Like all repressed peoples living under a totalitarian regime, a creative outlet for dissent will always be found. Our's was through the underground communications network of scribbles in the back of Auf Deutsch textbooks. 'Nicky is a gay ape' being the most profound entry into the history of people's resistance.

Like all tyrants, Nicky too ended up on the ash-heap of history as shortly after leaving school he promptly stabbed someone. Say what you like about Stalin being hard, but I'm pretty sure he never killed anybody.

[anon]

Bellow “Witness! Witness!”

This is to let people know that you are on the verge of a potential guff. Witnesses will flock eagerly to your buttocks, crouching to properly appreciate the incoming guff.

Guff

You assembled team of witnesses will provide feedback on whether your guff meets the gruelling standards required for a point. If it's exceptionally noisy, or the smell makes someone gasp " fucking HELL “, you're in.

No scores are kept, but success can be measured in the size of a crowd. If you shit yourself in someone's ear, your peers will not attend your anus so readily.

Mister

Until the day that teacher Miss Belcastro decided to make a big thing of his birthday. She called him out to the front of the class, stood him in front of the blackboard and said “Now everybody, today is a very special day. Today… is… Robert's… birthday !!!”

It was all too much for Robert Birrell. Overcome by the emotion of the moment, on the word “birthday” he leaned forward and projectile vomited.

This of course catapulted him instantly to playground stardom, especially when Alan Blackwood started calling him “Gobbert” in reference to the chunky, spattering sound he'd made during the spew. Within a short time it became customary, upon seeing Gobbert, to yell GOBBERT!!! and punch him hard in the stomach.

No-one said playground stardom was easy or painless.

[anon]

Ant: Ben…

Ben: What?

Ant: …is gay.

Ant may now congratulate himself because he has called Ben gay. Once you have fallen for this, however, there is a counter attack to being called gay.

Ant: Ben…

Ben: Yes, Ant…

Ant: …Is gay.

At which point, Ben may celebrate his hard-earned victory over Ant, the stupid gay. However, a ‘combo-combo’ move is available:

Ant: Ben…

Ben: Yes, Ant…

Ant: …is cool.

The kudos gained from calling yourself cool is somewhat less then calling someone else gay, but at least you’re not gay which, for all intents and purposes is what really counts.

[anon]

*In the German nick

They hang you by your dick

And the bats play snooker with your balls.

Then your mind goes blank

And you’re dying for a wank

And the cum goes shooting up the walls.*

This rhyme proved to be so popular that by the end of the first lesson, the whole class were singing it. The only problem was, I didn’t actually know what cum was. Eventually I asked Tez who laughed in my face and told the rest of the class who also all laughed at me. I still reckon none of them knew what it was either. Bastards.

[anon]

Over to you, readers.

Mark H

Written on a toilet wall at school was the legend “Dai Cooney hates hard work”. It was only some time later did we realise that he'd probably written it himself.

[anon]

At primary school in the late eighties, bored children were forced to watch a drama series about a geordie kid and his prized pigeon, ‘Blue flash’. No-one I’ve spoken to can remember the plot, but it caused my entire class to shriek “Blue flash!” in a falsetto geordie accent every time they saw a bird zoom across the playground.

And an alternate theory from the imaginatively-monikered Mary Woozley:

A shitty computer game, which required you to choose one of three pigeons, and then come up with as many words as possible using the letters in said pigeon’s name. However, the sheer rubbishness of the game meant that it would accept almost any combination of letters, provided the pigeon’s name had them all. Naturally, everybody chose the pigeon Bonny, and typed in ’nob’.

Anna W

I don’t remember much about the plot, either, apart from one scene in the first episode where ’egg’ was mis-spelled ’eeg’ in an ad in a local newsagent’s window.

Neal V

Ms Williams and Ms Woozley are both correct. Geordie Racer was one of the classic stories in the “Look and Read” series. The genius BBC marketing department obviously saw the opportunities in the TV/gaming tie-in and developed a rubbish 4-colour blocky graphics spin-off game for the BBC computer.

The game can be downloaded http://bbc.nvg.org/dir.php3?dir=sw/educational, along with other big name titles such as Suburban Fox and Martello Tower. No sign of Granny’s Garden, unfortunately.

[anon]

No-one would go near her as a result. If it snowed, it was attributed to Julie sneezing, and blowing off another layer of skin.

Girls in her netball class would drop the ball if she threw it to them, screaming “Greaves Disease”, like some extreme form of “fleas”. Cornflake cakes were avoided in the canteen - the cooks had obviously used the flakes piling up around Julie’s chair. Rumour had it girls wouldn’t use the toilet if they knew she’d been in there first, lest they caught her sickening condition from the toilet seat.

In short, instead of the compassion she so desperately craved, she was shunned as the leper she so evidently was.

I last saw Julie working as a barmaid in a local pub. 15 years had passed and still I could only just bring myself to pick up the pint she served me, and drank it only after rigorously checking the glass and contents for “bits”. Judging by the looks of disgust on the faces of the other punters she served, they spent their evenings doing much the same.

Nick H

I suffered from a form of Greaves Disease: not the flaky kind, just the sort of eczema that occasionally made huge clefts open in my hands, and made it impossible to grasp anything, or move my hands especially well. Oddly, I received precisely zero kickings because of this, but was consistently done off teachers for having shit writing and they always made me play the most elaborate instruments in music, and then I’d get done for there being all blood on them.

There wasn’t even a backlash against my leprosy when ‘The Singing Detective’ was on. Probably because everyone was too busy wanking over the dirty bits. Which I couldn’t fucking do because of my spack hands. Cunts.

rob s

I also suffered from a form of Greaves disease, which in my case resulted mainly in the occurrence of great, seeping patches on my shins. To avoid any pisstaking, I would tell everyone that they were merely studmark injuries from playing football. Fortunately, no-one cottoned on to the fact that the closest I ever came to actually playing football was FIFA on the megadrive (Greaves disease permitting).

james m

[anon]

That’s a terribly sad story, that Green Crumpets.

In my junior school we had a runty kid called Peter O’Neill who smelled of piss and who used to dry out the front of his trousers against the radiator.

One Christmas he got an orange. An orange . For fuck’s sake .

henry t

The ginger in question is then expected to reply “Damn, I knew I forgot something”, and then spend the rest of the day in hiding. If he doesn’t do this, you may hit him.

[anon]

Tony G

Don’t bother asking flat-chested girls, no matter how fit or dim they are. Wait until 6th form when they’ll probably have caught up.

rum b

Victims would be chosen at random and dragged under the cock, where the ringleader would pretend to turn the cock on with a tap.

The victim would then be shunned for the rest of the day because they shower under big cocks.

So, let’s get this straight. This was one of the “worst fates” that could befall pupils at your school? They got drenched in imaginary wee and experienced mild ostracism for a day? They felt no pain. No traumatic experiences that take half a lifetime to recover from. Did you go to the http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=3055 by any chance? - Matt

Barry G

Another good toilet wheeze, for those of you that haven’t read those Nigel Rees books, is to write “Press here for a 30-second speech by the headmaster” on the electric hand drier. - Matt

Ralph B

Cocknobbery! This was a sketch on Not the Nine O’Clock News. I believe it was Rowan Atkinson whose hand dryer spouted a Margaret Thatcher speech rather than the more literal hot air one would expect. Given that anyone old enough to have been writing on dryers before this sketch was first aired wouldn’t have anything to do with playgroundlaw.com, I am calling you on this one, “Matt”, you unoriginal little bastard.

Two things, Barry Berndes.

1. It’s a JOKE, you po-faced fuckstick. I first read it in a Nigel Rees Graffiti book. I was suggesting ways in which it could be adapted to the playground for those readers who are still at school and haven’t descended into joyless cynicism like you.

2. Fuck off.

3. No, really. Fuck OFF, you hand-in-the-air dinner-miss-fetching keeno little cunt.

If anyone else wants to submit any more pedantic fuckwittery like Carl here, you have my permission to go and jump off a bridge. - Matt

[anon]

But we were able to catch up with him via an article in Now! magazine about how he and his boyfriend had got two lesbians pregnant with turkey basters, the baby had died, but they had made another through the same method, and now they were proud fathers of a son.

Well; when I say ‘catch up with’, I mean ‘be revolted by’.

_the _

That was a lesson I only needed to learn once, and once only.

[anon]

[anon]

Tony G

In my country (Sweden) we were never called “gay” just for being athletically challenged, interested in arts or books, or generally not fitting in. They beat us up, don’t get me wrong - they just didn’t call us gay while they did it.

(

Two things, anonymous gay Swede; the fact we talk about it means that we’re not scared of gayness. It’s you lot, the Swedes, who are gay-scared, and that means you’re super-gay. Arguing with the logic of this only makes you gayer, so just shut up, bend over and take one from big butch Denmark.
Secondly, the reason this website has a lot of gay references in it is that I’m a gay, and I’m pushing my agenda with a view to attracting burly doormen. Are you a burly doorman? If so, please get in touch. I’m Log, and I’ll do anything for Dairylea.)

[anon]

Perhaps our anonymous Swede would care to enlighten us as to what transpired in the gay-free playgrounds of Sweden when someone suggested a game of “war”? I can only assume they put all their pocket money in a pile on the ground and sat on it with their heads hidden under their parka hoods until it was all over - just like in real life!

Très drôle, Tony. Très drôle. - Phil

Tony G

Um, isn’t that Switzerland?

Thanks to Richard Irons, and also lots of other people for sticking their arms rigidly into the air and going ‘Ugh..ugh…Mi-isssssssss’ like the dirty little keenoes that they fucking are, and saying prcisely the same thing. And then crying when they are passed over, taking breath ONLY to reassure their mums that they DID know the answer and the moderaters ’never’ choose THEM. Can I just remind you all that there is a forum for exactly this kind of thing at www.belmsford123.com?
Also I agree with Tony: anything north of Brittany and you’re a cowardly, gouda munching, matchwood furniture buying, Abba loving BUMMER. IDST. - Mansh.

[anon]

Belm back at you all; Sweden maintained an offical position of neutrality in WWII while ‘secretly’ supporting the Nazis. Tony is thus well within his rights to mock them for not standing up to Adolf when England called.

Phil G

If any readers are interested, what Sweden did in the War was lay on large quantities of weapons-building grade steel to the Germans, let them use their rail system (at a suitable price) to get their troops into Norway, and swap Reichmarks for ballbearings until Churchill threatened to flatten Stockholm.

By the way, Sven, I’ve spent five years in your herring-powered country and the reason you never got called gay is because it was so blindingly obvious there was no need. I have yet to meet a Swedish man who possesses even 1% of the masculinity of your average Britt-Marie or Elin. You bunch of emasculated, pale, dickless shadow-men.

I quite like it here really, though, so please don’t hit me with your handbag.

[anon]

Thanks for the tip, Ross. Log, you could do worse than take heed.

Ross G

Bizarrely, a simple wall fall will often result in several gruesome ghosties, whereas the school itself burning down will always leave just one rather dull (and mute) dead girl wearing a dirty white dress who Jenny swears was watching her in the toilets at break.

Oscar T

In hindsight I wish there had been a branch of NatWest closer to home - those shitty pottery pigs they doled out go for a minty bundle nowadays.

<div class=“image”><iframe width=“480” height=“360” src=“http://www.youtube.com/embed/nD2eyXGngfo?rel=0" frameborder=“0” allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

[anon]

To say he got abuse is to put it mildly… the highlight of any schoolday was baiting Goodchild in the build-up to break time. By turns abusing him for being a gay spaz and then cajoling him with friendly pleas for a game of Goodie’s Revenge.

By the time we got outside he would be insensible with rage and bewilderment; wondering why people acting as his friends could be so cruel within the space of a heartbeat.

The game consisted of Goodchild standing in the middle of a circle of his classmates chanting “Goo-die, Goo-die” while he held one fist up to his left eye. With his other hand he made a winding motion by his right ear as though he was looking through some giant wind-up telescope.

As he wound he made a screaming, claxon-like noise, rising in pitch steadily. At a certain moment when he his inner-anger had become too much and his voice could go no higher he would burst, red-faced into the throng flailing his arms in a mad (and quite genuine) benny.

At this point the crowd would scatter and Goodchild would chase about the woods after us for the whole break, often heavily wounded from the sticks, half house-bricks and other rubble that we would throw at him in a bid to escape.

After Goodchild admitted that he had Frenchied his sister in a suicidal bid to garner favour amongst the cool guys who could “get-off” with girls, these games only became more vicious. Afterall, being a total spacker was one thing but tapping off with your sibling was one step away from saying that you had sucked your own dad’s dick.

Jim S

Duncan T

Daniel Grossett was able to overcome his seeming handicaps by developing an incredibly violent temper, and would regularly administer swift and bloody beatings to would-be bullies.

Chief among his protagonists was Dale, another of the black kids, who was rewarded for his taunting by being stabbed in the head with a compass. They do say black on black crime is the most common. They’re probably both in prison now.

Roger Y

Being next to each other in the register meant Gavin and I had adjacent time slots that fateful evening. Nervous with anticipation about my forthcoming report I’d headed off to the toilet. Pissing roughly in the direction of the urinal was Gavin’s dad. Sitting faithfully by his side, lapping gently at the golden stream and the contents of the ceramic bowl was his dog. Gavin’s Dad’s dog was drinking his piss.

Looking back at the incident now, I think I’m fully justified in my telling everyone I could that not only did Gavin’s Dad’s dog drink Gavin’s Dad’s piss, he was actually sucking him off in the toilets.

I was justified, wasn’t I? The filthy, dog-bothering pervert.

Nick H

The next day, it became a natural meeting point before school, and pupils lined the forbidden lawn, gazing in wonder at the edifice. The headmaster sent out a weedy, natural victim of a teacher with instructions to take down this obscenity.

His limbs, flapping uselessly at the proud, mighty totem served only to whip the baying crowd of pupils into hysteria, who saw it as nothing less than an attempt to wank it off.

Jimbo B

We spread fertilizer on the playing field in the shape of a giant cock. It was funny enough to have a big brown pud marked out on the turf, but to our delight, as the weeks went by, the grass grew thicker & greener in this area and the result was a luscious big grass donger. It looked really good from the tower block in our school, and as mowing it just made it even more distinct, there was nothing they could do to get rid of it.

[anon]

Alas, the teachers at my school were wise to such cock-japery, so on the last day of term nobody was allowed out on the field. But wait! We were wise to such anti-cock-japery measures, so we’d already smuggled in a tin of paintstripper. Net result: one giant, spurting cock on the floor of the assembly hall. Score!

[anon]

She once made a teacher so frustrated by her persistent one-word outbursts that he picked up her, her chair and her desk in one scooping movement, and put her outside the class.

After he deposited her outside the door and returned to the class, everyone went quiet. The calm was punctuated by a plaintive question from outside;

" Gerrunder? "

This was an innovation; she’d never punctuated her gerrunders before, and a new range of Gerrunder Moods was born.

[anon]

It really works ! Your child will be socially fucked for weeks !

Steven W

You’ll be the school weirdo for years not weeks when you go on a ‘Schools Abroad’ trip and discover your mum’s packed three unisex disposable plastic pants “just in case”.

Mister S

Slab G

With my trademark genie-us, I once hung a box of matches from a smoke alarm with blu-tac & thread and then genied it - the idea being that we’d get a break from PE and the evidence of my prank would burn itself away to nothing. (Like the man who hung himself by putting a noose around his neck and standing on a block of ice.)

The actual result was that (rather obviously, in hindsight) the thread caught fire, the genie burned a hole in the carpet and i got a bollocking.

dan u

Similar to this, but called “Black Man’s Willy”:

Take two matches and push them into the end of a matchbox (one either side) so that their heads stick out. Wedge another match between them so that its head is touching one of the others. Like so.

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

Light it, and stand well back! No, further back than that! This is dangerous !

The wedged match will magically stand up, and blacken like a funny-faced brown’s engorged member. Black Man’s Willy - see?

http://www.disappointment.com/playground/bmsw.wmv

Nick H

The Dragon

Basically a genie, but one tears out a small square from the inner and outer parts to the matchbox on the side where the match heads sit. Then apply lit match in similar fashion to the genie but, and here is where the dragon becomes wildly more daring, stick the lit match through the little square hole . Result? A burst of directed flame almost exactly (un)like a burst of flame from a grumpy dragon’s cave.

Crazyness-bordering-on-the-off-the-wall!!!1rofflesthegentlemanthug!!!

[anon]

Friends carring matches in a trouser pocket provided the raw material for an invisible, yet more rewarding genie. Give them a good big kick in the match pocket, dragging your foot down on impact. There was a one in ten chance of a genie going off in the pocket, causing some “Jesus” and “fuck”. If the genie didn’t go off, at least you’d kicked someone.

Similarly, friends gained: none.

John G

I will never forget the look of confusion and shock on his face when I convinced him the truth was rather less prosaic: injected, stuffed in a plastic sack marked “Organic Waste - Biohazard” and lobbed in a dumpster round the back of the vets all inside ten minutes.

Victor P

Mr Hardy: “Where have those two boys gone?”

Mr Laurel: “They’re both in the storeroom.”

Mr Hardy: “Humph. Reading the Gay Times, I expect.”

[anon]

not John S

By the summer term he declared that he wasn’t gay anymore. Indeed, he’s married now, whereas I haven’t had a sniff in years. Kids may be cruel, but time is crueller still.

[anon]

Oddly enough - maybe it’s just us public school toffs - but being really gay seems to be the new thing these days. It started with pink shirts and hugging other guys and has now got to the stage where fake fellatio in the Common Room is considered an act of brotherly appreciation. Except by the headmaster, who was less than pleased to walk in just as Sam Thorpe was enthusiastically acting out swallowing.

Is it just the toffs that do this? I wonder if posh girls ever perform fake cunnilingus on each other? I offer up this possibility merely in a spirit of scientific curiosty, in case you were wondering. - Matt

Mr.

b : No…

(A slaps B hard around the around the face and shouts in a comedy Nazi accent)

A : Liar!

If the question is answered with a weary “Yes”, then slap them and call them a liar anyway; disorientation is a perfectly valid method of interrogation.

[anon]

After reading this joke and finding it to my great liking, I told it to my mum in a Little Chef.

I didn’t slap her, but I did shout ‘LIAR!’ in a very authentic manner. A family were walking past our table on their way out as I said it, and they all jumped. They must have thought it was a Nazi domestic.

[anon]

This resulted in the increase of the frequency and vehemence with which “SOFT COCK!” was screamed in his flabby face.

“Hard” for your rowing coach or a big soft poof to your peers? What a fantastic Catch-22.

Matthew H

Leave it too late and you might accidentally lock the germs into the affected area, so be careful.

[anon]

[anon]

Mr T

How the teacher must have laughed and revelled in her superior intelligence as a class full of half-listening six year-olds fell for her crafty gag. Stupid bitch.

Peter Y

[anon]

He didn’t show up for training, presumably due to the lengthy commute from Hell and lack of available football boots for cloven hooves.

Conor F

Whenever the grass was cut on the field hoards of girls of every age would get together to build flat houses out of the grass. I never really understood why building a maze of 10cm walls was so exciting. Maybe it was something to do with about 50 girls and Michael sitting in the middle of the football pitch, trying to make a house while it got broken by the football.

Nic P

St. P

Here’s another GWNN example, but not nearly as fun. Or, indeed, clever.

Kid A: What’s your favourite animal?

Kid B: Leopard.

A: What’s your favourite colour?

B: Green.

A: What’s your favourite number?

B: Six.

A: I’ve never seen a green leopard with six legs!

Flawed, because as soon as someone had done it to you once, you could say dog, black, four to the next person, leaving them powerless to do anything but dither and say ’ermm…'

Not played beyond the age of 6.

[anon]

Raz

He knew what you were calling him all along. No doubt you migrated to the “Open All Hours” inspired “guh-guh, guh-guh, guh-lanville!” in later years, too. He harbours deep resentment and serious neuroses as a result. Oh, hang on, you said Andrew Glanville. Ah. Yes. Well at least I didn’t suffer alone.

Phil G

Susan T

To Gay Bar someone, pin them down and punch them repeatedly in the anus with a big swiging motion of your arm shouting “GAY BAR!”

I can neither confirm nor deny whether such behaviour is widespread in drinking establishments on the other side of the street .

[anon]

Paul H

[anon]

One girl in my class was convinced the school milk came from rabbits. How the hell she thought you’d fit a milking machine on tiny little rabbit baps I have no idea.

My brother used to put pink food colouring (not Nesquik or anything cool, just dye) in milk and call it dragon’s milk. Why he didn’t get beaten up more often I have no idea either.

[anon]

Matt M

The poor unfortunate owner of the bag then had to descend the stairs while a mass of crazed baboon-like children press against the railing around the top of the stairs to shower them with as many big green balls of spit and snot as possible before they returned to the surface.

If the victim was particularly hated - as most of them were - they were pushed back down the stairs for a second (and sometimes third) shower of phlegm.

In extreme cases - namely, Tony - the usual rule of throwing an unattended bag was circumvented, and the bag was ripped from the victim’s arms.

Dak

griff

There is no point going commando unless:

a) You tell everyone, or

b) you’re a buff chick with ripped jeans and not too hairy a bumhole.

griff

Andy M

If Gary should ask who your favourite Premiership footballer is you should unhesitatingly reply ‘Steve Bould’.

Rob Y

Person A: “You’re a fuckwick”

Person B: “You mean I’m a fuckWIT”

Person A: “Yeah, you are”

Hilarity will, inevitably, ensue.

Rob Y

Naturally it was assumed that he molested children in the shed. Anyone suspected of kiddy fiddling was known as a Gilbert.

Chris H

READERS! Did YOU ever resort to unusual wank-fodder in your teen years?

Did you try and get off on a dirty limerick in a Nigel Rees graffiti compendium, or find yourself with nothing but a photo of a blood relative to “relieve” yourself to? Then we’d like to hear from you. Now.

Diving B

The Brand New Monty Python Bok came with a slip off dust jacket that covered what was really printed on the book beneath - the cover for a spoof magazine called “Tits ’n Bums: A Weekly Look at Church Architecture”. Not only was this a great gag but it did indeed feature a picture of thrillingly blobby 70’s breasts (and bums). I would have wanked myself raw to it, if only I’d known how to.

Sadly I soon lost the slip on “safety” dust cover and had to cover the tits and bums with stickers from Smash Hits, lest my mum discovered my filthy shame.

Susan T

Regarding the Monty Python Bok - I also remember the 70’s-style tits and bums on the hardback cover. However, I also seem to remember that the central part of the photo was the spottiest arse in world, which reduced the wanking potential of the photo considerably.

Matt F

For YOU maybe, Matt. *Winks*

Susan T

Speaking of formative wanks, I once had a wank to the ‘Pump up the Jam’ video. It remains one of the best wanks I’ve ever had, although I honestly can’t remember why. I want to see the video again, now.

Tony M

[anon]

[anon]

We had a series of English textbooks called ‘Hedgehogs’.

When our supply teacher asked us to ‘get your Hedgehogs out’, James did and showed it to her. In turn, he was shown the door by the head.

Pat P

[anon]

This spell of innocence was broken when I took an afternoon’s trip to the local disused railway line, to look at nature and that. An old bridge crossing the line was under repair, and the contract work was being carried out by a local firm, ‘G E Raynault’. This name was advertised, as is traditional, by a hoarding. Only their advert had been subverted by someone I can only describe as a wag.

They’d added, quite simply, “… IS A CUNT”.

Was this the case? I don’t know. I was eight years old, and had no experience of what I now know to be a litigous engineering firm that checks its Google results. I doubt the graffiti writer knew, either: the handwriting didn’t look like it was written by the kind of person who’d had high-level dealings with industrial contractors. It was just someone who knew what I had just learned: that adding “… is a cunt” to any proper noun is an amusing and edgy form of free expression, whether it was true or not.

It was a life-changing experience.

[anon]

Nath D

Mr Prothroe (who bore a startling resemblence to Nintendo’s Mario) would conduct a physics class offering a combination of both science AND eye-opening anatomy. He would explain the theory of drag/wind resistance via a blackboard diagram consisting of a rather well endowed woman at the top of a diving board, succumbing, by the forces of drag etc, to the loss of her swimming costume as she fell faster towards the water. Each stage of cozzie loss was drawn with the precision of an anatomy textbook, Mr Protheroe’s tongue peeping out through concentration as he did it.

Looking back, this could have been a stroke of genius from a master educator, knowing that the only thing that interests 13 year old boys, is naked ladies.

Saying that, he also used to tell us about how his dates would go on a friday night in rather more detail than we’d have liked. Obviously a 60 year old man who bears a striking resemblence to a certain italian plumber can get a lot of action over Merthyr way… *shudders*

Josh G

I’m Luke Smith, and I don’t remember this.

Well, that could be due to either a) the impact of the book leaving you with brain damage, or b) you being A DIFFERENT LUKE SMITH. If any other readers are called Luke Smith, but don’t remember this either, please don’t bother to let us know. - Matt

Luke S

[anon]

The game whereby you kick the crap anyone in your school yard upon the sighting of a gas van. The only protection from a gas van attack is to shout " Gas Van no rebounds " loud enough that enough people hear you. Gas van drivers probably have quite a pessimistic view of children’s behaviour, seeing more than their fair share of mindless violence.

John K

Jack S

The older boys didn’t know what the fuck we were doing or why and I don’t think we did either.

Rob N

So the game pretty much consisted of running, and I had no idea there was anything wrong with selling videos of it to sweaty old men.

[anon]

The result was extraordinary. Layer upon layer of creamy green goodness, dispensed from a nostril into his cupped hands like so much Mr Whippy, before the poor sod was escorted from the class to see the nurse with all around him staring in wonderment and disbelief. Where it came from, we would never know. But the Gush had been born, and we knew we would never be the same again.

Chris G

[anon]

[anon]

shaun a

Some entirely too-clever-for-their-own-good mathematicians have mapped this phenomenon as it appears elsewhere, notably in the works of M.C. Escher and Droste chocolate boxes.

http://escherdroste.math.leidenuniv.nl/

Don’t miss the truly disturbing video demonstration of said infinite regress. Enough to make one swear off quoting Ginsberg forever, it is.

Paul D

I had a maths teacher who wore a t-shirt with a picture of a t-shirt on it, and that pictured t-shirt had a picture of a t-shirt on, and so on.

Pupils who had seen the Twilight Zone lived in constant fear of turning their head around quickly enough to see a huge version of themselves looking down at them.

[anon]

Donkey K

john c

Are you sure they weren’t actually ’tourists’ which sounded like ’terrorists’ because of their accents? Second thoughts; they were German, and probably shagged each other’s poo or something, and probably deserved it.

Oh yes! ‘Tourists’ would sound a bit like ’terrorists’ with a German accent, wouldn’t it, Nossidge Man! I suspect that could well have been the source of the confusion! Thanks for pointing that out!

Tune in next week when Nossidge Man explains that “what do you get when you cross a sheep and a kangaroo - a woolly jumper” is funny because sheep have wool and kangaroos can jump.

For fuck’s sake. - Phil

Nossidge M

Richard J

Jeff S

Ben L

“What?”

“Everybody in the country’s related to the Queen.”

That was how she thought it worked: the first family of the country was, like, the FIRST family.

Mind you, if she’d tried that “Everybody’s related to the Queen” in some other parts of Belfast at that point in the ’70s, she’d have got what she richly deserved.

Roy W

Bobs M

A game in which you define how gay someone is by the things that they like. To whit:

“You are so gay, your favourite singer is Marvin GAY-e”., or

“Your favourite programme by Jeremy Beadle is GAY-me For a Laugh.”, or

“Your favourite childrens book is Anne of Green GAY-bles.”, or

“Your favourite song is I Will Survive by Gloria GAY-nor.”

Repeat until you run out of examples. So far I have 17. The most beautiful thing about this game is when someone gets over-excited and accidentally says something that a gay person might actually like, for example “Your favourite magazine is GAY Times*. Oh, hang on…”

(*All gay people like the Gay Times, by the way. It’s their favourite.)

Susan T

[anon]

Rob S

RL

Also consider saying that the year slag has had “more helmets than Hitler” and “more pricks than a cactus”. Not that Hitler had helmets, as such. And cacti don’t really have pricks, come to think of it.

Anyway, to imply she’s a whore, try “she’s sold more shags than Carpet City”.

Dan S

Vicki Caunt was known as ‘The Windmill’ because of the sackfuls of wild oats that she’d allegedly had.

• and then ground into flour inside her big hussy fanny by flailing her arms around in the wind. I suppose.

[anon]

Need I point out that Vicki Caunt becomes Vicki Cunt with a simple adjustment? What were you thinking when you came up with “The Windmill”?..DUHHH

Maybe it was a drama school. They like pretending to be trees and windmills and stuff. Grotbags from Emu’s World lived in a windmill and she was a witch. Or was it the other one with the duck? - Ponky

Darren B

Glory, Glory, Halilujah

Teacher hit me with the ruler,

Met 'im at the door, with a smoking '44

And 'e ain't my teacher no more!

or

Glory, Glory, Halilujah

Teacher hit me with the ruler,

Met 'im at the bank,

With a Sherman army tank,

And 'e ain't my teacher no more!

Slightly dated since children learned they could get their teachers sacked for as much as winking at them, and since parents learned to sue.

log : Trying to think of new rhymes is more bother than it's worth. You won't win kudos for singing “I met him at the grocers, and festooned him with C4 explosives”, and even less for something as fey as “Met him on a misty hill, stabbed him with a poison-tipped quill”. Stick with the tanks and guns.

Cullen M

Glory, glory hallelujah,

Teacher hit me with a ruler

So I punched her in the belly

And she wobbled like a jelly

And she hopped like a kangaroo.

This is a good example of children losing focus at the end and just saying anything for the fucking sake of it.

[anon]

Phil G

Phil G

A useful message therefore for people who are different . Try not to find someone who is different in the same way as yourself. Try to get a gang with a fat one, a clever one, a spotty one. Then ride around on mini-scooters and solve mysteries.

Jon B

James T

Typical application:

‘[n], why don’t you use the gay showers?’

‘Because they’re gay.’

Some O

One of our school bullies used to walk around the changing room wearing only a towel. He would order you to look at him, whereupon he would open the towel and expose himself to you.

He would then (after putting some clothes on) beat you up for being ‘gay’.

This sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Gaymo.

Si B

RL

Oh yeah, and, you can remember the strings on a guitar from Every Addict Druggie Gets Busted Eventually. Gareth Bevan swore by Fat Bastard Elephants Always Drink Guinness for the order of flat keys, but then, he was a bit odd.

RL

Dupli C

Dupli C

The crap ‘Go-to’ er will merely direct you back to the first page number you started on, making the less obeservant participant go round and round in a circle, although this, to me, was a mark of cuntishness.

Susan T

ner ner ner ner NER ner,

ner ne ner ne nernenernener…”

Exciting, futuristic BBC computer game which put you in first person mode to do stuff like feed 4 dragons, one of whom wouldn’t eat doughnuts, one of whom had to have an apple, that sort of thing. Can’t remember much else about it, other than;

a)anything on the computer was brilliant and therefore GG must have been brilliant

b)the ear-fuckingly loud music (see above) that indicated that some arse-licker was getting a go on the computer while you were still reading The Village With Three Fucking Corners.

Susan T

Dread Dragon Droom, in which a capitalist bastard of a wizard invited you in for cakes and then demanded gold, was another BBC educational classic. A thrilling and absorbing game, combining vivid graphics with terrifying sound effects.

Inexplicably, when I downloaded it from the Internet the other day it was crap, blocky, and annoying.

All educational games began by asking you your name, which was obviously open to abuse.

“What do you want to do now, Fuck?”

> yes please

Paul Equinox C

Also featured a section where you were looking at a house with the word FIG painted on the side of it. Gameplay was as follows:

There is a secret word on the house. Do you know what it is?

> Knob

No, that’s not it.

> Cock

No, the word is on the house in big blue letters.

> Shit

No, the word is FIG.

> Bum

No, the word is FIG.

And so forth ad infinitum.

There’s so much more that was wrong with this game. It could be a page all of its own.

Phil C

‘There is a man with a triangle on his head with the number 2 on it. What’s the password?’

It was 2.

[anon]

“Can you see a cave?”

> no.

“Yes you can. Do you want to go into the cave?”

> No.

“Yes you do.”

A triumph of interactivity. Oh, and the final stage had a map where certain paths caused death for no apparent reason.

Phil C

A computer character also existed called ‘POB’, who would obey basic verbs; he could jump, smile and so forth. However, he seemed ever reluctant to eat my shit.

[anon]

<a href=“http://www.4mation.co.uk/cat/granny.html" target="_blank”>

Apparently nothing is sacred any more.</a>

Phil C

I was the sad child who dilligently worked out the order in which to feed the dragons to beat the puzzle in the fewest number of moves. I still remember it today: Buns, Lollies, Oranges, Chocolate (or BLOC). You may commence the wedgies.

Rob M

It was Podd - not Pob. Pob was a totally gay puppet-like retard that was on Channel 4 at some ungodly hour on a Sunday morning. Who used to spit on the screen and write his name on it. Fact.

Podd, and of this fact I am convinced, was a complete bender, and a irrefutable dicksplash (qv). Try Podd can “explode”. Twice. Then hit “Break”, bung Chuckie Egg or Elite in your Cumana disk drive, and play all night, pausing only to burn the disk with “Podd” on it.

Matt F

The order for the dragon’s food was BLOC, or Buns, Lollies, Oranges, Crisps.

I’ll remember that acronym till the day that I die.

Ed A

Mark S

Steve G

also gay butt sex

Adjective used to describe a bad situation.

" That is one fucking ton of g.b.s. " - Charles de Gaulle, on hearing that Maréchal Pétain had signed an armistice with the Nazis, leading to the creation of the Vichy regime.

J. R

Teacher : What is the capital of France?

Elaine : Is it Calais sir?

Darren : Sir, Elaine’s being gay!

Jon B

Well yeah, but gay also means like, noncey or twat-tacular, or wanky, or nobalike. Anything irritating is gay as well. Oh, and saying “your mum” is gay.

griff

Crazy D

“if you accidentally walked into a gay club…. would you feel a dick?”

liccle a

Wilbur

Funnily enough, an identical set of circumstances occurred at our school - only a strange transformation would occur with the role of the tray as you progressed through your school career. In the junior half of the school the rarity value of the sole light tray held a certain cache. However, once you’d reached the senior school, the terrible truth about the gay tray and the effects it wraught upon the carrier became known to all and sundry. Memories of the remarkably violent fights that used to break out as people were pushed to the front of the queue in order to be the day’s gay tray bearer still bring a smile to my face. Could the differing views of the junior and senior pupils be a ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’-esque metaphor for the acceptance and tolerance of an innocent mind? Who knows?

Lord G

The story of a similar “gay tray” also occurred at my school. I attend a school which is subject to more riducule and steroetyping in regards to gay jokes. My school is a ballet school where we study the art of ballet. Unluckily for us we are steroetyped to be gay. Some are gay but of the most part male ballet dancers are not gay. The relevence of the gay tray is the fact that our cafeteria in our residence has ALL blue or green plastic plates and clear cups. However ther is one Pink coloured plate and one pink cup. These items are known as the “gay set” and whoever takes them it thought to have “caught gay” (which of course is contagious) and whoever touches this gay person is said to have caught gay, and so on it goes.

A joke my friend made up:

Q: What do you call 7 gay guys at the bar(re)?

A: Ballet class

[anon]

In our canteen, i was a gay chair. All of them were the traditional plastic moulded seats on metal legs, and a rusty red colour, except the gay chair which was a slightly lighter shade of

Entry suspended at this point, if only for the admission that Rob was, in fact, a gay chair. Note to readers: If you’d like to know how this all pans out, see ‘gay tray’ - Conor

Gay B

Stephen B

Also an Indian restaurant in Manchester. “Eating at the Gaylord” was far too tempting a euphemism for oral sex to be kept to oneself.

Jon B

Gaylord was often turned into “Lord of all Gays” and proceded in rank upto “God of Gay”. When this started there were only a few steps Lord, King, God. But as we got older there were Cheiftans, Barrons, Popes and one memorable time when I called my sister the “Dowager Duchess Of Gay”.

After time the Of Gay got dropped and You Barron & Cheiftan are still commonly used amongst my friends.

James T

In some Primary Schools, a perfectly acceptable come-back to this insult was " just because I’m the lord of the gays, it doesn’t mean I’M gay “.

This come-back was never used in secondary school, because it was shit, and gay.

Dan S

If you want to insinuate that anyone with the surname Taylor is a gaylord, use this simple method:

1. Get hold of an exercise book or anything else they have written their name on.

2. Write a ’d’ at the end of ‘Taylor’.

3. Curl a large ‘C’ around the ‘T’ to create a capital ‘G’.

Stewart Gaylord knows what I’m talking about. I’m 30 now, and I still show people that if I’m pissed enough.

Berwick S

[anon]

Dominic S

Marcus

Walrus

Stuii!

human torch When about 14 or 15, a handful of us grabbed this fat kid Peter Wall, pinned him down and poured lighter fluid all over him. We then proceeded to light matches over him and blow them out at the last minute. And throw lighters at him. And let him run for a bit, but because he was slightly over weight we could always catch him again. It wasn’t really lighter fluid, it was just water, but we all got a letter off the head teacher saying Peter was afraid for his life. Tchch.

Luke B

the typewriter Large kid pins down smaller kid and, in particular, pins the small kid’s arms to the floor with his knees. Once in place the large kid stabs brutally on the chest of the small kid with his index fingers, as though “typing”. Ever so often the larger kid could be heard to shout ’ting’, and then slap the side of the prostrate kid’s head as hard as he could (to mimic the old school lever-slap and carriage return).

Daniel B

the box The area at the end of a wooden prefab classroom which housed the electricity meters, about four feet square and three feet deep with wooden slated doors. At lunchtimes a small child was locked inside the box by sliding a stick through the handles. Afterwards, the stick was stored inside the box for later use. Several dozen ‘classmates’ would then spit through the gaps in the wooden slats. Attempts to get out of the box were akin to an enraged bear trying to get out of a cage, and most victims were generally reduced to tears after about 10 minutes. Some adopted a policy of no resistance but this largely resulted in them spending the rest of the lunch hour in there and emerging at the end, sometimes literally dripping with saliva. Particularly unpleasant during the winter months when colds were prevalent. see also kiddy in the middle

[anon]

Nasal Daisy Chain. An actually-quite-cute-sort-of torture. When we were about 10 our group of friends took to the summertime habit of chasing our friend (a very good friend actually, why did we do it?) John Caulfield round the school field. Once pinned down we would stick a lot of daisies up his nose and in his ears, seeing if we could get more in than last time.

Sorry John.

James T

Salt’n’Shake Crisps. The victim would be held down and forced to admit they were gay. Whatever the response, the little sachet of salt would be emptied into their mouth. Quite right too.

At first glance, this might seem a less painful act of torture than the other entries for this subject. However, if one considers the pain experienced by regular recipients of this punishment in later years, due to heart attacks, strokes, osteroperosis, gastric cancer and other ailments brought on by an excessive salt intake, it can be seen to be particularly vindictive, cruel and cleverly planned with an eye for the long haul.

Matt F

James McNair knew he could go blind if he attempted to wipe off the Vicks Vapor Rub that we had applied generously undeneath his eyes. So we watched him suffer the 45 minute bus ride home, drowning in his own tears.

James immediately sought medical attention, however and the local GP saved the day with a wet cloth.

Never rub Vicks in people’s eyes. Always read the label.

Dave H

Petrol pumping was a particularly vicious act which involved pinning a child down, kneeling on their bicep and pumping their forearm up and down. This caused the bicep to move around under the knee grinding it into a pulp that would throb and remain utterly useless for about two days. Occasionally a double petrol pumping took place which left the victim flailing on the floor unable to use their arms to pick themself up.

Andrew H

Katy D

Me and a friend got N64s for Christmas (complete with rumble paks) and spent a day charging our Diddy Kong racing karts into walls, with our controllers resting gently against the crotch. This was also completely innocent and not gay. Of course, this was back in the day when Mario and Luigi were just good friends and their moustaches were mere symbols of good, honest pluck - not the bumrimming arsecowboys we are wrongly led to perceive them as today.

Scott D

[anon]

Angel V

Darren C

There were no rules to getting a chase, you just had to find someone who was capable of beating the shit out of you and goad them into trying to do just that - for example, calling a group of older boys poofs, throwing stones at passing lorries and, on one inspired occasion, going into a farmer’s field and punching the cows.

dan u

Jacob T

Also known as a “bastard”. When unable to procure our own alcohol a group of friends and I would tour our houses at lunchtime with a large jam jar or bottle, stopping off at each drinks cabinet to fill up with a measure or two of anything we could find and make a bastard. We’d then proceed to drink the bastard. Us being young, and the bastard being very strong, we would usually then throw up the bastard.

Ruben C

Garth

In Ilkeston, Derbyshire, there are over 200 words for being caught with your dick in your hand. Simple holding, wanking, threatening behaviour, time of day, proximity to farmlife, all these factors affect the final word. There is a word for “holding your cock at dusk within spurting distance of a rooster”.

Jon B

Jon B

Andrew M

I’ll tell you - they said “boys are so stupid, let’s be lesbians and have some attempt at a reciprocal, loving relationship while they all fuck each other senseless like bad pigs”.

Jon B

Greg B

Paul R

He also told us not to tell her we knew about the glass eye, because she was extremely sensitive about it. The fact that she would be uspet by us mentioning her glass eye, but not by hordes of children punching her in the back of the head seemed perfectly reasonable to us.

She didn't have a glass eye, of course. So it never fell out. We tried for ages to get that damn eye out.

Jimbob

Michael F

Jello: a mildly cruel game played in the backseat of a car. It requires at least two people (three is best) and a bench-type seat. When the car turns a corner, the person on the inside of the turn yells “JELLO!” and slams purposefully and violently into the person on the outside. It is not a good idea to initiate a game of Jello if you are the weakest of the participants. Although it can easily turn malicious, Jello is usually a fair game - everyone gets jello’d into at some point. (I suppose in England this would be called “jelly,” unless things have changed since I was there last…)

Sir

Also in this range are fountain-pen flicking, and in the chemistry lab, mild acid-filled pipette flicking. Yes, mild acid. We were reckless children, not Bangladeshi honour killers.

[anon]

Dan W

Ben A

The B

Phil G

Simon

Juan

Thanks T

AU

Jon B

Robsa W

Adam T

Dave M

Nathan D

Scott W

Jon B

We had a similar gang which purported to go out beating up grannies, which none of us actually did. Which led to the formation of the ill-fated two piece rock group Granny Initiative. We recorded a demo and sent it off to EMI, but amazingly they weren’t blown away by our covers of Imagine and Jealous Guy, for which we put pillows over the speakers of my stereo (to muffle the vocals), while I sang over the top and the other member played drums. We were 8.

Chris T

Blacky

Dominic S

Dean

Greg D

Jon B

Fat B

Stephen B

Ben Y

Craig S

Q. Guess What?

A. What?

Q. Hotpot.

or

Q. Guess Why

A. Why?

Q. Pork Pie.

On reflection I’m a little dissapointed that we never utilised when, where, how or who. Especially who, because that rhymes with poo.

[anon]

Guess what?

What?

Lightbulb.

[anon]

• Guess what?

• What?

• Cold potato’s ain’t hot!!

• Oh.

• Hahahahahaa!

• Right.

• AHAHHHAAAARGH!!!

Helen J

Guess what?

A bag of snot.

Guess why?

Snot pie.

Far from being simple rhyming snot nonsense, this translates as;

A : What’s that you’ve got there? It smells delicious.

B : It’s a bag of snot, actually.

A : Oh. Suddenly it doesn’t smell so delicious. Why are you carrying a bag of snot around?

B : It’s the main ingredient of snot pie.

A : Oh! That suddenly sounds delicious again.

B : Yes, strange how your perceptions change with context, isn’t it?

Jon B

Pol S