners

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 00:00:00 +0000

An oft discussed playground myth was that there were men out there with penises so huge that, should they happen to get a full-on boner, they would actually faint due to the redistribution of blood from the other parts of their body. In hindsight this seems unlikely, although I would be interested to hear if it were medically possible. Maybe the purpose was to make the more conventionally endowed feel a bit better about their pathetic maggots.

Not that I have a pathetic maggot. In fact, I do faint because mine’s so huge. Don’t know why I asked. Case closed.

[anon]

full metal jacket, bad timing when quoting from

Fri, 11 Nov 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Please learn from the mistake I made when I decided to deride a team-mate who had fumbled a very easy pass with Sgt. Hartman’s most evocative quote:

“I bet you’re the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the Goddamned common courtesy to give him a reach around.”

Whilst I basked in the waves of appreciation from my team-mates, the referee (who also happened to be our head of year and best friend of my uncle), heard every word and looked thoroughly shocked. He metered out the most hideous, thoroughy despicable punishment known to man.

He told my mum. Word for word.

Tim M

fat spastic

Thu, 10 Nov 2005 00:00:00 +0000

The inevitable nickname of short, rotund, gurning English teacher Miss Fitzpatrick.

Ralph B

Fartistic

Sun, 24 Jul 2005 00:00:00 +0000

The sixth category of skills on our Career form was headed F. Artistic .

This was the section where we could get the low-down on jobs such as 'trombone imitator', 'baked bean tester', and 'flatulence critic'.

[anon]

Fudge, A finger of

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Reworking of the classic Fudge advert jingle.

A finger of Fudge is just enough
Until it’s time to eat
A finger of Fudge is just enough
To give your kids false teeth
It’s full of Cadbury’s concrete
And very hard to eat…

Wholly innacurate, as a finger of Fudge left in a bag all morning often acquired the soft texture of a freshly laid dog’s plop.

Jay D

A finger and fuck,
Is just enough
To give a girl a treat.

Fish Tanking

Wed, 22 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

The act of voyeuristically viewing - or being viewed - via a small window within a door when confined to a teachers office for some reason.

The specific emotion felt by the exhibit behind the glass often correlated with the events preceeding their quarantine. Acts of malfeasance made one feel pleasingly notorious when regarded. By contrast, emotional outbursts or displays (particularly in response to taunting) engendered in the tank occupant a unique nakedness and vulnerability.

But most pleasingly, from the perspective of the viewer performing the tanking , was the fact that a swift gurn over the teacher’s shoulder through the mesh-reinforced glass would light the blue touch-paper on a further outpouring of hysterical belligerence from the ‘fishie’.

Drew S

fripples

Tue, 21 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

This was a word we used to describe erect nipples. I think it was short for “frosty nipples”, referring to the way that nipples often stiffen when they get cold.

It is also what Maria Westbrook started calling Samantha Dentley after she noticed that Samantha’s nipples were almost always erect - a nickname that was never used by anyone else because we were far more interested in making fun of Maria the Nipple Policelesbian .

Hannah P

We decided in the changing rooms after P.E one day, to see who could endure the longest spray of aerosol deodorant point blank onto their nipple. After a few rounds, my friend Pobba beat the record with an immense 45 second long spray. The second after he finished however, whilst enjoying his applause, someone flicked at his icy nip, whereupon it detached itself from his body and flew away, to be lost forever.

Have YOU seen Pobba’s nip? If so, call me, Mansh, at Police 5, and you could win a community action trust reward. Keep ’em peeled. - Mansh

[anon]

Fleeing Arabs, The

Mon, 20 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Game played after swimming at the local leisure centre during which you would put your towel over your head (like a yashmak), secure it in place by putting your swimming goggles on over it (thereby ‘concealing’ your true identity), and then run around the building shouting ‘The fleeeeeing Araaaaabs!’ until a member of staff got bored enough to tell you to piss off home. The bar was raised considerably when Neil Keouski neglected to wear anything other than the Arabian headdress, ran to the front of the building, and waved his cock at the receptionist.

Spaghetti H

Flick The Nipple, Ride The Ripple

Mon, 20 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

One of Brian’s responses to ‘Big Dave’ during a verbal disagreement. Dave was three years younger than us but possibly weighed more than all of us put together.

In the same argument, Brian also said, “Your mum’s so thick, she got run over by a parked car.”

Luke T

fat monk

Sun, 05 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

There was a small Buddhist monastery across the road from my school, and at lunchtime we’d often see groups of monks walking down the street. Most of the monks were lean and lithe, but there was one monk who was, to put it mildly, a right fat bastard.

The monks made sculptures from butter, and it was generally accepted among the students at our school that the other monks only kept Fat Monk around because he would eat the sculptures they fucked up. A friend of mine wrote a haiku about him for English class:

Big fat Buddhist monk

Eats the bad butter sculptures

Human rubbish bin.

Hannah P

Fucking Onechop

Mon, 23 May 2005 00:00:00 +0000

As an ardent Derby supporter, James once professed his admiration for their star striker with the phrase “I love fucking Wanchope.” His broad midlands dialect led to the bastardisation of the Spanish ‘Wan-Chop-Ay’ into the simple ‘Onechop’ .

After weeks of being reminded of this, James threatened to “fucking kill” us with his “fucking gun”. Presumably the same gun he used to fuck Onechop.

The Boy T

Fruit and milk phallus

Fri, 06 May 2005 00:00:00 +0000

At lunchtime, a banana, a large red grape, a carton of milk and a straw can be combined to fashion a most amusing sculpture, as follows:

Cut the tip off the banana.

Insert the straw through the cut tip, pointing down along the length of the banana. Push through until the banana is skewered on the straw, with about an inch protruding from the severed banana tip, and at least an inch protruding from somewhere along the length of the banana.

Blow down the straw to remove any banana detritus.

Cut the grape in half and attach one half this to the cut end of the banana by skewering it on the straw.

Take a mouthful of tasty milk. For Christ’s sake, don’t swallow .

Put mouth on non-graped end of straw and blow.

Sit back and enjoy your fellow students’ hilarity at the sight of this facsimile of an ejaculating penis.

Don’t try to be too clever and use oranges or plums for balls. Remember - less is often more, and you don’t want to be accused of gilding the lily.

[anon]

Flea Darts

Wed, 27 Apr 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Flea darts are basically grass darts which, when looked at closely, sometimes have little black creatures moving about in them. These, of course, are fleas.

Like the purple headed mountain and each little bird that sings, they were invented by God. He designed them to stick to schoolgirls’ white socks, who would then walk briskly about a bit on the way home from school before thinking ‘Ugh, a flea dart’. They would then remove the flea dart, allowing it to germinate, giving rise to a new flea dart plant.

Flea darts are harvested at the morning break, and distributed into peoples’ hair throughout the day. They are generally thrown at girls because they have long hair, or boys with curly hair, to ensure maximum attatchment effectivity.

Once a person has been “infected” with a flea dart, it is best to spend the rest of the day running away from them, as fleas are highly contagious and make a convincing argument that the person is dirty and smells.

Oscar T

for good friends and for good food

Tue, 26 Apr 2005 00:00:00 +0000

For good friends and for good food
We thank you, Lord
Amen

Compulsory prayer said before dinner at my primary school. To be said in a mindless drone, reminiscent of, “Good mor-ning, Mis-sus Jones”.

More accurate would have been;

For the wondrous bounty
That is shepherds pie
Left over from last week
And for letting me sit next to Peter
Who smells of cheese biscuits
We thank you, Lord
Amen

Fainting

Wed, 02 Feb 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Dubious entry, for a dubious practice. We would all go in the boys bathroom at primary school (girls may have practised this… though it seems unliikely). Whoever felt brave would sit on the floor with their back to the wall, hold their breath for 30 seconds, close their eyes, and cross their arms over their chest, while tucking their knees up to their chest. At this point 3 or 4 remaining boys would push his chest (with shoulders, arms) as hard as they could for a 10 seconds or so. Lack of blood (and oxygen) to the brain was the result. Unconsciousness of the individual ensued.

Variants involved using the stone wall in the playground, and an excess of 6 or more people pushing on ones chest. This nameless act was swiftly outlawed, in fear of widespread braindamage. It was none-the-less the best thing we 10 year olds ever did. Apologies if it has been posted under another name. Or if any of the kids from this Nottinghamshire primary school are permanently damaged…

[anon]

Fernandron

Sun, 12 Dec 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Mysterious chemical additive included in food to induce postconsumption belching. Fernandron does not appear on any list of ingredients because, of course, the manufacturers are “too scared to admit it”.

[anon]

Fucking Dab

Fri, 26 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

I don’t know if dabs exist anywhere else in the world, but in Feniscowles in Blackburn, they were slices of huge baking potato dipped in batter and fried. At 10p each, they were an extremely cheap, tasty and unhealthy meal for a growing child.

Paul H., our school’s most prolific and robotic swearer, simply could not order a dab without referring to it as a “fucking dab”. In everyday life, some nouns would escape the fucking prefix. But never dabs. Perhaps he just thought dabs was too short a word to make sense on its own - perhaps he just fucking hated the fucking dabs.

Briefly, the school grounds became ’ The Place of the Eighteen Fuckings ‘, when Paul H was hit across the back of his legs by his best friend, and managed eighteen uninterrupted fuckings before another word broke the flow. I think this has never been beaten anywhere else in the world.

[anon]

f of x

Mon, 15 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

When my maths teacher was introducing us to functions, she wrote f(x) on the blackboard and informed us that it was pronounced “f of x”. I shared a desk with a boy called Scott, who thought she was telling a letter of the alphabet to “f. off”.

He spent the next hour repeating “f of x! f off x!” - experimenting with the delicious phonetic closeness of the two words - and giggling helplessly into his own neck. No-one else laughed at all. We were 14, and most of us were quite accustomed to telling people, things and abstract concepts to fuck off.

Fung Chow

Tue, 11 May 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Fung Chow was a peace-loving Vietnamese village, made out of paper by Nick Ruck. The attention to detail was magnificent - there were little bits of ripped-up paper to represent huts and villagers and everything .

Then the welding-torch helicopters came. Manned by Nick Ruck, who shouted an off-key Ride of the Valkyries, the helicopters left no surviving paper villagers, or huts. Nick Ruck stopped shouting Wagner to scream in a slightly foreign accent.

Mr Ashworth - our metalwork teacher - looked visibly shaken when he arrived at the scene, and may well be the last case of post-traumatic stress disorder caused by the Vietnam war.

Tony G

Finger Clicking

Tue, 04 May 2004 00:00:00 +0000

A practice taken up primarily by my Welsh teacher that annoyed me no end.

He used to do it so frequently that one lesson I vowed to hit myself over the head every time he did it.

That was a painful lesson.

In hindsight I probably should have hit the person next to me when he did it, but he was bigger and harder than me.

Is it just me, or is Patrick he sort of person who gets written about in these pages, rather than the sort of person who writes in? Patrick; your name didn’t used to be ‘Sears’ did it?

First Name Terms

Fri, 19 Mar 2004 00:00:00 +0000

For children who were spared the New-age horrors of a ‘progressive’ or ‘modern learning’ environment at school, the Christian names of teachers were shrouded in taboo and mystery, and their discovery led to the instant humanisition of the teacher, leading to weakness and misery.

One teacher to succumb was a Mrs Judith Clarke. After almost a year of listening to ‘Hey Jude, don’t make it bad…’, we soon evolved into ‘Hey Jude begin’ ( at the start of the class - clever ), ‘Hey Jude, don’t be a gay’ ( I’m not saying we were funny, just persistent ) ‘remember to let her under your foreskin’, and most poignantly, ‘Hey Jude, don’t have a spazz’.

Unfortunately one day she did just that, throwing all the books off her desk, and shedding bitter tears, she upped and left to a fanfare of ’naa na na na-na na-na, na-na na-na, hey Judy Judy Jude’ still ringing in her ears.

A hard fought victory.

Sticky K

Fatty Drums

Mon, 08 Mar 2004 00:00:00 +0000

When Mark Roberts, a fat child with an extrememly large slaphead, lost his claim to a decent childhood when he was punched in the back in a science lab, and everyone heard the booming noise his hollow bloat made.

Attempts to recreate this biological marvel meant that it would be a rare day which didn’t result in Mark acquiring at least half a dozen new bruises.

[anon]

French exchange students

Sat, 21 Feb 2004 00:00:00 +0000

There was one kid who was accused of hogging the French exchange students. The teachers were informed, a commitee was convened, the kid was reprimanded. The reprimand was stapled into his permanent file. Later, this reprimand kept the exchange-student-hogger out of a prestigious university.

( I’m approving this story because I have no idea what hogging means in this context. To me, hogging means “keeping them all to yourself”, and I love the image of this student crowd-surfing everywhere on a sea of fifty frenchmen, saying “allez la-bas!” )

finders keepers

Fri, 20 Feb 2004 00:00:00 +0000

A phrase which, as well the well-established meaning of “I found it, it’s mine”, announces an impending mugging, much like a highwayman command to a coach party to stand and deliver .

Particularly loquacious bullies in the Wild West of Scotland might say " fin’, keep: brek beak " which roughly translates to " I’m going to pat you down and if you’ve lied about not having anything, you get a fucking broken nose “.

Football booby trap

Sun, 25 Jan 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Our football burst one breaktime. Someone had the idea of taking out the deflated inner balloon through the burst seam and replacing it with some large stones.

We then ‘accidentally’ rolled the ball over towards a group of older bastard kids, knowing that they would try to kick it over the fence.

And it worked. Honestly, it worked. One of them took a good run up, had a huge hoof at the ball, shouted out loud, and hopped off on one leg in considerable pain, and probably saying “ooyah!”

I have never since experienced such complete satisfaction at the entirely successful execution of a plan. We strutted around like five little George Peppards for a week.

Matt F

fucking hell

Tue, 20 Jan 2004 00:00:00 +0000

An achingly clever responce to anyone saying fucking hell is to reply;

" Why fuck in hell, when there’re beds in heaven? "

You may also stab someone with a fork and shout " fork you! “. Either way, you deserve a klcking.

James C

Faulkner, Mr

Fri, 02 Jan 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Nearing pensioning age, Mr. Faulkner’s erratic behaviour was excused and explained by other teachers with a roll of their eyes and a long-since-stopped-caring ’ It’s his last year ‘. He taught metalwork.

Whereas once we would have to provoke him into sharing his war-time heroics as a parachutist / frogman / desert fox / commando / codebreaker / astro-soldier to avoid working, it eventually dawned on us that he wouldn’t give a toss if we just sat there and did our own things for an hour.

After a whole year of learning no metalwork skills at all, and practical assessments looming, a more attentive pupil recalled that we had, at some point, been told to make a trowel. Another child had actually bothered to make one , so those of us who cared about getting a mark dutifully presented this one trowel, in turn, to Mr. Faulkner. He returned the compliment by dutifully giving us all a completely different mark for it.

He also set a written exam which we had no hope of passing but during which I did discover that, apparently, there is a kind of file called a ‘bastard’ - the only piece of hard metalwork information that I picked up in the whole year. And he probably made that up to take the piss.

The B

F.A.P

Sat, 29 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Flashers and Proud. An organisation set up by a group of 13 year old girls with the sole purpose of lifting up their skirts or tops at random victims. If anyone complains, they are presented with a FAP membership card and told to ‘deal with it’.

Abi

Should a member of the FAP meet a member of the FBI (Federal Breast Inspectorate), then a long-term and mutually beneficial relationship might well result.

Fans

Fri, 21 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Inevitable first word after walking into any room in a Fonz-style way. Both hands were held out to the side, palms down, to hush the adoring crowds, and a gentle nodding gesture of recognition was made by the protagonist.

Mr T

FFFFF

Mon, 17 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

How to treat women. Find them. Feel them. Finger them. Fuck them. Forget them.

Carrying this idealistic theory into practice may lead to you being disliked by some grumpier women.

Ade L

Somewhere between the last two Fs, the woman should provide you with the three Bs - a blowjob, a bacon sandwich, and beer. And remember, you’d never have pulled her without the trinity of Ss, a shit, a shower and a shave.

Flying Saucers, blindness from

Tue, 11 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Nibble off one edge of a Flying Saucer making a hole exposing the sherbet inside

Nibble a smaller hole on the opposite side

Place between lips, aim larger hole at victim’s face and blow sherbert with a swift, well-aimed blast

Hilarity and temporary blindness ensues

Ponky P

Farting/Curved Air

Fri, 07 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Quite simply, the act of firmly cupping one hand in the bumcleft in synchronitity with a boff , and then rapidly arcing the arm around in an economical sideways/forward/upward motion in order to give direction and purpose to the otherwise diffuse fart-gas. Best directed towards a classmate’s face.

With reference to prog-rockers Curved Air who stank and got in your face, or something.

Smiler S

Fuckingham road

Thu, 06 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

It was meant to say Buckingham road, but we had tippex. Still makes me laugh when i go past it.

(Been to Manchester? In the hilarious fashion of Terry Pratchett’s discworld pub, the Broken Drum / Mended Drum, the sign Canal Street is on a constant cycle of being changed to anal treet and then being fixed by the council, who roll their eyes at the gays, who’ve “done it again”. By the way, I hate Terry Pratchett, don’t get me fucking started on Terry Pratchett. - Log)

griff

In a similar vein to (C)anal (S)treet, I lived near a lane called Pollock’s Path, with bredictably hilarious results.

Matt F

Saw something similar in Sydney on a train. What had oringinally said, “At night travel near the guards compartment marked with a blue light.” Had been altered using Tipp-Ex to read, “At night rave near the guards compartment naked with a blue light.” I thought this quite witty for a nation of blokes who play sport in hot pants.

Kettle F

Near my home is a road called Penns Close. Some time in the 70s, when I was a child, its sign was amended with white paint to Penis Close. This gave us a laugh for, Christ, about 20 years, until the sign was eventually repainted by the council. Shortly after, some clever sod tried to return it to its former state. However, declining educational standards being what they are, they managed to change it to Peins Close. The twats.

The B

M e ad o w b ank station (in Sydney) used to change their signs on quite a regular basis. They seem to have given up these days.

“Please vacate this seat for elderly or disabled passengers” can also be made into “Please eat elderly or disabled passengers”, with hilarious consequences.

Pogglesnatch

The road signs pointing to the village of APSE HEATH on the Isle of Wight can easily be corrected using one piece of black electrical tape.

The county council doesn’t think it’s funny, but they’re wrong.

[anon]

According to my Grandad, changing the sign from the nearby “Potten End” to “Rotten End” had been done every year, by local schoolboys, for the last 70 years.

Nick K

Unusually-shaped signs have been specially designed for the River Uck so as to provide no quarter to schoolboys with pen or paint in their hands and a gigantic letter ‘F’ in their heads.

However, the ever-so-diligent local council failed to recognise that the smutty minds of their schoolkids are not so easily thwarted; our roving reporter provided this photograph of a nearby town sign which shows that they still have some way to go before they can entirely eradicate filth from the streets of East Sussex.

http://freds.belmsford123.com/uckfield.jpg">

Ponky P

St. Martin’s School, Brentford, has been recognised as a National Beacon School of Excellence, an accolade awarded to fewer than 1% of schools in the whole country.

Naturally, the school wanted to trumpet this achievement, so they duly erected a sign outside the school proudly proclaiming its new status.

Naturally, we investigated this new sign, and by dint of removing some of the letters, we produced this:

St. Martin’s Anal Bacon of Excellence

Less than 1% of the pupils in the country would have thought of that.

[anon]

In St. Martin’s school there was also a sign concerning the directions to the Swimming Poo.

So simple, and yet so effective.

Bionic S

For some reason, Birmingham city planners did not see the potential headache in naming a road “Dogpool Lane”.

I think the people who fix roadsigns have admitted defeat, because the same bad white paint job over the ’l’ has been in existence for the two years I’ve lived here.

Everyone I know just refers to it as Dogpoo Lane. When I’m on the bus, I like to ring my boyfriend and say “I’m at Dogpoo Lane now, put the kettle on, I’ll be home soon.”

And do you know what? Nobody on the bus even smirks. Because I bet they all call it Dogpoo Lane too.

rachy t

The village of http://maps.google.co.uk/?q=shilbottle in Northumberland was regularly… oh surely you all get the point by now - Phil

Adam F

Coming from Croydon, the “wittiest” (and only) roadname change came in the form of Compton road, which some brainbox renamed Oompton (well done, lads). However, one of the local pubs got attacked by drunks one night, and the following morning “The Leslie Arms” had it’s removeable letters rearranged into “Shit Arse”.

Puerile and slightly anti-corporate readers may also have noticed that the letters of Starbuck’s Coffee can similarly be rearranged to spell “Best Of Arse Fuck”. I’m not saying anyone should steal into Luton town centre at 3:30 in the morning and do this, but if anyone did, I’d suck their balls for a year - Log

[anon]

When the front of your textbook has a label for your name, and the bottom of the label has a decree from the headmaster to treat it well, you must scrub out the “e”, “d” and “a”. This will serve as a warning to future pupils, that if they speednob or dog-ear the pages, they will incur the furry fury of Nigel Gilpin, Hamster.

Andy S

Ok; I’d left school and it was during my law degree at the University of Helsinki.

But I was still appropriately immature enough to be thrilled when their student housing office presented me with the keys to the studio apartment at 14/6 Piispantie.

Kaye C

Fogie

Tue, 28 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Favourite television programme of Mark Foster, who would constantly ask me if I’d seen the most recent episode and then look at me in disbelief when I told him I’d never heard of it. It was about a year before I realised he was talking about “The Fall Guy” which, of course, I watched all the time.

(At the time Mark was receiving regular speech therapy)

Pete S

Farrow

Thu, 23 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Farrow was a gangly kid who was assuredly mental, and ginger. One of those ‘funny’ ones.

Allegedly his parents had an obsession with lawnmowers, and had a vast collection. At Christmas a single lawnmower would be decked in fairy lights and placed on the roof of their house.

Towards the end of the year I was phoned by my mate Jon, who barked “You know Farrow? He’s DEAD!” before he was inexplicably cut off. I thought it was a joke, obviously, but Farrow really was dead; he had hung himself. That should have been the end of it, but perhaps because of his eccentricity, comedy stylings became applied to his suicide. It became common knowledge, accepted fact that he had “Put the noose round his neck and stood on a chair as a joke, and then he called his friend and said ‘come round and see what I’ve done!’, but he accidentally slipped off the chair and really killed himself!” It seems pretty obvious to me that it was a cry for help. I mean, how good a joke would that have been? Friend Enters Room. Farrow: ‘Hahahahhaha! Look: I’m standing on a chair, and I have a noose round my neck!’

Then it entered a new stage of ludicrousness. With that touchingly naïve manner that teachers possess, where they assume that kids will be traumatized by a pupil killing themselves - as opposed to, say, finding it funny - our tutor asked for silence so that we could discuss the matter.

“I just wanted to make sure everyone knew what happened, and had the right story.” Then, unexpectedly: “Does anyone know the right story?”

Benham, of equally mental and ginger status to Farrow, put up his hand. With deadly sincerity (he was not complex enough to be this deadpan), he said “He was talking to his friend on the phone, when he fell over the balcony and hung himself on the telephone cord.”

I looked around. There were no smirks, no raised eyebrows. “I see,” said the tutor. “I wanted to make sure everyone was clear on this.”

What!? I wanted to stand up and shout “For fuck’s sake, he didn’t accidentally hang himself with a telephone!” But I started to doubt myself. I still don’t know to this day. Maybe he DID accidentally hang himself with the telephone cord. Or maybe people just couldn’t accept that a ginger fool would die in a way that wouldn’t involve slapstick.

Luckily, later that evening, my spiritualist uncle was on hand to give me some excellent advice: “You must pray to the Great Spirit for your friend-” “He’s not my friend!” I never did pray to the Great Spirit, so if Farrow is in Spiritualist Hell I guess it’s my fault.

Raz

fat teacher, sudden dissapearance of

Wed, 15 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Mrs. Fenton (openly nicknamed “Jabba the Slut”) was emboldened by the optimism that a bright sunny day can bring. Her mind full of possibilities, she walked out of a two-hour lesson around half-way through, and never returned.

[anon]

free deidre rachid

Fri, 10 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A book graffiti campaign was launched to free Deidre Rachid - a fictional character wrongly - but fictionally - imprisoned in a (fictitious) jail.

The best one featured a young child praying to god, with the caption “Please sir, free Deidre” crudely inserted in a speech-bubble above his head.

We like to think our little campaign in some way influenced the decision of the Coronation Street writers to release the chicken-necked cunt.

[anon]

Fart denial, with chins

Sun, 05 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

In lieu of “Whoever smelt it…” debates, the chin defense could be used.

Once the scent of a bumtrump had been smelt then a clenched fist was attached to the chin. The last person to complete this action was identified as the fart culprit.

Of course, normally the first person to perform the chin defense tended to be the person who had farted - well aware of what they had just done and keen to escape the blame - and the loser tended to be anyone who had a bunged up nose or was too absorbed in colouring in the countries of Europe to follow the chinning trend.

This practice also evolved into double chinning, where the second hand should be placed below the first. Ultimately one would look rather like a Pharoah with one of those chin ornaments on - perhaps in his ancient regality a Pharoah was recognised as being incapable of letting off. I’m not sure, we did the Ancient Greeks instead of the Egyptians.

Robin T

fart rhymes, german

Thu, 02 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

In my early school days we had a quite famous rhyme:

“Winnetou der Weise spricht:

Laute Forze stinken nicht,

aber die leisen,

die um das Arschloch kreisen,

vor ihnen hüte dich,

denn sie stinken fürchterlich”

For the non-german-speaking, here is a rough translation:

“Winnetou the wise says:

Loud farts don’t stink,

but beware of the silent ones,

that circle around the arsehole,

for they smell terrible.”

Winnetou was a native-american character from the popular cowboy and indian stories written by Karl May.

[anon]

I heard this when I was eight. OK, so it’s not German. Like I care.

*There’s a ball of wind

It goes to your heart

It travels down your backbone

and turns into a fart.

a fart is very useful

it gives you lots of ease

it warms the bed at night time,

and suffocates the fleas.*

[anon]

fub

Thu, 02 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A fat useless bastard. More common nationally than you might expect, this word contains the two Atkinson / Elton letters of comedy, “f” and “b”. This explains why the words “baffle” and “boffin” are so popular, and why “Baby Bumfluff” is the most popular children’s cartoon of the 1970s.

Jon B

Firecracker in coat

Wed, 10 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Dean Parkinson wasn’t very smart. At age 11 he smoked in order to deliberately stunt his growth, because he wanted to be a jockey - that kind of not very smart. One day in Year 7 Chemistry he had a firecracker and his lighter, and was seeing just how close he could get the flame to the wick before it would light. An admirable experiment conducted by a scientific mind, but one with only one final outcome: he did find out how close the flame had to be, and the wick began to spark. Only then did Dean realise that you can’t really let off firecrackers in the middle of class without the teacher noticing. In a panic, Dean quickly shoved the cracker inside his school blazer and wrapped his arms across his chest. Three seconds later he was jolting and jumping in his seat, accompanied by a loud fizzing, whooshing noise. After enduring a few seconds of unpleasantness, he opened his blazer and the cracker fizzed and sputtered across the room. The last I remember was a gently smouldering Dean being led away by a rather cranky Chemistry teacher.

Oh, he also once stuck a metal ruler inside the ventilation grid of an overhead projector while the teacher found the next slide. An amazing crunchy clank as the fan ground to a halt, followed by billowing black smoke, and the teacher revised his decision to keep Dean at the front of the room to keep an eye on him.

David H

falling over

Sun, 07 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Not a good idea in the presence of others, as they will all invariably start chanting “She fell over!” and push you over again, in a nearby patch of mud where possible. Falling over is an even worse thing to do in the lunch hall, where falling over can result in your lunch being tipped all over the floor and three hundred children laughing at you simultaneously. The headmaster will invariably choose this moment to walk in and randomly give a table of laughing boys detention as you run off crying. (You may recognise the voice of experience in this.)

Leopold B

french is poo

Sun, 07 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Graffiti. Presumably the teacher arrived before the pupil could add the final “r”.

Leopold B

Fascinating Manoj

Thu, 14 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The monicker of a child in our year who, ironically, was really boring.

We also made up a character called manij (pronounced manooj) who was entirely fictional and unrelated but just happened to be identical to manoj. Manij died.

griff

Foam; coming from school kitchens

Thu, 07 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Every lunchtime, at about 1.10pm, a strange white foam used to emerge from the bottom of the pipes. Children used to play with it - run around the playground with it on their faces in winter pretending to be Father Christmas, or in summer, an ice-cream to fun and fool your friends with.

I now realise that this was the cooks emptying the sinks of all the greasy, fatty, food-encrusted gunk. This, added to a dash of Fairy Liquid, would cause giant clouds of this foul-stinking dirt. Everyone from Hillbrook School will probably get cancer from this by the age of 40.

Richard S

Fanny Farting (Frog Chorus)

Wed, 06 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

An incredible ability discovered by probably the best looking girl ever to grace our High School. She took to performing her talent during assembly, much to the surprise and delight of the remainder of upper school. After a while she appeared to have developed the capability of producing an inward ‘sucking’ noise to accompany the outward ‘farting’ noise, the only way I can describe this sublime sound is to have you imagine someone rhythmically thrusting a plunger in and out of a small bucket full of custard. She received such admiration for her expertise that before long several other girls had mysteriously discovered they shared her talent, producing sporadic low pitched squelching noises across the lecture theatre every other day. The final result culminated in daily renditions of the ‘Fanny Farting Frog Chorus’ that lasted for weeks, causing utter disruption and chaos. Fabulous.

I have since discovered many girls can perform this amazing bodily function, but for some inexplicable reason, don’t.

Mouse H

Fireboots

Wed, 06 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Spray the tips of your shoes for around twenty seconds with deodorant, light it, and kick random objects about - can and should include attempts at kicking fellow humans.

Very briefly became Fireball - the same principle as above but applied to an old Mitre football instead of one’s footwear. Briefly, because people started getting hurt.

[anon]

Fun With Pencils

Mon, 04 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

(A decent post elevated by a fantastic physics pun. Marvellous.)

Sharpen a graphite pencil at both ends, then clip the power supply connectors to the exposed lead. The graphite core becomes searingly hot - and stays so for ages. Then leave out for the bullying tart who belittled your knowledge of physics as being “swotty” and watch the blisters form on her chubby little fingers when she (as usual) helps herself to your writing tools. Resistors aren’t futile!

Frank the Bummer Man

Fri, 25 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

I don’t know how or why, but the little bloke that used to ride by us on his pale blue motor scooter whilst we walked to school became known as “Frank the Bummer Man”. As far as we knew, this meant that he liked rubbing bottoms with young boys. Anyway, this all led to us shouting “Frank the Bummer Man!” at him in very loud voices as he rode by.

One day, this became too much for Frank - if that was indeed his name - and he dismounted very rapidly and gave chase.

We ended up over the clay pits near the school, covered in mud, and eventually turned up for school over an hour late, receiving detentions for our trouble.

After that we left Frank alone as he’d shown us that being a bummer man didn’t mean that he couldn’t run after us.

Steve C

Foreign exchange pupils

Thu, 24 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The first thing you notice about foreign exchange pupils is just how foreign they look. Invariably, their heads were a strange shape, they smelled odd and their clothes ranged from bizarre to hilarious.

Depending on their gullibility and command of English it was occasionally possible to get them to do silly and potentially dangerous things. Most of them were too wise to fall into any trap involving the words fuck, wank, bastard or shit. The skill lay in coming across as trustworthy and in using phrases obscure enough to raise no alarms. We had moderate success with a young French boy who we managed to send into a sweet shop, point to a big jar and say ‘clitoris’. The same boy, without any inducement at all, surprised my sister on a cramped car journey by asking if he could come on her legs. She laughed and so did I. My friends decided he wan’t a proper French person when he declined the offer of eating a whole raw onion.

On the whole, Germans were more fun becaue it was permissible to punch them for starting wars and gassing people.

Bob M

Fake chewing gum

Wed, 23 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

There was a brief craze in the final year of my primary school for mousetrap-type contraptions disguised as chewing gum. When you went to take a piece, a bit of metal snapped down hard on your unsuspecting finger. Hilarious!

At the age of eleven or twelve, my fingers were still quite wee (still are) and it REALLY BLOODY HURT. By the way.

spadge m

footie in the face

Fri, 18 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Everyone experiences a leather football in the face on a winter’s day at one point in their school life, but not everyone gets to experience kicking the ball at full force in your history teacher’s face on the coldest day of the year, then getting away with it because you can run faster than he can.

Alistair G

Fantasies that should be forgotten

Sun, 13 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

At aged 10, I got to first touch a girl’s private parts under the table in school. It was very sexy. I was ten, and she pulled down her knickers to her knees under her dress during art class. I used the classic “dropping a pencil” scam, and went under the table.

I am now 32, and I should probably get a new fantasy.

( Uncle Log advises : why not re-enact the fantasy with a current partner or prostitute, then have sex? You might have an erotic version of that thing where you hear half a song and it’s stuck in your head until you hear the whole thing. An important footnote to this advice is that the re-enactment should NOT be with a 10 year old girl. Unless she’s got lovely tits. )

[anon]

Dear Uncle Log:

Disturbed by my own perversion, I took your advice and decided to act out this fantasy with my wife. We went to a restaurant, and I asked her to pull her knickers down to mid-thigh, then I ‘dropped’ my fork and bent down to take a quick look. It was quite disappointing in how little a turn on it was. So now I’m cured, and have moved on to another fantasy, this time involving a healthy middle aged woman.

Love, The Poster who Posted the Above Post.

[anon]

Fart Capacitor

Sun, 13 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

An amusing way to spend a physics class. We all had to sit in the lab on stools that had small cushions on. These cushions were fastened to the stools with elastic, and they could be removed. In a moment of pure genius, one boy farted while sitting down, then got up, picked the cushion off the chair, walked behind the unpopular boy, and held the cushion to his face. This was the birth of the first fart transporting mechanism, and amused everyone for the remainder of the term.

And come on, who hasn’t farted onto something and then smelt it out of curiosity?

[anon]

Feefola

Sun, 13 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Used in Wellington’s south-eastern suburbs to describe all aspects of theft. A person who steals something is a feefola, equally when something has been stolen it has been feefola’d. For example “Oh shit, Rangi. My fuckin’ pencil case has been feefola’d!” Or “Give that back you Feefola!” For readers not in tune with New Zealand working class speech patterns, feefola is a ‘fresh’ way of saying ‘Thief’.

( Feef and Teef (a contraction of the rhyming slang " tea-leaf " were in common use in Nottingham, as was the more political " tax “. Yeah, ‘cos tax is just legal theft, yeah? Right, brothers? - Log)

Dugald C

Taxing could, however, be countered by the cunning use of a ’ super tax ’ - it was in monopoly, therefore could be used legitimately. Unfortunately with nowhere to go after super tax - mega tax wasn’t allowed - many decided that ‘you bent twat’ and a fight was the next logical conclusion. Which it was. And still is.

petrocelli

Fixtures

Sun, 13 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

“Fixtures” was the name of the school diary which every boy was issued with. These would occasionally be lost or left behind, of course, and when you needed to look something up (e.g. dates of sports matches) you would, naturally enough, ask to borrow someone else’s. And Freddie Messon-Gilpin would, naturally enough, lend you his in the middle of double biology. And you, sitting behind him, would proceed to draw enormous phalluses, complete with Jap’s eye and cum-lines, all over it. If there was time, you could fill in all the space available for each day in the year, and he’d have to buy another one.

( Have you borrowed another person’s book and filled in every available gap with cocks, spunk lines and women riding around in tanks with their tits out? We’re starting a competition to find the most cock-saturated page of a standard exercise book. Tell mailto:log@playgroundlaw.com if you think you’ve got Britain’s most cocks on a page.

Digby W

Thursday was the day that our form tutor would check our homework diaries for teacher comments and our parents’ signature, to prove we’d been good boys during the week. One week I briefly left the class and upon my return found that the current week’s page had been filled with numerous “CUNT"s in big letters.

Unfortunately, my form tutor wasn’t fooled by my subtle rebranding of said obscenities to “CUNE”. Nowadays, of course, I would have the wherewithal to swiftly adapt it to “http://contebikes.com/site/intro.cfm".

Charlie W

Blakey’s dad was not amused by the memo I left for him in his homework diary, in thick permanent marker.

“Memo:” it read, “Bum Dad.”

Bionic S

Frottage

Fri, 11 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

When queuing outside classrooms, since one is only allowed to enter when the teacher arrives and gives the OK, there tends to be a certain degree of pushing. Should there be pushing then the pushee may shout ‘frot frot frot’ or ‘frotter’ or ‘oh goodie, frottage’.

[anon]

Fiddling

Thu, 10 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

As close as one can get to a wank without actually wanking, and therefore becoming a wanker. Wherease being a wanker is a bad thing (unless you boast about doing it over ten times a day, or you can produce over a pint in a single splot), having a fiddle is perfectly acceptable.

Toilet T

Fat Teacher

Thu, 03 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

We had a teacher in our school so fat that when she walked down the corridor, it was difficult to get past her. To ease the stress of one particularly bad episode of fat-teacher induced gridlock, a kid stood behind her, spread his arms out to the size of her arse (in a “I caught a fish and it was this big” manner) and triumphantly held the arse-sized arm stretch high in the air above her head for all to see.

Kids! Did you have a fat teacher? A purulent pedagogue? Tell us all about it - if they didn’t want to be laughed at, they shouldn’t have eaten all the pies.

Little M

Michael Spencer had to be the fattest teacher ever. Unfortunately there are no amusing incidents relating to his girth.

Phil J

It is a mistake, when a fat teacher, to dress as a cow for Halloween.

[anon]

Ours was called Mr. Cheshire - he used to sleep through lessons until wakened by the ‘ping’ of his microwave. He always used to wear chains around his wrists - presumably to stop the flab dripping over the joint and preventing movement.

Blort S

Mrs. Waring required the double fire doors to be opened in order to progress from one corridor to the next. Fact.

( OMFG! That’s one fat teacher, Robert Thebruce! That crazy fat bitch don’t never be saying no to no motherfuckin’ Big Macs! But did you have a fatter teacher? If so, exactly how fat was it? Was it like a mince-filled Hindenberg? Or perhaps it put you in mind of a scaled up bumble-bee, dripping sweat from its greedy bloated rear. We have to know the names and possibly even the addresses of every fat teacher there is .)

robert t

Park High School in the ’70s. Our music teacher was fat , and he was called Mr Tucker. We retired to the playground, had a twenty minute brainstorming session, in which it was proposed, and eventually agreed, that we should call him Mr Fat Fucker.

( Do re mi so fat you fat fuck! What a fucking fatso! Did anyone have a fat woodwork teacher? - Log)

uncle m

Our fat teacher at primary school was Mrs Caligeerus. A name slightly too convoluted for some of our immature mouths leading to her being called Mrs Crocodile. Which might have been a pretty good insult, if we were http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=1276.

( How does that relate to her behemothic monolithicness? More fatties please. )

[anon]

Well, our music teacher was so fat and claimed a place in many childhood memories by having to be hauled undaintily to her feet by four of her colleagues, after falling down the two steps that led into the dining hall. Probably in a pudding rush, the fat cow.

( Fucking hell, that’s two to an arm! I hope no-one took the legs; you don’t want be giving this fat bitch the bumps! Not unless you want a journey to the centre of the motherfuckin’ EARTH! I tell ya! Any more? Let’s turn this site into http://www.fatchicksinpartyhats.com )

Mong B

The home economics teacher at our school was massive. Her name was Mrs Pelley. You can see this coming can’t you? She was therefore known as Mrs Belly. Cos she was fat. See?

When you’re that fat, do your farts ever get out of your body? I mean, if you’re crawling up some really fat teacher’s buttock-space to give them the love they crave, do you run the risk of relasing some long-forgotten farts? Farts embedded for years in the labyrinth of arse? It’d be like popping some shit-smeared bubble-wrap. JESUS, you fat teachers make me honk!

[anon]

Fat her Damian was the fattest teach-priest in the world. So much so that someone smeared the word FAT in mud on his clasroom window. This drove him to launch a plastic chair across the room in fat-handed rage.

( Have you said your prayers, Father Damian? What did you pray for? You say you prayed for a hill of butter? FAT PRIEST ALERT! Our father who art in heaven, seventeen chicken chow mein! Is there any other combination of FAT + something else we haven’t done? Fat science dwarves? Anyone? )

Conor F

At a school we used to play rugby against, one of the P.E. staff who refereed our games was so fat that he had to referee the entire game from the half way line.

Additionally, if he was knocked down he couldn’t get up again. He’d thrash about briefly, like some gargantuan speaking tortoise enjoying a mudbath, before blowing the whistle and asking, plaintively, “help me boys, I can’t get up”.

( How can I get out of the mud? I know! I’ll eat my way out! scronfscronfscronfscronfscronf! Oh no, I’ve eaten the entire mantle of the Earth! Why oh why was I cursed with my bigbones™? )

[anon]

Fat teachers should always choose to dress in floral ponchos made from curtains, and - and this is perfect - drive a Mini. Mine certainly did.

So when the beast shoves its ham-joints through the tiny doors, and wedges itself under the Polo Mint steering wheel, at least it has the excuse that it is a Mini.

( Did your fat teacher use any comedies of scale? Perhaps it would drink hot lard from a thimble, before hurling Rubik’s Barrels down a network of girders. Was it a knowing joke, or simple, fat-headed obliviousness? Who knows what goes on, in… The Minds of the Fat .)

World D

Just as an aside, and for those that haven’t experienced the joys of fat teacher loving, google “fat teacher”. Go on. And then click on one of the links. Maybe the “Student fuck his fat teacher” one. Even better - “FREE Fat teacher fucking and New York black porn!” one.

Whoo! That kicks off November’s round of fat-teachers with a global flavour! I wonder what a fat geography teacher tastes of? Does he taste more like Geography, or a messy pile of bacon? Let’s find out!

Nick H

Norma Huges was a very fat pottery teacher. Norma wasn’t the kind of lady to let her immense size dissuade her from wearing tight leggings.

She took her dog, Lance, for walks by holding his leash through the open window of her old Golf Polo whilst slowly driving around the school.

A phlegm-sodden scream meant that Lance had slipped her sausage grip. This would set off a chorus of imitation shrieks, resulting in a very confused dog and a very angry fat woman sweating in a metal box.

Lance! Look for food, Lance! If you don’t find food, I shall eat the car! Then there will be no more walks! Now I am lying on the ground, Lance. Please take off my jaw and walk into my mouth, where I will start the laborious process of eating you. I wish food was easier to eat *FAT SIGH*

Slab G

Miss Dagg was nothing short of twenty stone. A follower of the floral tent-dress fashion, she was incredibly miserable and perpetually angry. From the very first day, we just knew she was going to be a pushover - and we were right. She left the class crying every other lesson, “took a long holiday”, then came back and so on and so forth, as we mercilessly ground her down.

Sports Day - A pupils versus teachers rounders match, and to our absolute disbelief, Dagg is lined up on the teacher team. She clearly thinks that this is her chance to get back at us.

Dagg is next to bat. Some geek kid bowls a feeble ball and THWACK. She strikes it straight over the fence and sets off around the bases. Starting slowly, she gradually gathers speed and by the time we have climbed over the fence and retrieved the ball, she is going like a fifteen-ton runaway truck down a hill, towards the last base and a “rounder”.

She is nearly there as Stu Black throws the ball. The ball flies over her head and is caught by the boy at last base who immediately stumps her OUT. Dagg is still running, however. She cannot stop herself in time and smashes head-first into the six-foot solid metal pole that is serving as final base.

While she lay there unconscious, with her dress around her waist and bloomers on display, it became horrifically apparent that a wet piss patch was slowly forming around her pouch-like fanny. The seconds passed and we gradually slipped through the gears, from stunned silence into screaming laughter.

And as the teachers stood around this scene of carnage, the head of year was clearly heard to say, “If you think I’m watching THAT fat cunt while YOU lot go to the pub, you’re SADLY mistaken”.

Johnny C

One of our Science teachers was a sweaty lard-arsed mammoth of a man called Mr Jones. To compound his unfortunate size, he also had a speech defect, rendering all ‘r’s as ‘w’s. One of his favourite sweaty fat phrases was “where is your wuler, you cwiminal?”, which one of the sixth formers recorded with a dictaphone and sampled, creating a disturbing mid-90s rave masterpiece.

Mr Jones claimed to have had schoolboy trials for West Ham United. Presumably they didn’t take him on because he was a gargantuan chair-worrier with a sweaty niff that could fell an ox at fifty paces.

[anon]

English teacher Mrs Richards was so fat that she:

Missed a lesson because she was stuck in an armchair in the staff room.

Had to have the doorway to her classroom widened.

Got stuck on a bus and had to be cut out with the fire brigade’s “Jaws of Life”.

The stories are all 100% guaranteed fatual .

Liz C

It didn’t take much effort to come up with the perfect nickname to describe the cetacean size of maths teacher Wendy Hale.

[anon]

Mr. Roberts was the supply teacher who turned up when our normal teachers couldn’t be arsed.

He looked like William Conrad in Cannon (A Quinn Martin Production), but without the moustache. Plus, he was bald too.

Best was when he had to take us for games. He’d make the pretence of refereeing a game of football or rugby for precisely two minutes, then stop us because we were ‘doing it all wrong’ and make us line up for some ‘coaching’, which, PURELY coincidentally, entailed him standing still for the rest of the lesson.

Bitching P

Fat maths teachers should always avoid the analogy of an empty Toblerone box when describing the dimensions of a triangular prism to a class of cynical 13 year olds.

Kerry F

In our school, we had a family of them.

Cooking was taught by Mrs Rudge

I.T. was taught by Mr Rudge

and they had a son, Robert Rudge .

Mr Rudge needed double doors opened to move around the school.

Can you guess what their nicknames were? That’s right! Fudge !

Drab G

Our Fat Teacher was also called Mr. Jones; he was so fat that his belly would rub against the board and rub off the writing underneath, which seemed to confuse him no end.

Also, to this day, there is a coffee stain on the ceiling above his desk from when he had a sudden heart attack and threw his cup into the air.

[anon]

A chemistry teacher of ours nicknamed “Pauncho” (who has now passed on) was so fat, he used to drive his car to the part of the school that had the photocopier in.

Eager D

We had Mr Burbridge, known affectionately by the 6th form as “Fat Burbs”. What made him stand out from the fatty hordes of fat teachers listed on this site was that he positively revelled in his size, once taking a bow on stage at the Christmas play whilst we all chanted “You Fat Bastard”.

Andy C

Easy now; it’s only the quarterly fat teacher update!

Gotty Gotty has written to let us know that he “Had a female I.T. teacher who was so fat that she once took a week off and when she came back it was revealed she’d been to have a baby.

She was so fat that nine months pregnancy was total unreadable under her vast bulk.”

Rast Clat says: “Our R.E teacher, Mrs Hart, was so huge that when writing on the blackboard she would rub everything off with her huge boobies as she went, which confused her no end. She would also wear a bright yellow dress in the summer which, not only made her look like a tennis ball, but was also see-through, much to the disgust of everyone who set eyes on the massive beast.”

Finally, an anonymous user wrote to say “My school must have been unique in not having any truly massive teachers. Perhaps the stairways were too weak/narrow to support them.”

Er, quick question, anonymous user: do you find that people often yawn right in your fucking face, you pointless twat?

Andy M

We had a fucking huge dinner lady if that counts, nicknamed ‘Sweaty Betty’. She was gargantuan - legs like melted candles and a six part tit/gut shape defined by her huge bra and unfeasably massive undercrackers - all packaged of course in bright highly flowered curtains that doubled as a dress. We found her tabard unattended once - the size label had been cut out but it was easily the size of a six-man tent.

She was so slow it would take her half of breaktime to cross the playground. However, we didn’t dare arse about too much, as the rumours was that a few years previously one boy got sat on when eventually caught and he was still living in the rolls of fat, scavenging from the various partly eaten food items that dropped in.

She even gave her name to a playground game, where one person would wobble around pretending to be hugely fat, and the rest would try and ‘pop’ that person with an imaginary pin.

[anon]

Frog Blowing

Tue, 01 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Get a thin drinking straw from a Calypso packet. Catch a frog. Spawning season is a good time, as they’re too busy clambering all over each other to bother about having a thin straw stuck up their anus. Stick the thin straw up the frog’s anus. Blow gently. Believe it or not, this inflates the frog, which cannot then deflate.

Added fun : launch the bloated frogs on a pool and try to burst them using marbles launched from Black Widow catapult.

There’s only one thing we hold sacred here on Playground, and that’s TRUTH. (And fags. Fags are important as well.) We believe this entry to be unmitigated bollocks. However if you know different, if you are a zoologist or specialist in frogs anuses, please write in. If you’d like to write in just to go “aaaaaah, anonymous user is a vast liar and probably GAY”, then that’s all to the good too.

We can’t even guess how you’d go about finding a frogs anus.

[anon]

Aaaaaah, anonymous user is a vast liar and probably GAY.

So there.

Cavern V

Fog, The

Fri, 28 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Fog, The

Book by James Herbert and most peoples first experience of breathing takingly, eye poppingly, gobsmackingly, hardcore pornography. (If you are 11)

Fog, The could be read in public with total impunity, as it’s cover in no way belied the graphic, frank depictions of adult lovemaking that could be found within.

The only problem with Fog, The was Herbert’s use of sex as metaphor. Herbert explores the idea of sex as celebration of life, with death as the great disclosure, revealing the lonliness and horror of life’s seedy underbelly with the literary device of contrast. (“In the midst of life we are in death”, and so on.) To demonstrate life’s rich tapestry of light and dark, pleasures and woes, sex is used to throw death into sharp relief, and vice versa.

This means that just as a sex scene was getting to the really filthy bit, the character would chop off their own cock with a pair of gardening shears, or throw themselves into the sea on top of a load of corpses after a big lezzing session.

Most psychosexual dsyfuntions can be attributed to early childhood exposure to Fog, The.

(See also: American Psycho, Judy Blume’s Forever)

Susan T

In a similar vein to The Fog there was The Lair, sequel to The Rats. It had a juicy scene in but at least these lovers got to finish humping before they both got killed. It was my first encounter with anything vaguely pornographic and as such was read and re-read so many times the book fell apart. I can still almost quote it verbatim. “At 25, Alan was up and coming, at 34 Babs was down and hadn’t been coming enough…”

It goes on to descibe how he’d taken her over the filing cabinets and she’d dragged him yelping round the office with his bollocks tied by his tie. Still, they were having an affair so they probably deserved to get eaten by gigantic fuckoff rats.

(Also, in Creed, there was a bit where a nasty lady wanked off the hero and wiped her fanny with his “juices”, (what a word, Mr. Herbert, what a word!) which created hundreds of little sex ghosts that floated around the room. I think James Herbert needs to give his mother a ring and start asking questions –Susan.)

[anon]

Pages 63 and 64 of The Terminator contain a graphic depiction of Sarah Connor’s flatmate and her boyfriend having wild sex. When dropped, the book would magically fall open to these rather gummy pages.

[anon]

When deciding which library book to take out from the school library, simply hold the book by the covers, and turn it upside down. The ‘well thumbed’ pages, containing either breasts or imaginative death, would fall apart.

More pages breaks mean more racy passages, which you can then learn and mumble under your breath instead of saying the Lord’s Prayer in Assembly.

[anon]

finger, the

Wed, 26 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A game, devilishly simple to play, but with enormous potential for mischief.

Extend your index finger at the same height as someone’s cheek, and get them to turn their head, so that the extended finger connects - sometimes quite sharply - with the cheek. A simple: “what the hell is that?!!” can often be enough to get the intended recipient to look away, whereupon you place The Finger in anticipation of them turning their head back.

If the victim is not feeling jovial, you may find The Finger being countered with The Fist.

Holder B

Fishpond

Tue, 25 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Ask your victim to hold out their palm.

“There’s your house,” you say, pointing at the centre of their palm.

“There’s the garden,” you continue, pointing slightly to the left/right of centre

“Where do you want the fishpond?” you ask.

Your victim will then point somewhere else on their palm, and you, in response, will cough up a massive great greeny, and, with unnerving accuracy, place the “fishpond” at their chosen location.

Nick H

A friend of mine had a variation on that trick, but with less build up and panache:

Greeny cocked and ready he would get a girl to open her mouth by simply saying ‘Open wide, go on. Nothing’ll happen…’ and saying ’trust me’ repeatedly, coupled with pleas of ‘come on, why don’t you trust me?’.

Then phutt - a rolled-over tongue shot ripe green straight in. Not everyone was so trusting, and it often took considerable leg work to secure a victim, sometimes more than one day.

It wouldn’t have surprised anyone if he’d gone through a romantic montage with a girl, ice-skating and running along beaches, simply to shoot some snot into a girl.

Sticky K

Fred Durst Experience, The

Wed, 19 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

An unusual game that involves any amount of players, but we usually only play with two, because nobody else wants to play. All you have to do is kick the other person’s shins / legs. Tactics such as “look over there” *SMACK* are pretty good and the winner is the one who doesn’t give up. Bleeding and bruises are good, whereas crying is not.

[anon]

Feighknights

Sat, 08 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

By crossing your fingers and yelling Feighknights (sp?) at the top of your voice, you were rendered untouchable in any form of playground mirth. Double feighnights were twice as effective. Rumour has it, soldiers in the second World War used to say it to Nazis when their own shoelace was undone, so they could halt momentarily, tie up their shoes and continue having a war.

If someone wants to fill me in with where this came from or why, feel free to do so, unless it’s deathly boring, in which case I don’t care.

Alistair G

I understood this was spent ‘feinites’. Besides, we used cross keys down here, you shit northern wuss.

[anon]

It’s fainites - or did you not have dictionaries at your school?

Breeze

it was ‘keys up’ you stupid english twats!

Diving B

No, it was quitsies , for fucks sake! Where the hell do you people come from?

Mouse H

for christ’s fucking sake, it’s “skinchies” you shower of inbreeds

dan u

It’s barleys, you arse turds - anonymous

It’s called “ecksies”, because you cross your fingers. Like an X, you see? - Jimmy Disco T

For thousands of of us in the north-east it was “skinch” - Spuddy

Shut up, it’s “SCRIBS!” - Lou Watson

It’s “paxies”. From the latin for peace. You flimsy jizzrags. - Jimbob N

And with that, NO MORE ENTRIES FOR FEIGHKNIGHTS.

[anon]

fuck-tion

Fri, 07 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The sound omitted from Mrs Tulley’s mouth when Iain Lenton bit her on the neck in 1986, a year in which he thought he was a vampire.

She shouted ‘fuck’ quite clearly then added ‘shun’ on the end in a meaningless attempt to disguise what she said. Rumours went around for six weeks that she was being sent to teach in the Congo.

[anon]

Fuzzy Duck

Mon, 24 Feb 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A well-known game where people say fuzzy duck in a circle, until someone says does he? , after which people must say “ducky fuzz”. The idea being that you get free swears, most often does he fuck , or fuck he does .

At a certain age, alcohol is added to this game to make it seem less, well, rubbish.

Sorry, it makes it more rubbish. By the time you can get hold of booze, you should be able to say ‘fuck’ whenever you like. and the illicit thrill goes out the game, so it is just some men saying ‘fuck’ to each other. Like this website really.

floating spunk

Thu, 13 Feb 2003 00:00:00 +0000

'This bloke woke up one morning, and, you know how you sometimes wake up with a bonk on?'

'Yeah'

'Well he did, anyway he decided to have a bath, but he couldn't get rid of it, and you know how your bollocks start to ache if you've had a lob on for a while?'

'Yeah'

'Well, his did, so he decided to have a wank. Anyway he finished but he had a problem cos, well, you know how spunk floats in the bath?'

'Yeah'

'OH MY GOD YOU WANK IN THE BATH YOU MASSIVE BATH WANKER WANKER WANKER WANKER'

shaun a

frog, exploding

Wed, 12 Feb 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Potential urban myth. If you stick a straw up a frog’s anus and blow, it will explode. Don’t question the physics; it will explode.

John C

Also - exploding pigeon. Mash bread up with bicarbonate of soda and feed liberally to pigeons (or any bird for that matter). As birds cannot fart or burp the build up of gas will cause the flying vermin to explode.

(In my opinion this would have vastly improved the cutesy “Feed The Birds” bit in Mary Poppins. Those two annoying kids dripping with tiny pigeon entrails, feathers in their hair and their screams punctuated only by the sound “coo, coo…ka-boom! Splat! " would have gone some way to cutting through the saccharine.)

Susan T

it may well be one of those ‘school myths’ but one of our chemistry teachers was alleged to have, as a hobby, wrapping small pieces of sodium (explosive when wet) in dry bread and feeding it to the seagulls which plagued our school.

dave e

This doesn’t explode them but certainly does kill the flying vermin of seagulls, as taught by Mr Jones who was used to living in a seaside town:

Dip sponge in gravy

Bake in oven so it shrinks

Cut into small chunks and feed to seagulls

Expands in stomach so they can’t eat

Now that I have kids of my own it’s fun to pass on these tips.

This whole thread is getting a bit “Wasp Factory”. We’ve called the man from the RSPCA. His name is Geoff.

[anon]

Methinks the exploding bird story is a myth as birds can indeed fart. Witness my parrot, who farts, lifts his leg when doing so and it smells! And my budgie pukes bird seed all over me whenever I hold him.

Thanks for that insight, Gemma.

[anon]

Flamethrower

Fri, 31 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Turning on the gas in chemistry and putting a lighter to it. Obvious really. Best time was when Colin Stone lost his carefully combed and hairsprayed, nu-romantic fringe in a puff of foul-smelling smoke.

Diving B

In my experience, the best time to do this is when you are doing a demonstration for the primary school kids, and ‘accidentally’ turn the wrong tap on, very neatly setting fire to their parents.

[anon]

Taking a length of flexible tubing and spraying a can of lynx into one end, while holding a cigarette lighter to the other will make a rudimentary playground flamethrower.

Unfortunately the fire has a tendency to burst out of both ends, injuring both victim and assailant.

Conor F

Can also be jerry-built from a cigarette lighter and a can of Lynx. This had the added bonus of being portable and made everything stink of “Java” or “Africa”, depending on whose sports bag you raided.

(If there is a more powerful emetic than the stink of burnt teenage hair and fucking Lynx Java mixed together, I haven’t found it. –Susan)

Dr R

Of course, attaching those orange bunsen burner tubes to the gas taps made directional flamethrowers… very good for fights. This does, however, destroy the tubes after a while, so make sure you steal plenty of them.

Filling each others pencil cases with gas was also fun, although I forget exactly why.

The B

Attatching a bunsen burner to the water tap rather than the suggested gas main provides a suprisingly high powered water pistol. Closing the opening at the bottom of the burner is advisable.

[anon]

A surprisingly inventive variation on this was practiced - once - by a clever fellow at my school. In a quiet moment when the teacher wasn’t paying attention, he connected the gas tap to a length of bunsen hose, and the other end of a water hose. Then he turned them on to see which would win.

The result was a clear victory for water pressure, a victory which proved to be irreversible as the underground gas submain filed with water. The gas pressure wasn’t sufficient to drive it out and it had to be dug up and drained at a cost of thousands of pounds.

Jack R

Farting League

Thu, 30 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Setting Up : The two combatants would sit beside each other. Behind them would sit the Referee and his assistant.

Duration : A match lasted for a whole lesson. On good days, this can lead to some impressive scorelines and the opening of all windows. Scoring : One goal was awarded for each fart (farts had to be reasonably spaced - a quick follow up was regarded as a celebratory boot into the back of the net).

Fouls : Any ‘fake’ fart, whether intended or not, resulted in a penalty. A fake fart could be the players chair squeaking on the floor, usually followed by the player dramatically protesting his innocence to the ref, or a sinister ‘professional foul’ kind of fart, executed by the mouth. Or sometimes, while a striker was ’lining up for a shot’ but having difficulty ‘choosing his spot’, he might unintentionally let out a groan or some other verbal effort. These would all result in a penalty.

Penalties : A penalty was taken by impersonating a fart. Easy, either by cupping the hand under the armpit, which resulted in a bit of a top corner net buster, or issuing a simple verbal ‘prrrp’ through a rattling, curled top lip, which was more of a simple tap-in, with the keeper going the wrong way.

Coaching : As the final approached unscrupulous ‘agents’ would try to sell their coaching services, which usually involved little more than them forcing you to get mushy peas with your bag of chips at lunchtime.

Rab Sutherland went on to win this in a tense and pungent final in geography, during which the teacher threatened to abandon the match at several points.

Diving B

fenian

Thu, 30 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

An Irish Republican. To a certain kind of Belfast Protestant there was no worse insult.

Once, a guy who’d just fucked up on a Space Invaders machine was seen thumping it petulantly and shouting “Fenian!” at it.

Roy W

fake swearing

Wed, 29 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Consequence-free rudeness. Extending the ring finger, or making V-signs with the middle and ring fingers, will cause initial shock and offence, but when it is pointed out which fingers you are using, the parent or teacher will find themselves impotent in the face of your devilish wit. That’s how it’s supposed to work, at least.

Bobs M

Also:

Bull Poo (pathetic),

Sheet Head (better),

Mother Fudder (acceptable).

Fudder can be explained away as a mud distrubution system not unlike the jobby wheeker , which is the last funny thing that Billy Connolly said.

Dr R

I’m sure everyone who had been forced to learn Latin at my school knew that they had free reign to scream “Fac id!” and then be left to try to explain to a teacher how actually they were demonstrating their dedication to their schoolwork by practicing irregular imperitives in their spare time.

[anon]

fraggle rock, second verse

Wed, 29 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Grab another one,

Stick a chainsaw up its bum,

Turn the power on,

Now the fraggle’s gone!

Bobs M

Down at fraggle rock, grab a fraggle by its cock,
Twirl it in the air, by its pubic hair,
Chuck it on the grass, ram a chainsaw up its ass,
Turn the power on, now the fraggles gone.

Josh

I fear Josh that you have fallen into one of the most annoying traps in the modern world. Using American terms instead of English ones. I presume you meant that the chainsaw goes up the fraggle’s arse? Or did you mean ass - in which case, unnecessary cruelty to the poor donkey creature seems over the top to me. Ass doesn’t even rhyme with grass. Unless you are from the North, in which case I am sorry to hear that. I think you get what I’m trying to say.

-An impartial editor writes: Josh could, of course, be from America. This is the world wide web, after all. Though what our American cousins make of all the references to Denis Norden, I don’t know.

A less forgiving anonymous user adds - “What you’re trying to say, Pope Gregory, you effete Southern cunt, is ‘I’m a pedantic, humourless twat’. Making twat rhyme with art, of course. - Now now boys, it’s only a website! (And book)

Pope G

This song was given a new and hilarious twist when a friend accompanied the final line with a pirouette for no apparent reason. The spectacular move was brought to a dramatic close when he accidentally slapped a passing old lady in the tits.

Matt S

No, Jesus no, it’s this;

Down at fragle rock,

Grab a fraggle by its cock,

Swing it round and round,

Then bash it on the ground.

If it wants some more,

Jam its bollocks in the door,

If it isnt dead -

Kick it in the head.

If you think its right,

Blow it up with dynamite,

Pick up all the bits,

And throw them in the bin…

Throw them in the bin…

Throw them in the bin…

Although this starts out as a routine session of Fraggle-bashing, it’s worth noting that the second verse is done with the Fraggle’s permission, and the third verse (the Fraggle probably being unconscious by this point) only carries on the violence if the attacker deems it right . Say, if the Fraggle had been touching up the Doozers, in which case the filthy little bastard deserves everything it gets.

[anon]

Flid Fights

Fri, 17 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The act of fighting whilst in the ‘arms retracted inside jackets’ official flid position. Often accompanied by Joey Deacon-esque ‘Mmmnuurrr’ (or ‘belm’) noises.

Rob S

Friday Afternoon Fight Room

Fri, 17 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

This was an event so good, mere words cannot pronounce its greatness. But I’m trying my best to do it justice.

Room 30 was the form room of 10H, and also doubled as Mr Brown’s music room. Because of this, there was various musical equipment and other large heavy things to play around with. Some of our favourite games were Put Johnny In The Grand Piano, Drop Johnny Off A Table On His Head, and Pin Johnny In Between The Filing Cabinet And The Wall Then Run Into Him. There was also the fire extinguisher which was put to great use, such as lying it on it’s side next to a filing cabinet, then using the upright piano to push in the lever, firing the extinguisher and sending it off spiralling into the room. Great stuff.

However, the highlight of the week was always Friday lunchtime. The curtains would all be drawn and the lights turned out, then all the desks and chairs would be pushed to the edges of the room to create a large space in the centre of the room. Everyone then removed their shoes, jackets and ties, much like in Fight Club, then patiently wait by the edge of the room. Mark Curling would then get behind the grand piano and start playing a long fanfare-type intro. However, no one moved until the proper music kicked in. As we waited for this, the tension and anticipation was electric. Mark would then start playing The Entertainer, at which point EVERYONE in the room ran into the centre of the room and beat the crap out of each other, usually ending in Rowlands getting cut in the facial area (the fat fucker). One particularly memorable moment was when I jumped on Jack, sending us both to the floor, at which point Manji ran across the room and kneed me in the side of the head. Another was when Martin stood on one of the tables at the side of the room and sprayed the CO2 fire extinguisher into the crowd. I seem to remember it tasting like Orange Tango.

Charlie W

freddy fish finger

Wed, 15 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A pubescent ploy of drawing two eyes on the index finger then passing said finger under hem of tasty geography teacher’s skirt while she is stood next to your desk looking the other way. What Freddy ‘sees’ is transmitted to his master causing him to jolt into eye rolling mouth dribbling fake orgasm. One lad was caught in action, and was sent to the school nurse amid fears of having an eppy.

harry d

Fudge tax

Wed, 15 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The tax levied by my enormous friend Glenn of one fudge bar every day. This tax was only incurred by people who had threatened/bullied me in the past, and thus the taste of Cadbury’s fudge remains today the sweet, sweet taste of victory and revenge over Dale Wright.

Peter M

Fraagian

Mon, 30 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Jennifer (never Jenny, twat) Campbell looked like a frog. So we made up an entire alphabet in her language, called Fraagian, obviously, and sent secret notes to each other in it. Bizarrely, we never used it to be mean to her or about her. But Niki Earp claimed to be completely fluent in it and even tried to speak it. We fell out in third year…bitch…

Ginger S

Friendly Fred

Mon, 23 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Our music teacher Mr. Hotton had a black bushy beard, a thunderous temper and generally looked, sounded and acted like Victorian Dad.

He owned a plimsoll which he dubbed ‘Friendly Fred’, and inscribed ‘FF’ on the sole in black magic marker. As he never tired of explaining to us, this was a clever joke because FF in musical notation meant ‘very loud’, as small boys were apt to be when he beat them about the buttocks with it.

Once, entirely out of character, he gave me a Mars bar for being a good drummer.

Dancing B

Franzi the Gay Pig

Thu, 19 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Franzi was a cartoon pig in Deutsche Heute textbooks. A few swift swishes of the pen later and suddenly the illustrations showed him in a variety of homosexual/masturbatory acts. Thus he became “Franzi the Gay Pig”. Some textbooks just seem to be illustrated in a way that invites scribblings of “ooooh, yeah, fuck my gash” and huge spurting members inserted up farting bumholes.

I wonder, if I went back to my old schools, and asked to see the textbooks, would the same one’s I grafittied still be in use? Is it too much to ask? Please Lord…

Dan W

Well at least you didn’t get nicknamed Franzi after the damned thing. Like I did. Odd to find that gay pig around here.

[anon]

Fucking Egg

Thu, 19 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Robert Watson’s eloquent yet practical description of hateful Maths teacher Mr. Pickrell’s balding head:

“I give up, it’s like talking to a wall.”

“Yeah, and this is like talking to a fucking egg.”

The sneering bastard was so taken aback he couldn’t think of anything to do but turn around and carry on with the lesson, whereupon we resumed the quiet, character-building ritual of taking turns spitting into his briefcase.

Figgy Bullshits

Wed, 18 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A geography teacher at our school, known universally as Fig, was famous for making up the most extraordinary lies, known understandably as ‘Figgy Bullshits’. The best Figgy Bullshit ever told involved an epic holiday to the Canadian Rockies, a story which he really did tell to our class. Fig flew from London to Los Angeles and motorbiked up to Canada. The particular bike he took was a fold-up motorbike which folded up so small that it fitted into a suitcase which he kept on his lap as hand luggage during the flight. It was so lightweight that when two trucks overtook him on the freeway, the bike took off in the slipstream and he actually started flying. When he got to Canada, he built a log cabin by himself with his own hands, and then wrestled a grizzly bear that tried to attack him. He also shot an elk.

Martin J

freemealers, the

Mon, 16 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Term of abuse aimed at children of unemployed alcoholic parents living on council estates. At the time (early 70’s) there was a kids’ adventure serial screened pre-teatime called the Freewheelers. Anybody who was subject to free dinners was henceforth known as a Freemealer.

Ivan V

fuck up

Fri, 13 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Thing I accidentally said when under extreme pressure, faced with gang of big, hard older girls all shouting stuff at me.

Though it was embarrassing at the time, I have since realised, from the books of Roddy Doyle etc. that “Fuck up” is a perfectly valid and pleasing insult, combining Fuck Off, Shut Up, and, as a bonus, expressing the hope that the person it’s said to will ‘Fuck Up’ in their future endeavours. With hindsight, I SO win, you whores.

Susan T

flid flippers

Thu, 12 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Flid flippers is the practice of hiding your elbows inside your shirt, rolling up your sleeves and poking your hands out of the them. The phrase “flid flippers” is funnier than the practice.)

Martin H

Another equally hilarious way of mocking the afflicted was to double your arm up inside your sleeve so as to grip your should with your hand then rolling back the sleeve so that the ball of your elbow poked out the end like a stump. You should not make the mistake of forgetting to push your tongue into your bottom lip and making mong sounds to complete the effect. Doing this with both arms at once would really win you some serious kudos/detention.

Rob Y

A similar thing could be achieved by putting your arms down the wrong sleeves of your jumper and flailing wildly. Apart from ruining your jumper, this would also give you the added effect of looking grotesquely deformed.

All that was missing was a sack over your head and a friend parading you around the playground with a big stick.

Graham B

To embelish the flid flippers joke, make sure that everyone stands in front of you. Perform the maneouvere, this time with the added impact of taking your shoes off and kneeling in them. This produces an excellent “fliddy dwarf” effect.

It is so funny, it is actually worth the stultifying wait for you take your shoes off, put your arms double in your shirt and tell everyone to stand in front of you. It is. I swear it is.

[anon]

freaky dee

Wed, 11 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Exclamation of surprise or delight. Also duetted with Elton John on the number one hit “Don’t Go Breaking My Arse”.

Jon B

\*fx 11,1

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

The magical BBC Micro command that makes keypresses repeat at the speed of light. A nine-year-old genius embedded this in the loader of the shoot-’em-up game that our backward boy was allowed to play. His bewildered grunts as his spacecraft zipped between the extreme left and right of the screen livened up our long division no end.

fainting, fake

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Fainting was a brief but common practice amongst 7 year olds in 1979. The would-be fainter and his assistant would stand by the playground wall. The fainter would breathe deeply in and out as fast as he could, whipping up a nice dizzy spell of hyperventilation. After 20 deep breaths, he forces out his final emormous gob of air, and just as he does so the assistant lunged and pressed his chest against the wall as hard as he could. God knows how it works, but the fainter will immediately conk out and collapse, usually falling slightly unconscious and no doubt nearly dying in the process. I’ve no doubt Michael Hutchence did something similar on his final night alive, only he got his cock out first.

Olly L

Inducing a fake faint was also known as ‘Harvey Walbangers’. Everyone who’s done one will generally insist that they nearly died that time, really.

Emma-Leigh O

One of the side effects of this singularly stupid activity was that you would often hallucinate as you came “back to life”. Juzza, aka The Terminator, admitted that he had hallucinated about playing computer games.

The best hallucination I could manage was a sort of swirling lino-cut impression of the local church, which, while quite psychadelic, was definitely very uncool.

One boy refused to take part, as he felt that abusing yourself to amuse others amounted to prostitution.

Bomber

When the ‘fainter’ hit the deck, it was considered fair play that they received a good kicking while they were down.

Well you had to be sure they were OK.

bobby d

fake hand

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

One boring day in the grey and brown surroundings of my secondary education a fake hand appeared. We decided to try it out on one of the brothers (Jesuit in training) and placed it on his chair. He came into the room and did not sit down. He did not look in the direction of his desk or chair for 20 minutes. The tension was electric. When he eventually looked down and saw the hand/part of bloody arm (not particularly well rendered - standard joke-shop fayre) his face went a dead off-white and he squealed “Eeee! What have you little bastards done!” - we were all simultaneously stunned and delighted, expressing it in the only way we knew how… Whooping, hollering and laughing. When our mentor realised what was going on he turned a shade of red which, to my sincere regret, I have not seen anywhere since.

Barmy A

fancy dress klansmen

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

At the Bungay Town Fete, two kids dressed up as Klansmen and, I shit you absolutely not at all in the slightest, won second prize in the fancy dress contest. They lost to a kid dressed as a womble. The story amuses me so much because the fact that they came second almost suggests that the judges knew what a good Klan outfit looked like, and knew that Cobby and Jaff had missed some important gilding around the cuffs. Or something

Joe S

I did the same with a mate. Claimed to be ‘Spanish Inquisition’ when sent to headmaster. All very odd as very mixed race school where caucasians in the minority. Still have great photo of me pretending to axe off my best mate’s head (who was Indian) in the woodwork room. Pupils thought it hilarious and voted us joint winners of the ‘mufty day’ prize. School photo shoot with local paper was cancelled though. Instead put some fat female teacher dressed as a St. Trinian in. Original.

[anon]

Taking the theme ‘famous people’ perhaps a little laterally, nine members of my school arrived at the sixth form Christmas party dressed as Klansmen and attempted to burn a six-foot crucifix in the quad. Only the fact that it wouldn’t catch light prevented them as the teaching staff looked on in puzzled but benign indifference.

[anon]

fanjo

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

The ‘fanny banjo’ (famously accompanying the willy orchestra) was abbreviated and concatenated to ‘fanjo’. Playing ‘Air Fanjo’ was identical to playing air banjo, but with the strumming hand slightly lower than usual.

Gareth P

fanny merchant

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A liar. As is, “Psst! Wanna buy some fannies?”. Unknown origin.

Ben

farmer

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Example of a hereditary nickname, which curses all members of a family as they progress throughout the school. Began when Farmer Senior, a typical fuckwit, thrashed the rest of the class in the ‘farming proficiency’ test, getting something like 95%. Farmer Junior smoked vast amounts of gear and, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, didn’t know which way of a cow was up.

[anon]

A guy at our school arrived complete with his dad’s nickname - I suspect it was the only thing of value he could bless him with. His dad had played with the school football team one Tuesday and scored his first and only hat-trick. Potential nicknames: Hat-Trick Hero, Pele, Roy of the Rovers, Hot Shot. Actual nickname - Tuesday.

Actually his Dad did also pass on his genetic propensity for cigarettes, violence and stupidity.

Great C

farts, special places for

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

This is true of all ages. In younger years, a finely rounded fart in assembly is absolutely hilarious. No-one can deny this. In later years, when applying for a late licence in the magistrates’ court, a similar enhancement occurs. I can promise you.

Chris L

farts, special times for

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Holding in a fart can yield great rewards if you release after a key phrase. For instance, after a scene in Star Wars where someone asked someone else to put a trace on a spaceship, I dropped cargo and declared “put a trace on that”. Bravo, me.

You won't have to wait long. It's quite easy.

How do you do?

*parp*

Much better now, thanks.

What time is it?

*parp*

Too farty.

Hello!

*parp*

Calm down Jeffrey, he wasn't talking to you.

This last one works best if you're known for having an anus called Jeffrey

Jon B

Also appropriate after certain demands, i.e ‘Quick, press my nose’, or ‘Quick, pull my finger’. ‘Quick’ is imperative, to avoid clenching and possible follow-through on release.

Dinner D

The accepted linguistic term for fart so perfectly-timed that it lends emphasis or meaning to the surrounding context is pumptuation .

Stuart L

fat boy running

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Rupert was in the year below, and was quite simply the fattest child aged 15 that anyone in the area had ever seen in their lives. He may as well have had his inhaler strapped to his face while a drip kept the fluids coming.

There are several, but by far the best Rupert story is on a day when everyone in the 5th year had Science in the classrooms that overlooked the school playing fields. The 4th years were doing 100m on an outrageously bumpy stretch of grass, and so as to emphasise their inferiority and fatness in proportion to slender sporty-ish types, the crap fat asthmatic kids were bundled together in the last race.

At that moment the science teacher could have stopped class on the spot and put a porn video on, and everyone in the entire wing would still have been focussed on the sight of Rupert trying to get into the “set” position with the blood from his arse rapidly draining into his head.

As soon as the gun went, the slightly better crap kids shuffled away at relatively laughable speed, but Rupert took an age to even leave the ground. By the time he was upright, it looked like he was beginning to lose his balance.

Incredibly, he started to fall at about the 10m point, and was still falling about 50m further on. Eventually the inevitable happened, and he sprawled in suicidal parachutist fashion onto the grass. Minutes later, as the laughter started to die down, it was noticeable that he wasn’t getting up.

15 motionless minutes later, a fucking ambulance arrived to tend to the crumpled mass of boy, and if that wasn’t funny enough to everyone, the sight of the ambulance crew not being able to lift him off the floor was enough to convince even our Physics teacher that it genuinely was far more interesting than the fact that water will not fall out of a bucket if you swing it fast enough.

A second ambulance crew arrived, big Rupe was practically given a leg and a wing into the ambulance, and three weeks later everyone in the 5th year stopped laughing.

Stuart G

fat brothers

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

This consisted of my friend and I linking arms and doing a sort of chorus-line kick while endlessly chanting “We’re the Fat Brothers”. I don’t know why.

Poppy

Again, more popular than you may think. After getting the Guinness Book of Records for Christmas, me and my brother discovered that the heaviest man alive was called Danny Lambert, and we performed much the same dance whilst singing “Danny Lambert, Danny Lambert Oy Oy Oy”.

fat kids

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

I was fat myself, but luckily I was tall and looked stronger than I was. I mostly escaped taunting on the grounds of my weight - these people didn’t.

The funniest fat boy in school’s surname was pronounced Weight-Man. It took me a good while to realise that this wasn’t a nickname. For his PE option, Weight-Man chose trampolining classes because they involved, potentially, no movement. Sadly, they didn’t spare him from mockery, for three good reasons. He had incredibly hairy legs, the sight of him climbing onto the trampoline was a Mr Bean-style masterpiece, and during his turns on the trampoline, his feet never left the elastic. He would just use the initial tension of his climbing onto the trampoline to bob up and down until the teacher (increasingly angrily) told him to get off. This was probably a good thing, as none of us had any intention of trying to catch him if he tried to jump and fell off.

Then there was the ginger, huge one, cursed with the belief that no-one would take the piss out of him if he tried to be the jolly fat man. Trouble was, his jokes created an angry confusion, and a “who does he think he is?” ill-feeling. Went on to get a BSc and MSc, I’m told by an angry reader, although presumably not in Mirth and Merriment.

Finally, we had our year’s only proper black girl, so it was a relief to our developing brains that she didn’t break the Tom & Jerry Big-Momma stereotype. She always bought in a big pack of sweets. As far as I can recall, I was the only person she ever shared her sweets with, which led to some ridicule on my part, as a potential suitor. At the time, though, I was so careful not to seem racist, and more importantly, not to shy away from girls in case people correctly assumed that I was a fat gay, that I accepted her sweets and sat next to her in a class. Once.

Jon B

There was a fat kid in my school called Thomas Heavyside.

Brilliant. - Jamie .

James C

There were two kids in our third year infants class called Stuart. To distinguish them in conversation we called the fat one Fat Stuart. To his face, mind, and he didn’t care because he agreed that it was essential for unambiguous playground discourse.

Dave C

We were only having a laugh when we lined up to watch the class fatty launch himself onto the trampette in PE. They were just jokes, we didn’t really think that his vast weight would tear through all the springs and smash the thing to bits.

That was what made it so funny, really.

[anon]

I Nicknamed Paul Grant ‘PG Tits’ for being fat.

I hated him for the following reasons (which occured in this particular order);

At packed lunches he always patted his sandwiches like a beloved pet before eating them.

When he ate them he looked like a camel.

Having bragged about his supposed 12-speed racer for months, I eventually discovered it was in fact a 3-speed ladies fold-up bicycle.

When he fell off it at the bottom of the George St Brae and cut his head open, he told his mum it was my fault, as he’d pedalled away too fast in order to escape my taunts.

His mum attacked me with an umbrella outside school the next day.

The fat milksop actually bragged about this - thinking he’d done something brave by getting his mum onto me.

Paul R

Howard tried to adopt the role of “the cute, cuddly one that the girls could confide in” but unfortunately for him, the rest of his classmates just saw him as a massive fat cunt.

George B

fat momma

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

This was a woman of monolithic proportions. Probably around 30 stone, I would guess, even with hindsight. She would waddle around the town with shopping bags full of tucker with which to stuff her ludicrously fat face. The popular legend became unnervingly real, however, when she appeared in our boarding house canteen and started squeezing between the tables. The poor woman had a child of indeterminate sex and age (best guess, female, 12) who was about thirteen stone and could also be seen shuffling up gentle hills.

Fat Momma had her own song.

Fat Momma’s coming

She’s coming to fuck you

She’s so fucking fat

She’s coming to fuck you

She’s coming up the stairs

She’s coming to fuck you

She’s got dead sheep coming out of her cunt

She’s coming to fuck you

She’s coming into the room

She smells soooo bad

And she’s pulling the dead sheep out of her cunt

And the tramps and the children (continue, adding awful things, ad infinitum)

out of her cunt

(shouted) She’s fucking you!

She’s fucking you!

She’s fucking you!

She’s fucking you!

Alex M

“I was driving my car the other day, and your mum stepped out in front of me. By the time I swerved round her I’d run out of petrol.”

Ignoring the fact that schoolkids rarely drive cars except in the wilder reaches of Liverpool, this is a good practical illustration of the vastness of someone’s momma, and as such we can forgive a certain amount of poetic licence on the part of the perpetrator.

Gareth T

fatty and thinny

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

[examples] Two subjects of a perpetually expanding song. The pattern of comedy would follow the Little and Large model, wherein Fatty would fart or do something amusing, and Thinny would either suffer, or not be involved. Thinny never got the laughs, and probably fantasised about Fatty’s death in many different ways - if my understanding of murder motives is correct.

Jo D

A freindly version;

Fatty and Thinny were in the bath,

Fatty blew off and Thinny laughed.

And a recent ad lib by a friend;

Fatty and Thinny were in the hay,

Fatty blew off and Thinny was gay.

Harry N

Fatty and Thinny went to the loo,

Fatty did wee wee and Thinny did poo.

Rob J

Fatty and Thinny went to the zoo,

Fatty liked monkeys and skinny did too.

Rob J

Also refered to as Fatty & Skinny. This didn’t really effect the meter or maturity of the rhymes, as this couplet demonstrates.

Fatty & Skinny went up in a rocket,

Fatty came down with shit in his pocket.

Marky M

And for the children whose brainpower was in constant battle with tartrazine-fuelled hyperactivity…

Fatty and thinny went on a hunt,

Fatty’s a fat cunt and thinny’s a fucking twat.

Rob M

feel spaz

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Corruption. The German phrase for “Cheers then” at the end of a formal letter is “Viel Spass”. Pronounced Feel Spaz. Ha ha.

Peter G

felch

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Sucking your own spunk out of your partner’s arse. A mythology grew around this word, thanks mainly to The Mary Whitehouse Experience, and the unwillingness of people who didn’t know what it meant to admit it, and making something up. I’m still not entirely sure about it, as in some versions you are allowed to use a straw.

Jon B

Oh, and I’ve done the same thing with squicking on this site - for the record, squicking is the (uncommon) practice of fucking the unformed skull of the under eights.

Jon B

The use of a straw has created something of a talking point - apparently this is called “shrimping”, or “mungfelching”, depending on where you are.

Jon B

fifi folle

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

French woman whose misadventures in the Tricolore textbooks were entirely unspectacular - except for the fact that her eyes were a pair of tits. Her pupil-nipples (or nippupils) existed, unfeasibly, outside of the eyehole. There were two types of tit-eye in the cartoon:

[img]

Fig 1 shows the amiable, ponderous, motherly dumpling eyes. As tit-eyes, they're likeable - but they might not always get the job done.

Meanwhile, Fig 2 shows the shrewish, aggressive yet quietly unhappy pointy-tit eyes. It's difficult to imagine sucking a satisfying amount of milk from the pupils of these eyes.

Figure 3 is a pair of tits I have photoshopped above a nose and mouth. You'd be mates with that, wouldn't you? He's a barrel of laughs, him.

Jon B

fight fart

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A big fight at school was planned at lunch between two rivals Lee and John. Once agreed there was no going back and the plan was to wind them up as much as possible so to get the most out of it. On their arrival they walked into a massive huddle who formed a ring for them to perform John Dowbiggin (actual name) started it off with a running kick of which Lee Maltby caught his attacker’s leg and, using his shoulder for leverage, threw John in the air. Upon his landing, John let out an enormous, noisy, fart. Lee could not continue the fight for laughing.

Richard W

fight fight fight fight

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

“Fight, fight, fight, fight, Two wee monkeys doing a shite.” Scottish chant to be sung during fights, or if you see two wee monkeys having a shit, and feel that they are not doing it aggressively enough.

Kendo

fight room

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Bog-standard school brutality. Basically, the hardest kids in the fourth year would roam the fourth year rooms in search of likely candidates. Once the victims were selected, they’d be thrown into room D10, and told that they’d get the crap beaten out of them if they didn’t fight. Generally, the ensuing violence was so half-hearted that the hard kids got bored and wandered off. One day the victims were Prinder and Garner. These guys knew they were in for a real beating if they didn’t satisfy: the hard kids wanted to see blood. The word gets around that this time it’s serious. The rest of the fourth year gather around D10, faces pressed to the windows to watch. It takes about 5 minutes for the victims, nearly in tears, to work themselves up to it, and then, driven by pure fear, they start. The whole thing ends with Garner kneeling on Prinder’s chest, holding on by the ears and bouncing his head off the floor. For far too long. Fight room never happened again.

Marc

fire extinguisher

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

An exciting and fun game that’s not based on prejudice. Before the start of a lesson you had to nominate a piece of furniture, and formulate a reason for the teacher to leave the class. If, once given the excuse, the teachers leaves the room, then the game begins. The player has to set fire to the nominated piece of furniture, using lighter fluid. Then, they had to wait as long as they dared before extinguishing the flames with a small child’s jumper. More often than not smoke would fill the room and the jumper would go up with the furniture, resulting in complete havoc and fire alarms. This one kid just liked getting caught in different positions when the teacher got back. His best by far was standing on her desk pretending to wank over the flaming filing cabinet in order to put it out, needless to say the teacher (an old lady as it happens, english teacher) was so gobsmacked she just didn’t know what to say and left the room, she didn’t come back after that and we all got ticked off for making her cry.

Toby S

first the worst

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

“First the worst, second the best, third the dirty donkey.” Dirty donkey also known as Hairy Princess. Obviously sung by people who weren’t quite first, and taken unusually seriously by the person who was first, who in theory shouldn’t have anything to prove to the person s/he just beat. Also used to punish the third place, who was often rewarded with a beating (or, in toilet related adventures, pissy trousers). The third person, however badly humbled, could take solace in the fact the he wasn’t as bad as the person who came first, who was, after all, the worst.

Nick F

fourth the golden eagle, fifth the witch, in the ditch, eating bread and treacle. This was pathetic, and made no sense to any of us. No-one gave a shit about being fourth or fifth to be honest.

Davy

First the worst / Second the best / Third the one with the hairy chest

Fourth the king / Fifth the queen / Sixth the one in the washing machine.

In this version, finishing third is even more desirable than second to boys, so any boy winning a race would stop just before the finish, and wrestle two of his opponents over the line before him. Girls unable to finish in the first two places would have to slow down and settle for fifth. The sixth position carried no real threat, however, as any cries of “you’re the one in the washine machine” could be met with the unarguable comeback, “no, I’m not”.

[anon]

Third the Nerd the Golden Bird (?), Fourth the Dork, and we never bothered to get to fifth.

One might notice this doesn’t even pretend to make sense.

Paul D

Alternative:

Fourth the angel, fifth the ghost, sixth the one who burnt the toast.

The implication here seems to be that not possessing rudimentary cooking skills is a fate worse than death.

[anon]

In Ireland, the end bit goes:

Fourth the one with the golden hair / Fifth the one that God loves best

Not sure about sixth, but being fifth meant you got laughed at even more than the hairy-chested third place, generally including accusations of being a ‘gay paedo’.

caz c

In Yorkshire in the 70's, we managed to have awards for the first ten places.

First the worst

Second the best

Third the royal princess

Fourth the King

Fifth the Queen

Sixth the witch of Hallowe'en

Seventh the Executioner

Eighth the Dirty Donkey

Ninth the girl

Tenth the boy

There's such an impressively deflating failure of imagination in the ninth and tenth positions that you kind of feel like you're letting yourself down as you chant them.

“You're a boy.”

[anon]

fish

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

We were told by our Latin teacher that a popular punishment in Roman times was to insert a fish into the rectum head first and pull it out. When pulled out the scales of the fish, which lay one way, would open out and cut the persons arsehole to flapping ribbons - to the extent that they bled to death. Nice. He also told us that a similair thing was done with radishes. When we questioned the realistic punishment value of inserting such an evidently small and friendly vegetable he explained that “radishes were different then, all big and spiny like a pineapple.” This caused us to consider whether anything he actually said was true.

Jimbob

The substitute biology teacher was there for a mere week, and yet in that short space of time he told us that a) kangaroos have bifurcate penises b) sumo wrestlers can retract their testicles and c) a tribe in Borneo practised contraception by drilling a hole in the bases of their penises, stopping it up with clay, and then when it healed, putting a feather in. When they didn’t want to get a Borneo woman pregnant, they would remove the feather. Sometimes I think this man became a substitute teacher just to travel the country telling unlikely penis anecdotes.

David Q

flea castle

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A highly effective defense against the attack of a trevor’s fleas. The castle was constructed from sandwich boxes, “club” biscuits and anything else which could stand unaided as a section of wall. Bananas made excellent flea-cannons which were mounted on the the walls. Drink bottles and thermos flasks made the lookout towers. A small castle could be built around yourself, but the game was more fun when the entire table made a full-on flea castle which completely cut the fleabag off from the rest of us.

Arseburger

flea powder

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A boy called Martin had his life ruined by everyone, but it was OK because he had fleas. He accepted the fact he had fleas with good grace and consented to be dosed with flea powder (chalk dust) during most lessons. One of his brothers was in prison, but this might not be related.

Pauly

fleg

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Spit or the act of spitting, used extensively in Otley, West Yorkshire. Derived from the phlegmatic issue of more bronchial hacking.

fleg pole , a pole around which some students would grab onto and spin around, measuring their worth by the number of times they spin around before touching the floor. These poles, covered in fleg, become dangerously slippery fleg poles.

fleg pit , any lowered area with a balcony from which fleggers may fleg onto the occupants. Those on the balcony may tempt fleggees into the pit with the use of low denomination coins. See also jew bundle .

flids, flidding

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Based on the hilarious thalidomide tragedy, in which pregnant women were prescribed a drug to treat the symptoms of morning sickness. Worked a treat, but it also caused the children to be born with a seemingly random collection of limbs. Easily simulated by pressing your wrists against your shoulders and flapping them like an eager seal. The links are therefore obvious - if you’ve demonstrated lower than average dexterity, you are a flid, and all your actions amount to nothing but flidding.

Rocky Shore P

My friend used this phrase to rather astutely refer to someone who, upon taking their first E runs around the nearest group of people they know shouting “I’m on E! I’m on E! I’m on E! I’m on E!” while waving their arms like those stupid little flowers that react enthusiastically to any sound whatsoever.

Tolan

fluffs

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Contemporaneous with Garbage Pail Kids, and probably confined to our school. The fluff was a small strip of synthetic felt that lived in a matchbox. Everyone had them, and some of the more adventurous kids made whole cities for these little cloth-strips at home. No one know how this craze started, but it lasted for about a year.

Richard M

flying colours

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Ask the victim if they want to get high and see amazing colours. They usually say yes, and so the game shall begin. Place the victim (who, it must be said, has to be a very trusting victim) on their knees and hold a towel in front of their face. An accomplice would then pull the towel up while you pushed on either side of their nose with your palms. Once the towel is removed, ask them if they can see the flying colours. Obviously, they don’t, so you try again. This time, however, press your arse against the victim’s nose and teasingly drag the towel away. It might help if your accomplice presses their face forwards. It would seem a terrible waste to go through all this effort if their nose didn’t go up your arse.

Jon B

flying talbots

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

An esteemed colleague of mine developed an aptitude for graphic design at an early age. He spent the entirety of the second year drawing dildos with wings in French text books, which we had to find. These were known as Flying Talbots. I believe “Where’s Wally” owes substantial royalties.

Simon W

The “Flying Talbot” premise itself probably owes royalties to “Private Eye”. You used to be able to buy sets of three ceramic winged cocks, in a flying duck style, from ads in the back of the magazine. The whole “Talbot” thing was some sort of in-joke they had at the time.

[anon]

I think “Talbots” was used because, everyone had a Miss Talbot in their school who was rather fit and because she wasn’t married, she was obviously a lesbian and used dildos.

Usually a maths or language teacher…

The Third M

foot chuffers

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

The essence of foot chuffers is to stamp on the opponent’s foot. To do so is to score a chuff. However, to prevent random stampings, rules were developed regarding a signing on and off process. To sign on, both combatants must raise their right leg and declare the commencement of foot chuffing. You remain in a state of war until one player signs off. Formerly, a mutual and simultaneous signing off was required, in the same fashion of the signing on. However, some warriors would refuse to sign off, and carry on stamping on their opponent’s feet for days after, sometimes weeks. After much injustice, the amendment was passed to allow unilateral signings off. Special moves include the reverse chuff, the double chuff, and the total chuff combo (a reverse double chuff). Exotic moves, such as the flip chuff, the uberchuff, and the black spin, were postulated but never put into practice.

Paul D

Also a new-shoe christening ritual. Whoever has new shoes must be Chuffed once by everyone evenr, until the shoes are way dirty, nearly broken, or the chuffee’s foot is about to break. Stopping at these points is, of course, discretionary.

[anon]

When I was about 7 a girl at my school, who I’ll call “The Fucking Bitch”, stamped on my toe so hard and so often that it got infected and I had two nights in hospital with some sort of poisoning.

My father decided that the sensible, adult thing to do would be to go to The Bitch’s house and talk to her parents. However, when he found that they had all gone out, he decided (after some reflection) that the best thing to do would be to put a fucking brick through their front window.

Sorted.

[anon]

freak of the week

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A weekly process, involving writing ‘freak’ backwards on the blackboard and then shoving the pre-selected freak onto it. Tragically for Alan Tucker, he was a regular nominee and began to refuse to wear anything but a white shirt to school. His wintry shivering was especially pointless when someone found one of those green “calligraphy” pens that all schools bought in bulk in the early 1980s, and scrawled freak on his shirt in a primitive Times New Roman-style font.

Duncan A

frigidity test

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

An imperfect method of forcing girls into vague sexual acts. Accusing them of frigidity would generally result in a denial, whereupon you would be perfectly within your rights asking them to prove it. If she agreed then you got to feel her ladybumps while she stood as still as she could. Most girls would usually tell you to piss off though.

Andy G

You can, according to my better-informed schoolmates, tell whether a girl is a virgin or not by whether her knees rub together when she walks. If they don’t then she has undoubtedly been riding the entire town and should be buried in a Y-shaped coffin, the dirty little whore.

Let’s take Michelle McManus. Her knees definitely rub together when she walks, because she is fat. As it is a well known fact that it is harder to pull fat, ugly, birds than slim attractive ones*, and because, well, NO-ONE wants to shag a fat lass**, this must be true.

*Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.

**Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.

Andy M

frothcake

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Hyperthetical concept of a person naked on all fours, violent diarrhoea and flatulence spitting from their raw anus. A wet, “Aero-like” bubbling build-up starts to form, much like comedy-broken-washing-machines’ output only brown and bad. If the person stays still, this shitty foam will harden into a frothcake which can be served in slices. I was old enough to have known better by the time this concept was invented.

Tuppence

fuck

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Can’t take credit for the word, I suppose, but the game of fuck is good wholesome fun for two or more players. Best played in a classroom, but it works in the playground too, as long as a teacher is nearby. The first player says ‘fuck’ very quietly, just so you can hear it. The next player has to say it a little louder, and so on around the players. The loser is the first person to say ‘fuck’ more quietly than the previous person, to bottle out completely, or to be heard by the teacher.

Rocky Shore P

Apparently, there’s a variant of this game, in which you have to say “anal fist fuck”. A few people have emailed to tell me this. The stakes are substantially higher on this one, and I’m curious to know if there are any even more extreme versions.

Jon B

Allow me. For the advanced fucker, there was this incredibly more dangerous version, very rarely played. You hold your hand in the air, middle finger extended, and say loudly ‘one motherfucker’. The next person says ‘one, two motherfucker’ and so on. I never knew it get higher than five motherfucker, and we eventually had a year assembly warning us that if it happened again, expulsion would follow. Finally , here is the most dangerous game of fuck that can be played, as it relies of the rest of the class not reacting in any way. While speaking to a teacher, you simply drop the word ‘fuck’ into the sentence. When the teacher expresses surprise, repeat the sentence with ‘fuck’ removed. As in: Ben: And you can tell the church was built at the same time, cos it’s got all them fuckin’ crenellations along the top’. Mrs Whittaker: What did you say? Ben: I said, it’s got all those crenellatons along the top. Y’know, like on the castle.

Rocky Shore P

For us, Fuck evolved to a fantastically risky advanced level, in which each player had use a different - and filthier - swear each time. This lent the game a delicious creative edge, and led to furious debate on one occasion as to whether ’tuna taco’ was a worthy follow up to ‘minge’.

[anon]

fuck fuck willy willy wank wank piss

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

see fuck shit wanker tit bum

Bryan L

fuck shit wanker tit bum

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

An insult beyond all others. It can be used in a face to face argument, or simply as a curse. It has to be said quickly and with passion to be effective, but you can’t help thinking that it would be even more effective if it didn’t end with “bum”.

Nathan D

Variations include fuck shit bastard wank twat, fuck shit fuck shit fuck, and fuck shit bollocks arse cunt. Well, that’s this page fucked for NetNanny.

fucker

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Despite the relegation of this term to the realms of vulgarity over the course of the twentieth century, it still retains some of the older notions of affection and only faint disdain in some parts of the country. An example;

One : Katrina of Katrina and the Waves fame deserves a big gash on her face.

Two : Why?

One : Because she is such a fucker!

Upon moving to another region of the UK, much hilarity can result from the cultural misunderstandings such a term can cause.

Dan K

I don’t get it either.

Jon B

fucker-mother

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Single use rallying cry employed by Phillip Bales, class spaz, upon being elected to lead the cross country group. When our PE teacher pointed to Bales, he celebrated his inauguration by shouting “Follow me, you Fucker-Mothers!” and then running off down the field. Even the teacher smiled at Bales’ inability to get the words Mother and Fucker in the right order.

Martin C

fucking ada

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A rude expression of disbelief at the previous statement. Also the practice of fucking a girl, called Ada, who would be very old and nasty.

A conceivable conversation;

“Where’s Peter?”

“Fucking Ada.”

“Fucking Ada? Fucking Ada!”

Shamim C

fuckwit hopkins

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

We loved the film Aliens. In fact we loved it so much we constantly tried to emulate the scene where Bishop the android did that trick with the knife, rapidly sticking it between his fingers.\n\nUnfortunately, our school workshops didn’t have a wide variety of knives, but displaying schoolboy ingenuity we improvised with chisels. Of course we only used very narrow chisels.\n\nPaul Hopkins, on the other hand (a very large, hairy boy who wasn’t allowed to drink orange juice) decided to attempt this death defying feet with a 1 inch chisel instead. With a booming cry of “I can do that!”, he promptly slammed the pointy end of the chisel through most of his finger and into the table top, creating a spray of thick blood that reached all the way to the gang of girls at the next table. The wierd thing was, they made more noise than Paul did.\n\nThis is the same large hairy boy who decided to slap me on the back so hard that I nearly embedded my head in a table. Fortunately, the table was saved by the pencil that I was using (rubber end down) to correct a minor mistake, while the pointy end made contact with the back of my sinuses. Apparently, half an inch more and I would have been in mortal peril. Of course, we all had a good laugh about it the next week when I returned - and Paul affectionately dubbed me “Pencil Face” as a constant reminder of his valiant effort to kill me dead with my own writing implement.\n\nYou’d think this would be enough, but no… you see, Paul had a new level of dimwittedness hardwired into his brain - some kind of reverse step of evolution, perhaps. Which is why he also managed to hand in his GCSE Design and Technology project in a large plastic folder which he also used to conceal his pornographic magazine collection. Without removing three copies of Razzle, a Fiesta Shaven Havens special, and a rather bizarre magazine called Animal 7 that he claimed he found in a hedge.

Paddy

furniture, naming

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

The alarmingly camp or disturbingly sinister naming of furniture. Camp names, such as Philamena the Filing Cabinet, or Ollie the overhead projector, will lead to sneering disdain. Sinister names, like Fru-Fru the Board Rubber, will generally lead to glances being exchanged and confused shrugs.

Dan W

furtle

Sun, 24 Nov 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A furtive fondle. A form of intimacy popular amongst turtles.

Jon B