[img]

It's also the name of the IKEA sofa that your mum likes to sit on when she's making out with Sandy Toksvig.

Jon B

stink l

One day some people asked if they could go and see her. No they couldn’t, because she’d died over the summer.

Eamonn K

Debbie had a real boyfriend on life support. He fell off his bike on the way home from her house one cold December evening, and ended up in a coma for four years. Way to get out of your exams, guy.

No-one would go out with her for all the time he was in hospital. Not because she wasn’t a looker, or because of some sort of loyalty to poor, comatose Ivan. No! It was because Debbie already had one veggie for a boyfriend, which gave rise to the fear that whatever the spack equivalent of the Grim Reaper is, he MIGHT STRIKE AGAIN.

Any suggestions? - Jamie

Harry G

Note: You can only get away with this in Steve Pack’s geography class.

Creeda h

In the hands of a master japester such as Stephen Foster, however, every single syllable is ripe for scatological sarcasm. And thus your child shall forever be tarred with the monicker Poo Wees Smelly Butt .

I’ve no idea what Stephen Foster is doing now, but if there’s any justice in the world he should be editing books of babies’ names to warn parents about just this sort of thing.

Phil G

Of course you could wait until they had a really, really big pile and then try running full pelt into it, kicking leaves everywhere while shouting “A HA HA HA HA HA! WANKERS!”.

However, more sophisticated fun awaited us when one day a small shit was spied in the middle of the playground. Fox? Cat? No matter. No-one spoke. We all knew what had to happen.

A leaf was procured and dropped carefully on the shit, obscuring it. “Kristen! Kristen! a leaf for your pile!”, a child called to Kristen Barnes. He came over. He picked up the leaf, and the shit with it.

“What?” he said, as our laughs rose and combined in one wall of white noise at his stupid, vacant face, his hand smeared with shit, and his slightly drooling, gaping mouth.

Dave C

Colin Black, Colin Black, Went to Vietnam and back, with a knick knack paddywhack and napalm up his bum, came home mad and killed his mum.

Colin Black didn’t go to Vietnam, and remains innocent of matricide.

Eight A

His crime?

The dirty bastard had shat in a urinal.

[anon]

Obviously you can’t touch Kevin to push him away from the switch, or zzzt! zzzt! - you’re frying too. You need something that won’t conduct. Plastic. What’s made of plastic? A lunchbox!

Mrs Burge then took my Thundercats lunchbox, complete with Marmite sandwiches, and used it to nudge Kevin away from the switch.

Fucking *weird*.

[anon]

Amazingly, our school sanctioned the use of brooms to remove the pupil from the electrical source.

The run up, whilst shouting “BANZAIIIII!!!!!” was OUR idea.

Tony S

Spotting me chatting in the corridor with a friend, who he’d also just chucked out of the class, he shouted ‘Alexander, I thought I told you to stand outside the staff room! Why are you in the corridor?’

My response? ‘Sir - I’m not standing INSIDE the staff room, and since I AM standing, I can only conclude that I must be standing OUTSIDE the staff room.’

Impressed with my scientific reasoning, he screamed in my face for a few moments before meandering away, muttering threats.

[anon]

The fun, however, usually came with typing in the commands. It only understood simple words such as “move” and “right”. Any other instruction would be greeted with “I do not know how to X”. Being 7 years old, this was BRILLIANT:

“I do not know how to fart”

“I do not know how to smell”

“I do not know how to boobies”

[anon]

Listen to this,
Too good to miss,
dum dum de dum dum dum

*trump*

If you're lucky enough to have another trump in the tube, or cunning enough to clench mid-toot, then be sure to sing;

Here comes another,
Must be its brother,
dum dum de dum dum dum

*trump*

Timing is essential if you're to pull this off successfully. You must be on beat.

[img]

Nick H

Our farts were so listenable, they were not only unmissable - they had received exposure on national TV. Here it is, in the key of F major.

[img]

[anon]

Ponky P

If you’re in the company of someone who uses the “Hi Dad!” line, retort with “I didn’t know your dad was my dad’s driver!”

Assuming, of course, that you don’t go to a school where being the offspring of gypnak pikey dolescum is considered fashionable.

Deko M

When this black, poisoned blood reaches your heart, you will die. The only way to slow this process down, so that you can run home and tell your parents that you’re sorry that the last thing you said to them this morning was " I hate school, and I hate YOU", is by pressing one finger over the poisoned vein, which will temporarily ‘pause’ your circulatory system.

Once you have made your peace with the world, let go, and accept the inevitable.

Jon B

The dirtiest person in the school was deemed to own this drain - after maintaining this ownership for several weeks, Leslie eventually had the swamp named after her.

If you were pushed into her swamp, then you were forced to marry Leslie. This made you one of Leslie’s Lezzies - if you were a girl. Boys just became her regular husband, which made them gay. Because even skiddy boys’ bums were cleaner than Leslie’s toxic shock factory.

Gareth M

Jimbo B

Missing a class would involve its teacher writing your name and details of your crime on a yellow piece of paper.

( Lemon Slips sounded infinitely more menacing than yellow paper , though - both effete and mysterious, you can imagine the shudders running down a gentleman’s spine.)

These lemon slips were sent to the school secretary, and they were then inserted in the register each morning.

Registers were then left completely unguarded in every form room for a 15 minute period ahead of registration, every day.

There was very little reported truancy at my school.

Conor F

Can backfire if the victim turns around in surprise just as the attacker is doing the electric shock bit, leaving the attacker with his hands on the victim’s hips in an awkward and obviously homosexual clinch.

Yaht Z

<code>Librarian: You’ve all got to move, you’re blocking the fire door.

Me: But we’re the only ones here.

Librarian: But it’s dangerous, you’re causing an obstruction.

Me: The door is locked anyway!

(I demonstrate by trying the handle)

Librarian : But I have the key in my drawer.

Me: You’re only here two days a week! And what if you die in the fire?

Librarian: Just get on with your work and try not to block the door.

Us: Okay…</code>

Alex

In a similar piece of logic, we were denied a coke machine.

Us: Why?

Them: It’s a fire hazard?

Us: How?

Them: In the event of a fire it could block an exit.

Us: Well then put it somewhere where it isn’t blocking an exit.

Them: In the event of a fire, someone could move it and use it to block an exit.

Us: If we wanted to burn someone to death we wouldn’t be stopped by not having a coke machine to block a door with.

Them: Shut up.

Jimbo B

Ah yes, Mrs Arul-Vetha. One of the few times I actually HAD ‘just forgotten to bring in’ my homework, having had the mother of all bronchitis infections.

“That’s fine, but you should have bought a note from your mother explaining that you’d forgotten it”

“But if I’d have thought of that, wouldn’t I have just bought in the homework”

I had to draw a diagram for her - on the board - of the thought process that would have led to this eventuality.

Christ.

Tom L

I burst into tears as I stood on a white square on the chequered floor (something we had to do when we'd been naughty, perhaps to highlight our stained souls against the whiteness of tile). A teacher walked up and asked me why I was crying.

“Because I didn't do it!” I said.

“But if you didn't do it, why are you crying?” she replied, stonily.

It was at that moment I realised that the world was fundamentally unfair.

Chief C

As part of a punishment, you may be asked to decide the punishment yourself. The teacher will then decide whether you've opted for a harsh enough sentence, and may add humourous tweaks, if he's that sort of teacher .

Tactics for the student varied, opting for an exagerrated sentence would show that you recognised the severity of your sins, but you ran the risk of the teacher agreeing with you.

Alternately, you could try saying “you could make me go home, sir” - or “you could give me three millions pounds so I can go mental on drugs and end up dead”, in the hope that such cheeky-chappery will make the teacher say “dooo, I couldn't possibly punish you… you have such spirit “, before lovingly chasing you around the classroom.

Crash H

Another classic “clever teacher punishment” is to make you write an essay, detailing why your behaviour was wrong; when you hand it in, they simply screw it up and throw it away.

This was supposedly intended to dishearten and break the spirit of the wrongdoer. In reality, it just let the student know that they didn't really care if you'd learned your lesson, which is as good as saying “do it again, it was brilliant”.

Get the best of every world by writing an essay on why Mr Deller is a big tit who insists on being called PC Deller when he's only in the fucking specials, MNNGNG. It's a big gamble that you can only lose, and it's not at all worth it, but… you might as well.

Gotty G

When I was at junior school, a friend and I stumbled across a patch of playground tarmac that had a bag of crisps enthusiastically stamped into it.

We approached the margins of the stamped crisp zone, and nervously trod on one crisp each.

As soon as we did so, a squad of prefects leapt out of hiding and dragged us off to the headmaster. They told him that we were the culprits of the entire crisp-stamping episode.

We lost a day's playtime. It is because of this that I can empathise with the Guildford Four.

Why they had prefects at a junior school I have no idea. They were abolished by the time I got to the final year, so I never had a chance to wreak proxy revenge on younger pupils.

Matt F

In Primary school I was once made to wait outside the Headmistress’s room for a whole playtime, quaking in my boots about what I could have done wrong, only to have her step out just before the bell rang to tell me she was “glad I hadn’t been involved in the violent incident earlier” when my best friend had kicked someone in the head. I’ve never been more angry with a teacher in my life.

Except maybe for the time I got shouted at for “kissing a boy” despite the fact that the boy in question had kicked me in the ankle, pushed me onto the grass and held me down in order to perpetrate the kiss. That’s Catholic schools for you. Treat 8-year-old girls like the hussies they are.

Sus

Spaghetti, meatballs,

And a great big banana…”

Spaghetti, of course, refers to pubic hair; meatballs to testicles and ‘great big banana’ to an implausibly long and curvy penis. Generally accompanied by a bizarre dance, in which said genital features were outlined with the hands.

Matt S

At our school the song was the same, except the gigantic banana was ‘all chopped up in pieces’, and the ‘spaghetti meatballs’ were generally considered to be breasts. The wild size/texture/immersion in sauce disparity between meatballs and bosoms wasn’t the point.

We were singing about chopped-up winkles and little brown boobs, and that’s all that matters.

stickle b

[anon]

Ginger A

A good example being when a game of indoor football knocks a cup of full coffee onto the fifth years’ coursework.

Time stopped, the camera swept around the football, there was an extreme close-up on a droplet of coffee, and every child lifted into the air, and flew back into their seats.

The teacher, when he arrived, would see two things; the culmination of the fifth years’ secondary education rendered useless, and a class of 30 really well behaved twelve year olds.

We thought the two things would pretty much balance out.

benzaemon b

If anyone’s ever connected two 3ft steel poles to the mains and fought with them, I’d love to hear their stories. I never had the balls.

*Hurrr… let off…

Comrade F

We found two fluorescent strip bulbs discarded intact out the back of the sweet shop.

It turns out only one of them breaks under impact with each other, showering you both with shards of glass and toxic dust.

Like Conkers for REAL men.

Gotty G

[anon]

Paul H

Unfortunately, the cherry bombs blew the binding of the whipping cream cans, sending them flying into the hall. And maybe some of you don’t understand how much six cans of whipped cream is.

Nicolas K

Sorry to be a spoil sport, but for god’s sake, can’t you see that this is clearly a made-up story? Blasting cap cherry bombs? Six cans of whipped cream? And the clincher - the fake gun, like in a bad comedy movie, with a flag that unfurls with a message on it? And think about the mechanics of setting that up compared to the mechanics they teach in science class. And then think about the force required to hurl six cans of cream into the hallway and cause them to burst. And then think about the mental agility of someone who incorrectly writes the phrase “your gay” on a flag, instead of “you’re gay”. Then put it all together, and you’ll come to the conclusion that this is nothing more than a really poor lie.

Can’t you pay more attention to the posts here? I was about to complain about the post about hitting the frog on the back with a hammer, but I refrained. (Think about that one - surely the frog would have moved with people approaching it, and even it not, where the hell did the kid get a ‘claw hammer’ from at that particular moment?)

While this site used to be the Financial Times of playground law encyclopaedias on the web, it’s fast turning into The Sun.

<I> Sometimes, even the clearly made-up has merit. Prisoner Cell Block H was “made up” but we all enjoyed it. What we enjoy even more though, is when readers get as bitter, angry and fuming at submissions as we do. We’ve dragged you to our level and we love it. Point taken, though, and well made too. Marvellous. xxx*

[anon]

" Le boucher qui travail a La Rochelle, il touche les enfants, parce que son épouse ne rase pas ses aisselles. "

petrocelli

In 1987, no-one in France shaved their armpits. Or wore deodorant. Especially not girls. My first French exchange was marred by an organised trip to a swimming pool where there were rafts of thick, black underarm hair as far as the eye could see. The girl you’d had a crush on suddenly became the world’s hairiest swamp donkey when her pits were exposed. They’re catching on now, thank God. At least with the shaving, anyway.

Nick H

BANGERS! BANGERS BANGERS BANGERS!!!

Other than flick-knives, 35 centime wine and porn, this was the only entertainment available on our French trip. To ensure that we didn’t smuggle exposives back into Britain, the teachers announced an amnesty on bangers and collected them all as the boys got onto the bus for the last time. Foolishly, they simply threw their booty into a litterbin by the side of the road. What they hadn’t considered was Hugh Gibbs arriving late and throwing a lit box of matches into the bin before embarking. Honestly, it was like the final 20 minutes of a James Bond film.

Ok, it wasn’t.

Andy M

In an attempt to avoid bangers being confiscated by our teachers we used to hide them in our shoes as we got back on the coach - amazingly we got away with it year after year. We once stuck a large banger in the exhaust pipe of the school caretaker’s car which made a surprising mess of the back of his vehicle.

Reads so much better if you read it out of context (as I did) and visualise sausages instead. - Phil

[anon]

[anon]

Philip K

If someone wanted to calculate my percentage attraction to, say, Kylie Minogue, they would proceed thus:

<ol> - Write out on a piece of paper:

Matthew Fasham

Loves

Kylie Minogue

• Count up the number of l, o, v, e, and s’s in each name as follows:

1,1,0,3,1 - Add up the adjacent numbers, pair by pair, to get:

2,1,3,4 - Again:

3,4,7 - Again:

7, 11 - And finally, the percentage that I love Kylie Minogue, 18%.

This depressingly small percentage, if calculated in a school classroom, would be taken as conclusive proof of gayness.Additionally, as the percentage works both ways, I now know that my hitherto dogged pursuit of Kylie is doomed to a loveless failure.

Matt F

Matt, please don’t give up. An alternate and more sensible working of this process would split the eleven in the last stage of the process to two individual ones. This would give you 7,1,1 - which brings you to a final love score of 82%. This is obviously the method to be preferred.

This explains why you loved Kylie despite your low score, and gives you a very real chance of getting your dick wet should you ever meet.

Jon B

Finally, because I am the most anal person in the world when it comes to intriguing maths things - and love - the only results I’ve found that will yield the maximum 99% (also demonstrating that love can never be a certainty) are 01202, 03006, 12021, 20210, 31105, 32007, 50113, 51015, 60030, 60106, 80016, and of course, 90009.

Jon B

Nick Hunt

loves

Zoe Reynolds

<code>1 2 0 2 1

3 2 2 3

5 4 5

99%</code>

If there’s a Zoe Reynolds reading this, I’m yours, and I promise to devote as much time to you as I did to working out your fucking name. If you even exist outside my tortured imagination.

Nick H

By this logic, anyone with the word “love” in their name will have an automatic head start no matter who they’re pitched against.

This may explain the hitherto unfathomable popularity of Courtney Love and Jennifer Love Hewitt, who must fancy the pants off one another, the dirty lezzers.

Phil G

It’s possible to end up with an infinite loop in the numbers, where you never reach a percentage - whether this means your love is doomed or guaranteed, I can’t say. But if it makes you feel any better Log, I only know this can happen because I was anal enough to write a program on the amiga to work out the love percentage automatically.

(Thanks - although I don’t feel less anal, it’s nice to know there are people more anal than myself. For an online love percentage calculator, http://www.begbie.com/love.html.)

dan u

Courtney and Jennifer only love each other 24%, which just goes to show, logic is not to be trusted. Maybe its more successful if the entire ‘Loves’ is in their name, an example being ‘John Lovestein.’

This man might not exist.

This is clearly a lie. Courtney and Jennifer http://www.begbie.com/cgi-bin/love.pl?name1=Courtney+Love&name2=Jennifer+Love+Hewitt. Please don’t resort to such tabloid-style muck slinging, we’re a respectable website. Tsk. - Phil

Davy

Well, if Jennifer was only spelt with one E as I, quite rightly in my mind, presumed, THEN they would only love each other the 24%.

Well, this isn’t a hole that is easy to dig my way out of. I hang my head in shame.

Davy

Well you live and learn… having checked via the online percentage calculator I can rejoice that my Kylie percentage is 82, not 18. If only I had known that 15 years ago I might have been spared many lonely hours of 18%-related ostracism.

By the way, Log, while it may be true that 90009 gives a perfect 99%, there can’t be many people who fit that category. I suppose that if Liam Lyall Slimshall met Sarah Sally Sandra Mississippi, there would be love at first sight, if they bothered to sit down with a calculator, but if there’s a real life couple who qualify I will not only eat my hat but also yours.

Matt F

There was a boy at school called Justin Oliver Hayhoe. There’s an L, an O, a V, an E and an S in there. That boy loved everybody and everybody loved him….

… in theory. The reality was that he was a twat and possibly the least popular person I’ve ever met.

Love Percentage Calculators, please note! There’s a subtle difference between having the letters of the word LOVE in your name, and having the sort of name that makes you sound like a raving gaylord.

[anon]

I managed to use the online love calculator to work out that I apparently love my ex girlfriend 99%, ie. more than I’ll ever love anyone else.

Has anyone else had a similarly depressing experience, such as finding their name on a gravestone with 1974-TOMORROW written underneath?

[anon]

I have a message for Nick Hunt: I knew Zoe Reynolds at university. She was a fucking uber-bitch and you wouldn’t want to go there. Honestly, she was awful. Not someone you would want to devote even five minutes to.

Perhaps you should try working out another name. Or porn. Sorry.

Chris W

Right. Claire Rosemond, prepare to be stalked.

And I know you exist because I’ve googled you.

Nick H

For my first year I had a fairly old but otherwise physically normal man possessing a fixation on dogs, the British TV show Animal Hospital and classical comedies. He looked startlingly like a non-murderous version of Doctor Shipman.

The other teacher is a wild cross between William Hague, Kelsey Grammer and Steve Ballmer with startling taste in clothes and shirts which compulsively expose his navel. Is easily sucked into prurient discussions, sometimes initiating them himself through use of personal cliches, the most common of which is “As the actress said to the bishop.”, frequently appended to any vaguely unusual statement. We keep count of the number of times he says this per lesson. He was once witnessed reading a copy of the Daily Sport and, when wound up, says the word “arse” repeatedly without hesitation.

Leopold B

Leopold Bloom, we’d like to ask you to be PL’s resident egghead. We will call you “Professor” and imagine all your posts to come from a supple leather armchair. (Like Roald Dahl in Tales of the Unexpected.) This is based purely on you having latin lessons and being called “Leopold Bloom”. Nothing else. Your job will be to bring a level of class to the site, and to make occasional, ribald double entendres. Hope this is ok with you.

Susan T

I’d gladly do so, Susan, but I keep forgetting my damn password.

[anon]

Playground Law in a nutshell, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Susan T

Such was our latin teachers love of classical civilization, he used his pupils in an attempt to re-create Ancient Rome in his class.

He got us to dress up in togas (using the long red velvet classroom curtains), and then “show me how you recline like a Roman” - in other words, get 13 year-olds to dress in a suspect way and then lay on a desk in front of him for his approval.

Ok, so we weren’t brutally sodomised or even forced to whack him off, but it was all a bit odd, no ?

uncle m

My first year Latin teacher Trendy Wendy once substituted in a PE lesson and took us swimming. The pre-pubescent tension was palpable as we waited for her to leave the changing room because, even though she was not fit, none of us had never seen a female teacher in a swimming cossy before. When she emerged, the gasps were audible, though not because she was a vision of loveliness.

Instead, we were confronted with the sight of what appeared to be a large spider trying to escape from under the material of her costume between her legs. No-one heard a single word that she said, as to a boy we stood in dazed silence, staring at her curly clock springs.

The S

This was a large kitty litter box (large enough for a small child of 6 to fit inside entirely) filled with cat litter and small spoonfuls of peanut butter. You were forced to clean out the tray with a scooper and place the peanut butter “turds” into a baggy. Obviously, the class watching you shuffling little nutty faux-browns around was humiliating, unless you reclaimed control by gently licking the peanut butter, and maybe popping it into your mouth.

Sadly, as this was Kindergarten, no-one thought of that.

Mike W

I’m sorry, and I know it’s not my place, but this is clearly bullshit of the highest order… Surely…

Perhaps you’re right, Ginger Snaps. We do turn down a lot of entries on the grounds of unmitigated bullshit , or at least put a note on saying “ here may be bullshits ”, but this may have gotten through. We’ll leave it in, but thanks for your comment. - Log

Ginger S

Technically an insult, should you carry the name into adulthood, you’ll be surprised how many people assume you have a gigantic cock. Thanks, that bully!

Jon B

Nath D

As a finale, he’d collapse and have to be taken home.

[anon]

Possibly this is made up. I don't care. A silver trowel! My sides are bursting with class outrage! Like an episode of Citizen Smith! Sadly this submission came anonymously but whoever you are, we salute you and your shitty past. You're head of ICI now aren't you?

[anon]

This reminds me of 'The Turd'. I was a first year, still wet behind the ears, and with a smaller cock that may or may not have had pubes, I cannot remember. Upon entering the toilet for a nervous, wide-eyed, innocent piss, I came across an enormous crowd of 4th years laughing like drains. Tall, scary, drains. I didn't know why, so I snuck in a cubicle to do wee. This turned out to be a mistake.

Inside the bowl was, quite simply, the biggest shit I have ever seen in my life. It made you wince just to look at it. It was ridiculous - eye-fucking in its impossibly monstrous dimensions. A note taped to the cistern read “Property of ***** - do not flush!” (The stars are there because I cannot recall the name, not to preserve the dignity of the Bearer - I imagine they had little in the first place)

Well, here was a to-do. I needed wee bad, but here was a massive assausage stopping me. The sensible thing to do would have been to go somewhere else to piss - but back then I still had a small amount of pride, and somehow it seemed so WRONG to have my life dictated by a big shit rather than Fate. I got out cock and pissed. Hollers from outside the cubicle accompanied the golden stream's slow-motion journey towards the bowl, brown whale waiting, glinting, silently. I zipped up, sweating and scared.

Flushing would be a step too far - although a small part of my mind, rational despite the panic, piped up to say “Flushing? Are you fucking joking? Nothing less than a controlled explosion is even going to DENT that fucker.”

I took a deep breath (not too deep) and decided to act like a manchild. I would have to be proud of my decision to sully the waters of the BumTrout. I calmly opened the cubicle door, and met the accusatory stares of a dozen lads.

“He pissed on The Turd!” bellowed one, pointing.

“I didn't flush it!” I wailed. Then I ran. I never saw The Turd again.

Raz

There’s more, actually: a second Turd, which was at the time unnamed. I don’t know how big this one was, only that it was in the wrong place. A surprise assembly was called for all the boys in the school, and as we filed in, the rumour spread like wildfire that the reason for it was because ‘Someone done a shit on the floor in one of the toilets!’

Certainly Mr Stonely didn’t look in a good mood. An assembly about a poo; this was a new one, and everyone was excited, the greyness of yet another schoolday suddenly livened up with a splash of colour (brown).

When asked for silence the congregated boys became quiet in record time, because teacher was possibly about to talk about poos. Mr Stonely looked uncomfortable. “On Thursday night…” Tarrant-like pause. “Someone…did not use the pan in the correct manner.” Peals of laughter rang around the room, squeals from 1st years, grunts from 5th years. Stonely was not amused; in fact, he was LIVID that people were laughing at him talking about poos.

Singling out a random boy in the middle of the hall, he pointed and shouted (his voice breaking with emotion like a hormonal adolescent) “YOU! YOU’RE EXACTLY WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! GET OUT!” I don’t know whether he meant that he thought the boy had done the poo, or whether he was comparing the boy TO a poo. On a floor.

That was that, anyway. To this day I really don’t know why they had an assembly about it; they can’t have thought they were really going to catch the pooer like this. Like bent cops in a clichéd movie, they simply laid the blame on someone who looked as though he might have had the capacity to do a poo on a floor.

Raz

Mr Vallelly called all the boys in the school into an assembly. There must have been 750 of us, wondering what we had done to deserve this special gathering. Vallelly paced around the stage, red faced and visibly fuming.

Finally, he exploded: “Somebody has been spreading EXCRETA on the walls of the boys toilets…”

At this point, his perception of himself as fearsome and authoritative evaporated, as every boy in the hall burst out laughing, and started saying, shouting, singing, excreta .

It’s not every day you learn a new word for poo.

Robert R

Please don’t take this entry as an invitation to tell us about any adult bumshits you done or done see. So, if you found a poo while working for the Guardian (nice story, thanks), or simply crimped off a monster this morning and wanted to share (thanks, * Penski), they probably won’t make it in.

Take it to the http://www.disappointment.com/phpBB2.

Jon B

In primary school, we had an assembly about a serial shitter. He had pooed three times, like a fairy tale. Once on the foor, once in the urinal and once in the sink.

In the end, if was discovered that it was a Year 1 pupil who'd done it, which was a bit of a let-down. We'd previously assumed it was a work of genius, but knowing a five-year-old had done it just seemed childish.

Luke T

The Leo’s Log story reminds me of ‘The Mummy’. The Mummy was a legendarily large poo that my friend laid in the toilet at school. Being at a private school, we were well trained in flushing the toilet after using it, so the thought of leaving the turd in the bowl for all to see was disgusting to him. And rightly so, for who but the most filthy comprehensive school pupils would not flush a toilet?

Since the turd had a good six inches protruding from the water, he wrapped his hand liberally with toilet paper, reached in, and rescued it. He wrapped it up in reams of toilet paper and smuggled it out to the playground.

He then proceeded to show us what at first glance could have been a baby mummy snatched straight out of the Egyptian Room at the British Museum. But no, to our even greater delight, he unravelled the wrapping to reveal a firm, long, and generally mammoth turd.

[anon]

My father has worked in a fair few educational insitutions during his career as a primary school teacher.

And in each one, the phenomenon of the ‘phantom shitter’ has always presented itself. Its a queer thing, but apparently if a kid (it’s mostly boys, if that shocks anyone) is having some kind of problem at home, or with social interaction, or whatever, they often take to laying pipes in inapropriate places, or smearing it everywhere, or both.

So, it’s not uncommon, and should signal a strong warning sign to teachers that the child has emotional problems. To put it another way, some kid is utterly fucked-up , and seriously needs his twisted face rubbing in it, the filthy shit-easy freak .

Dan M

It may be mostly boys who shit everywhere, but we had a phantom tampon and sani pad spreader. This might have been one girl, two highly specialised competitors, or a boy trying to frame all womanhood, which would quite frankly be typical .

This is particularly unpleasant if you leave them in the middle of the playground in summer, and your school is in Mombasa. Where mine was.

[anon]

Graham Barnes was a very special boy. He had to have an orange for dessert at lunch because normal puddings like angel delight or jelly would DO things to him. He was pale, thin and quiet.

One day he got up from his chair and walked out of class. A few intrigued souls stuck their heads round the door to be treated to the sight of him shuffling down the corridor with his trousers down, leaving a breadcrumb-esque trail of little poos behind him.

Graham moved to a different school. Many years later I boarded the bus to college and sat down, to be greeted by his smiling face and a jolly “Y'alright?”

I, naturally, could only respond with “don't talk to me, poo-boy!”

Gotty G

Karma A

This involved us waiting for an hour in a damp cave for the bold party of adventurers, being restricted to a naff sideways movement, and having five lads with wooden swords twat you long after your Hit Points had technically disappeared.

Another reason to hate role-playing scum.

Chris W

Jon Dale was discovered furiously knocking one out over a pencil drawing of an “Elven Cheerleader” in a bedraggled copy of White Dwarf magazine. We never played “Blood Bowl” again.

Nick H

Kate

Laughter is also apparently inappropriate when the Scout leader who once stopped you sneaking out during the night on camp to shag the first girl you ever loved cops it in a car accident.

It is especially inappropriate when accompanied by thrusting your arms into the air and shouting “Hey lads, Giddy’s dead!” in joyous tones. This can lead to push-ups beyond number being administered by Giddy’s fellow scout leader and best friend who is stood behind you.

Gotty G

During assembly our headmaster announced that our former German teacher who had an (unfounded)reputation for being gay was enjoying his new position at a boys school in Birmingham. The entire fourth year erupted in laughter and detentions whizzed through the year like bullets on the Somme. The casualty rate was high in those terrible minutes. Smirking and giggling with hand in front of face were vigorously dealt with while the two boys who began to simulate buggery while shouting “ich bin Herr Gay” were removed by Teacher snatch-squads and only returned some hours later after parental phone calls.

Tony G

Mr. Johnson: “In 1945, the American army dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima.”

Tom: “Gutted!”

Charlie W

Will N

In our school the winner of this game was held in such high regard that it was acceptable to try to convince the teacher that you had piles. Possibly because we didn’t really know what piles were - but hey, that wouldn’t stop you being beaten up on any other occasion.

Squiffy J

Not like you but a bit more gay

And when we have a bit of fun

Oh, boy.”

When we gathered around the piano to sing this Broadway hit in primary school, we were specifically warned not to titter at the line containing ‘gay’. I wasn’t listening, and was therefore surprised to be the only one giggling.

The teacher snapped at me - which was quite unfair, considering that I saw nothing intrinsically funny about the word ‘gay’ and was only laughing to curry favour with more popular classmates.

Anyway, the song was written by Noel Gay. Draw your own conclusions.

Paul Equinox C

Phil C

“La sac magique”, from Tots TV, is presumably something to say whilst delivering your wrath unto a colleagues testicles.

There’s also a line from Bill Hicks’ Revelations video about a “Hairy sack of magic” which made Tots TV more unintentionally hilarious. -Susan.

Jon B

La Saq Magique is something we developed in pikey student years which glasses/ashtrays/bog roll etc disappear into from the pub then reappear in scummy student flat - still works these days…

[anon]

Jon B

KEITH We had two lab assistants at school. A normal one, and Keith. In your first physics lesson at school, the teacher told you never to tap him on the shoulder or surprise him from behind, due to his epilepsy. We just had to find out, so there followed an evil version of “What’s the time Mr Wolf?” where we crept up when he had his back turned and froze as he spun round, pretending we weren’t doing anything, with him freaking out more and more as we got closer and closer, until finally we were within tapping distance, by which time he was frothing at the mouth and the teacher would turn up. “What’s happened to Keith?” “Dunno sir - he just started going weird….is he OK sir?” Keith, a god-fearing fellow, also went to church every Sunday, often driving his tiny MG. One Sunday a group of boys from the school, picked his car up, moved it across the church driveway, and wrote “666” in the gravel where the car had been. It took them a LONG time to sort him out after that one….

Nick M

When Paul the lab technician was discovered by three pupils looking at some of the most unorthodox sex the net has to offer; fistings, animals, and combinations of the two, he gave us the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, as if to say “great stuff, eh?”, and carried on saving the pictures onto a floppy disc. This all seemed very wrong.

Philip S

We had two scary female (I think) lab assistants. One of them earned the name “The Turkey” from the way she carried herself. I don’t remember the other one, but they both possessed the ability to appear in any classroom almost at will through an ingenious network of doors seemingly designed by the Ministry of defence during WW2.

Chris W

One kid in my English class got a big glob of chewing gum stuck in his hair. The teacher (knowing full well what would happen) told him to go up to the chemistry labs and see one of the lab assistants, they would have a special chemical that would remove the gum. He went up there and told the lab assistant on duty of his predicament, she took a big pair of scissors out of her desk, and viciously hacked the gum and about a quarter of the hair from his head.

Andrew O

Dianne, mid 40’s, quite attractive, clad in leather trousers and thus clearly into bondage. She would enter a classroom to a resounding chorus of whip-crack noises from all the lads.

Anyone kept behind after class was coerced into sordid S&M sex games. Probably.

Dan H

We had a lab assistant that looked very much like nanny from Count Duckula, white hair and everything. Cries of ducky-poos! were not un-common whilst waiting to be let into class.

[anon]

We had a penfold-like lab assistant called Mr. Collett, who was very gentle and sweet.

In our second hand Chemistry Textbooks, I found an elaborate heart on one of the diagrams inscribing the words “I love Mr. Collett”. These were dotted throughout the book.

I pointed these out to the great amusement of my surrounding peers, until I thoughtfully checked the front of the book, to be greeted with the name of my older sister.

As this was my first week at the school, I became quickly known as “that guy whose sister shagged the mole”.

Blue J

Mr Hartshorne, (aka Dribbler as he had a peculiar misfortune of uncontrollably overactive saliva glands), wasn’t a small man, roughly 5ft 10 inches square . He only had two labcoats; one which caught fire, and the other which stank of what he claimed was “chemicals”. Well, I suppose ‘stinky man sweat’ and ‘middleaged musk’ are technically ‘chemicals’.

Also, the back of said labcoat sported a veritable rainbow of coloured spots, where pupils had kindly decided to decorate his back with flicked fountain pen ink when he had turned around.

Is a member of the Chocolate Tasters Club.

[anon]

We had two lab assistants, one of either gender.

The male was not the usual, timid sort. He would stop and stand in the middle of the lab, put his hands on his hips, and push his crotch forward and look around, as if to say “See! I have a penis, teenaged girls! Look in the direction of my out-thrust penis!”

The female once blew a large blob of blood and snot out of her nose, into the full beaker she was carrying, when she laughed at one of the Chemistry teacher’s bad jokes.

This painted a nice enough picture of their married life between classrooms - him waving his cock around and her laughing blood onto it.

Hannah P

Simon H

Jon B

DG

Andy F

Dan W

Someone gave me a link to a picture on steakandcheese.com of a woman with a fork in her ‘front bottom.’ Is that the type of thing you’re after?

Davy

Not entirely true Log, when having a conversation on this particular subject with one of my ex-girlfriends (name omitted for legal reasons) I was informed that as an eight year old discovering the intricacies of the female form, she had once experimented with the leg of a Barbie doll. My all too prompt request to re-enact the sordid scene was unfortunately declined.

Bloody woman never did let me have any fun.

Mouse H

Jenny Turrell used to look like Jimmy Nail. This would lead to people interrupting conversations she was having, to inform the other person “she’s lying”, just like in the hit song “Ain’t No Doubt”.

She says
I don’t want nobody else, I love you
She’s lying
There won’t be somebody else and that’s true
She’s lying
Say you’ll always be my friend sweet darling

Note that Jimmy says “she’s lying” more than once, so it was perfectly acceptable for us to do the same. Anyway, it was rumoured that Jenny stuck Lynx Deodorant and a kind of plant up her arse. Her denials were ably met with;

" She’s lying. "

[anon]

Tombolian

Karl N

Laurence G

The next line is;

“Durexpect me to believe that”

[anon]

Alternative version.

Lezbie friends

Homo we won’t

Oh gay then

Mr D

The Tweedsmuir Intermediate version circa 1977

Lezbie friends!
Homo you Don’t!
I’m not in the nude for it!

vegemite s

“I jonny well do!!”

[anon]

Jim S

This will also lose its edge when the idiots get hold of it, saying it too slowly and ruining what was originally a good joke. Like when the same idiots suddenly start liking bands that used to be cool, before the idiots read one fucking copy of the NME and before you know it the video was on the fucking Twix Chart Show. Idiots.

Jon B

Actually, the accepted (and proper) usage is to go up to someone and say “If you lickadickaday say what.” If this was said quickly enough, the other person would often automatically say “What?”, thereby confirming that they do, indeed, perform an act of fellatio on a daily basis. Like a big honking poovter, or slag.

I don’t know what kind of retard school you lot went to, where you just straight asked people if they licked a dick a day, and expected them to say yes. You big dumb apes.

[anon]

Gavin

Jon B

Jon B

James H

Rob Y

Alex K

Loz

Neil C

If this is the same bloke I’m thinking of, this was just his warm up act. A few weeks after that incident he came to school with a small bottle of his man-goo and presented that to the same girl he gave his pubic hairs to. The quizical look on her face turned to horror when what she was holding in her hand became apparent to her. Needless to say this went down a lot worse than the pubic hairs and we were all pretty sure that any chance that he had with the girl were completely fucked.

Ashley S

I like it when that happens. People finding each other. I feel like Cilla Black, I really do.

Jon B

In teen flicks like Ferris Bueller or anything with Molly Ringwald in it, halting a History lesson to stand on your desk and read a love poem to the object of your affections in front of the whole class would earn you a round of applause and much *whooping*. The girl would say Yes Chud! and you would both run across the playing field, hand-in-hand, while the Principal looks on, choking back the tears yet maintaining a sobering level of dignity throughout.

When Ken Searle did it, on the other hand, it was the most painfully shit thing that I have ever seen. And he got a detention.

Dan L

Our school suffered a boy who would periodically fall in love with girls and express his feelings by giving them letters. Once girls began to talk about these letters, it turned out that they were word-for-word identical.

Not only that, but they contained the unforgivable phrase, “every guy deserves a chance…”

Synthia S

Propellerhed

<table border=“1” cellspacing=“0” cellpadding=“2”><tr><th> </th><th>Sandwich</th><th>Crisps</th><th>Snack</th><th>Drink</th></tr><tr><td>5</td><td>Deep filled, fresh, with two or more meats on wholegrain thick sliced bread.</td><td>Rippled or otherwise textured luxury snack.</td><td>Proper Chocolate Bar. Mars, Twix.</td><td>Can Coke or equivalent</td></tr><tr><td>4</td><td>Real, unprocessed meats on Mighty White.</td><td>Monster Munch or other highly flavoured crisp.</td><td>Mid-range chocolate. Penguin.</td><td>Carton Ribena</td></tr></tr><td>3</td><td>Standard cheese or processed ham on standard white bread.</td><td>Ready Salted Walkers</td><td>Budget chocolate. Ace, Taxi, Blue Riband.</td><td>Pouch Capri Sun</td></tr><tr><td>2</td><td>Elements of sweatiness. Sandwich droops when held by the edge.</td><td>10p Red Mill snack - Tangy Toms.</td><td>Fun Size Chocolate. Interpretable as an insult.</td><td>Tupperware Beaker Robinson’s Cordial</td></tr><tr><td>1</td><td>One Kraft Single between two unbuttered slices of a 7p loaf.</td><td>None</td><td>Two squares taken from a 500g bar of Dairy Milk. Fruit.</td><td>Tap Water</td></tr></table>

Your score, coupled with your social standing, will determing your treatment. For instance, a score of 12 is recommended for victims; any noticeable variance from the absolute average will result in unwelcome attention. For popular children, the higher the score the better. In a geek-friendly environment, fruit may actually be considered acceptable. To be honest, it’s a more complicated issue than this arena allows for, and to be even more honest I’m totally bored with the subject. Bye bye.

Jon B

Leftover fish fingers between paper-thin white bread, Panda Pop and apple, all served in grubby scratched tupperware…

It’s bad, isn’t it? I know it’s bad.

spadge m

If the tupperware is tinged orange from some contact with tomatoes many years ago, then yes, I’m afraid it’s bad.

[anon]

Early 80’s flask technology was simply not up to the job of keeping water hot enough for lunchtime Pot Noodles, so they were both luke warm AND crunchy.

Andy M

My mum used to make strange sandwiches, such as peanut-butter and bean sprouts or cream-cheese and bits of raw red-pepper. In wholemeal bread of course! Other wise it wouldn’t be good for you!

Alma

Below Viscounts, below Penguins, Bandits, way below Caramacs and as far as you could possibly get from Yo-Yos, were the carob-coated grass and rabbit tod monstrosities that I had to suffer, thanks to my mum’s membership of a wholesale wholefood wholly-shit co-op. I was not spared ridicule in the dinner room.

Carob - the chocolate replacement invented by angry vegans to ruin middle-class childhoods.

Matt F

In my opinion, cream cheese and red pepper sandwiches are very nice. However, cheddar cheese and jam isn’t. Cheers Dad.

Charlie W

The lunch lady tried to make me eat an accidently made lemon curd and ham sandwich. Which was just evil.

Sarah F

Should you have a penguin wrapper with the same colour as someone else at your table, correct etiquette dictates that you hold the still wrapped biscuits aloft, with an air of impenetrable brotherhood and superiority.

But watch out - yellow wrappers are gay, and the synergy of two gay wrappers meant that combining their energies would make you triple gay. And two people being triple gay is six times gay, from just two gay wrappers. That sort of spontaneous gay creation could cause a sex-rift, and summon a lesbian made from electricity.

Adam F

Blue Bounty Bars are objects of desire and great envy - they are amongst the most exotic of all the chocolate bars, thanks to the palm tree on the wrapper. Only Turkish Delight was swankier; so swanky, in fact, that the advert used a real scimitar to open the packet. On the very rare occasion that a Turkish Delight saw the light of day, your friends would often try to emulate this swankiest of unwrappings with a karate chop.

Anyway, the thing is, Red Bounties were gay. And even your classmates taking it off you and throwing it away wouldn’t stop you being gay, so they’d have to beat you up to stop you making them gay too.

Jon B

These days, especially amongst the urban 4x4 driving community, homemade bread will no doubt have a ‘wow’ factor. Children with names like ‘Oliver’ and ‘Harvey’ and fucking ‘Archie’ will open their lunchboxes and smugly chomp away on walnut foccacia.

But at rural schools, homemade bread was the epitomy of pikeyness. I mean, your mum can’t even afford BREAD? She can barely scrape together the price of flour and yeast? AND A PINCH OF SALT?

[anon]

Boglin