Law of the Playground

Mrs Smith

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 00:00:00 +0000

A non-racist version of Hello Pakistani featuring the inexpensive adventures of Mrs Smith's hole. And a jam roll.

Hello Mrs Smith
Can I have a penny whiff
of your hole
(sniff sniff)
Jam roll
(sniff sniff)
Does it smell
(sniff sniff)
Faaaaaaakinell

Barry B

Money for the cripple, cream for my nipple

Wed, 08 Nov 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Say this while holding your hand out requesting a charitable donation. Best said as ‘Money for the creeple, cream for my neeple’ as it sounds desperate and convincing.

No-one ever asked about the whereabouts of the ‘creeple’, or to see the affected ’neeple’, nor did they technically actually donate any money. Still, it’s better than bloody Children in Need, isn’t it?

Joe B

Mr Winklemann

Fri, 22 Sep 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Mr Winklemann, our German teacher, loves ducks.

Sensing mickey-taking, he once put a student into detention when he went up to him and told him (in German, mind) that he too ’liked ducks'.

He has a pet duck, and once said that the TV show, Inspector Rex, would be better, and worth watching, if his duck was in it.

[anon]

motorbikes, imaginary

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 00:00:00 +0000

We had developed a habit of riding invisible motorcycles around the corridors of our secondary school, accompanied by sound effects. As this was done without regard for the health & safety of non-participants, the headmaster saw fit to ban the practice.

One day he had caught Kenneth Keene and James Spencer joyriding in the corridor, and was in the middle of giving them a ticking off when another ‘biker’ came tearing past them. The furious head shouted at Ken to go after the boy and bring him back, so Ken climbed on his imaginary bike, kickstarted it and roared off in hot pursuit.

Jon C

Music Teachers

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 00:00:00 +0000

We used to have a music teacher called Mr. Hewit who looked like a ginger Art Garfunkle and pointed at the hymn line on the overhead projector with his middle finger. How wude!

[anon]

We had a substitute music teacher who reputedly got sucked off at college by a well known opera singer whose name sounds a bit like ‘Weslie Parrot’.

That’s enough - LOTP Lawyers

Gilbey M

Maypole dancing, assault by

Thu, 01 Dec 2005 00:00:00 +0000

School bully and all round fat cunt Rebecca Stubbs was flattened by me applying my maypole ribbon across her overdeveloped chest as we danced around the Maypole. Kudos lasted only until break time when I had to hide.

Sadly, despite the limited opportunity for premeditated assault, Maypole dancing was the only Pagan rite tolerated by our school. My requests for a wicker man went entirely unheeded.

What about Morris dancing? A dried pig’s bladder upside da bitch’s head wouldda been DOPE - Mansh

Miss Lee looks up your skirt

Wed, 26 Oct 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Miss Lee was our hippy Deputy Head who ran meditation sessions some lunchtimes. It proved quite popular, but you had to make sure you wore your gym shorts, because everyone knew that Miss Lee lifted up your skirt when you were ‘hypnotised’.

No thought was given to how someone COULD hypnotise a whole room of girls or why she would WANT to look up girls’ skirts.

_the _

My 2nd year Maths teacher had a regular habit of “dropping” pencils next to girls who were wearing short skirts, so that when he went to pick them up, he’d grab a sneak peek.

He’s now a supporters representative of a football club and, as a journalist, I have briefed my colleagues of his previous reputation. So when he has occasion to make an appearance at a press conference to moan about managers/chairmen etc, the air is filled with the sound of the assembled press dropping pencils on the floor.

We’re onto you, Perv.

[anon]

Milk crates

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 00:00:00 +0000

In the days before Thatcher stole our breaktime school milk, the bottles were delivered to my Primary school in two differently-coloured crates.

It was crucial that you got your bottle from the green crate because, of course, “Green green, the football team”. Taking one from the red crate was social death, because, naturally, “red red, you wet your bed”.

Milk from the red crate definitely tasted worse as well.

[anon]

Miss Pugh

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Miss Pugh was originally renamed Miss Spew, until we realised that Pugh rhymes with nearly everything. We got this far before our young vocabularies ran out;

I saw you, and Scooby Doo, in the loo at half past two, in london Zoo shagging Miss Pugh while doing a poo in your shoe.

Nowadays, of course, we’d have had lines like “you eschew my poos of reddish hue to guzzle the goo of a kangaroo”. But back then, it was all about foot-scat cottaging threesomes with dogs.

Milkshake Grenades

Thu, 15 Sep 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Rather than play such mainstream games at lunch such as football, my friends and I used to save our cash for the lunchtime game of Milkshake Fights . Standing at either end of the playground, teams would lob strawberry and chocolate milkshake cartons at each other with the hope of getting someone else’s shoes messy.

I once hit a hard kid by accident, but escaped a beating by saying that my brother was as hard as nails. I suspect that the fact this ploy worked says more about Ryan Peters pussydom than it does about my brother.

David G

Two teams, one playground/car park. One (unopened) can of coke. The can is thrown back and forth, and must keep moving until it’s empty. Sometimes it’s a little pinhole fracture that forces the liquid out like a fire hose, sometimes it’s a catastrophic-failure explosion. Or if you’re very lucky, it’s Simon Jarvis ending up concussed, blood running down his face, while a fit-to-burst yet still unopen can rolls gently down the kerb.

Zastrozzi t

Magic Table, The

Tue, 09 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

“What’s underneath the Magic Table?” I asked, out of the blue, one lunchtime.

Naturally curious, I bent my head to investigate the source of the witchcraft and wizardry, which proved to be Jane McKeating’s eight year old, hairless genitals.

Steven J

When we were five, Daniel Davies and I would drop our pencils under the table during handwriting practice, and spend the pencil-recovery time looking up the girls’ skirts.

‘Magic Table’ caught on so well that when the teacher left the room, dozens of pencils would clatter to the floor and all of the boys would congregate underneath the table.

It grew so popular that the girls started to do it too, and thus the “Magic Table” vanished in a puff of logic.

Neal V

My Arse

Thu, 04 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

A game to play when you’re bored. It looks like you’re really interested in what the teacher has to say. But in reality, you’re just waiting for him to say “put your hands up” so that you can all mutter “my arse” afterwards.

With a good enough mental library of double entendres, just about anything the teacher says can be followed with “my arse”, with hilarity inevitably ensuing.

Oh, and Mr Jones, once you’ve realised just how immature your class really is, moaning ‘oh come on…’ isn’t really going to help matters.

Moonface Alpha

Tue, 02 Aug 2005 00:00:00 +0000

A particularly spotty individual who was deemed to have more than just a crater-face amount of acne.

[anon]

Mary Poppins, release date, anti-semitism averted by

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

If Mary Poppins had been released in 1934 instead of 30 years later, the unofficial anthem of the SS would surely have been;

Let’s go fry a kike
Let’s set them all alight
Let’s go fry a kike
And send them roaring
Up to the atmosphere
Until the race is clear
Oh let’s go fry a kike

This does nothing for the claims that Walt Disney held anti-semitic views. It doesn’t really do me any favours, either.

Miss....!

Thu, 21 Jul 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Our English teacher, Miss Richardson, was notable for her complete inability to maintain order in the classroom. Then she became pregnant. Get in .

Someone would shout out “Miss!” to get her attention. Someone else would follow this up by shouting “carriage!”. She loved us for that.

[anon]

'm' word, the

Sat, 16 Jul 2005 00:00:00 +0000

To this day I have puzzled over a third year primary school child who, in a delirious gloating panic, ran up to one of the teachers exclaiming “Miss, Miss, he just said the ‘M’ word!”

It’s no good. Thirty minutes thought I’ve given to this now, at my employer’s expense. Does anyone know what the ‘M’ word is? - Conor

Bionic S

…and before hundreds of you write in (oops, too late), it’s not ‘minge’ or ‘motherfucker’. Both are considerably beyond the horizon of the seven year old’s swear radar, and anyway I’ve checked with the author. So think on.

milky bar grandad

Mon, 04 Jul 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Mr Travers was a very old supply teacher who had hair the creamy-yellowish colour of a Milky Bar. It was therefore traditional to greet his entry into the classroom with a rousing chorus of the Milky Bar song. We enjoyed a love-hate relationship with him until the day Rachel Dawes put a drawing pin on his chair and he sat on it and morphed into the fire-breathing detention-giver of doom.

[anon]

Mr Jolly

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

A huge and ferocious spider kept in a jar by David Margetts and Robert Clarke during a nature project at primary school.

Other boys caught their own spiders who were brought in to challenge Mr Jolly’s arachnid supremacy. Mr Jolly tore the legs off and subsequently ate any spider foolish enough to enter his battle-jar. He was HARD!

The girls’ spider was called Fred and they wouldn’t let him fight Mr Jolly. My God, girls are shit.

Musical sine wave

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

During assembly we were ordered to sing hymns, but since everyone hates singing, especially hymns , Mr Duckworth walked up and down the aisle that separated two blocks of chairs to ensure that everyone was singingk, and enjoying themselves.

We were later told by the physics teacher that people only sang when Mr Duckworh passed them, thereby creating a “musical sine wave” as he walked up and down the aisle, growing increasingly angry at the fact no-one was enjoying singing hymns.

red a

Matey and Everitt

Fri, 17 Jun 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Legend had it that Gary Everitt got his cock stuck up the bath tap. How or why this happened the legend never stated, but we knew it must be true because, well, he looked the type.

A song was composed to the tune of the Matey bubblebath advert on TV at the time:

*Gary Everitt’s a bottle of fun

You put him in the bath

He sticks it up the tap

and everyone has a laugh!*

He had to endure 5 years of this song, which was passed down to the years below and was particularly enjoyed by his younger brother, who presumably gained a good deal of revenge for older-sibling-based bullying.

Jim G

Mr Randall's SAS suit

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

A bullying opportunity which crossed cultural and social barriers.

It was originally based around the rumour that Mr Randall used to be a member of the SAS and that he kept his black embassy storming suit in a small shed behind the art block.

Victims from lower years would be invited to see it, but their excitement upon entering would soon turn to panic as the shed door was closed behind them and wedged shut.

With a variation of the bait used, anyone, no matter how weedy, could terrorize an even weedier pupil from a lower year.

Thus the geek kids in my year were once seen enticing a bespectacled “quiet child” from the first year into the shed. Probably with the promise that the shed contained a very rare D&D figure, an exciting range of chemistry apparatus or a girl with meccano tits.

Tony G

marmite slice

Thu, 20 Jan 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Here is an old joke that I cannot fathom to this day. Please help me fathom it.

An Englishman, Scotsman and Irishman enter a haunted house which contains a single slice of Marmite-slathered bread. As the Englishman hungrily reaches for the snack, a terrifying voice booms, “I told you once, I told you twice: do not eat that Marmite slice!” The Scotsman, too, is frightened away from the slice; but the foolhardy Irishman consumes it, whereupon the voice sniggers, “I told you once, I told you twice: I wiped my bum on that Marmite slice.”

Of course it is funny that the Irish ate a poo, but the joke is not satisfying, in millions of ways.

1. Whose was the mysterious voice? Why did a voice poo on the bread? And - crucially - how did three sane men mistake the poo for Marmite?

1,000,000. For the first two cycles of the joke, he hadn’t told us twice, and for the very first, he hadn’t even told us once. Changing the words from “told” to “warn” doesn’t suddenly reset the counter. Or does it? Frankly I’m drunk.

What this joke proves, conclusively, is that Irishes eating a poo is funnier than common sense.

Paul Equinox C

A child stumbled across a delicious-looking brown slice. Licking his lips, he reaches out for the slice, only to be hindered by a ghost.

“I told you once, I told you twice,

Do not eat that Marmite Slice”

The boy shrugged. A ghost who falsified the number of warnings he had given with such brazen indifference to the intelligence of his audience was hardly to be trusted. He picked up the tasty brown slice and devoured it greedily. The ghost seemed unimpressed.

“I told you once, I told you twice,

I wiped my bum on that Marmite Slice”

The child, noting that the number of warnings now tallied with reality, saw that he had misunderstood - the first rhyme was, in fact, a prophecy: and what he had just eaten was not Marmite Slice at all, but an ethereal stripe of ghoul turd.

“Wait a minute,” the child said. “Why did you call it a Marmite Slice, if it was ghost shit? And since when did ghosts expel corporeal waste? And who calls Marmite on toast a Marmite Slice ? What the fuck is this, ghost?”

The ghost shrugged. “You ask a lot of questions for a boy with shit in his mouth.”

David W

Molymods

Tue, 11 Jan 2005 00:00:00 +0000

Word owing its origin to a fusion of the two words molecule and models . These brightly coloured kits of plastic balls and flexible grey sticks were routinely handed out in organic chemistry classes to allow pupils to visualize complex hydrocarbons by building them themselves.

The perennial teacher cry of “don’t just make a man and a dog” was traditionally met by a bunch of children waving a man and his little dog.

[anon]

We took this one a stage further by making things that kind of looked like rhinos. They could use their horns to flick smaller molecules across a table. We used to play complex games of Rhino Tennis with these, the winner being the one who didn’t block the sink with a hydrogen or get caught.

I am now studying Chemistry as a degree, which just shows how good they were.

I do miss them.

Kevin D

Megahertz

Sun, 21 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Sounding uncannily like ‘mega hurts’, when used in questions, can cause physics-minded kids to unwittingly consent to a solid beating.

What’s that, Spod? You want 10,000 Mega Hurts? Well, OK, but it’s going to be painful…

Simon, can you help me with something that’s been bothering me? I was just wondering what you call a thousandth of a mega hurts. [receives answer] He says he wants a killer hurts, Stephen. Would you be so kind?

Before you look them all up, the only other ones that kinda work are “terror hurts”, but that’s a bit rubbish because you’d have to pull a scary face while you’re punching, and “fem two hurts”, which is tenuously useful if you’re punching two lady’s tits.

[anon]

Mosh Pit!

Sun, 14 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

This should be bellowed at volume in a packed corridor, giving all present license to start shoving and punching those in close proximity.

jon j

Mummy Hamsters

Wed, 10 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

My (technically correct, you'll note) answer to the question “Where do hamsters come from?” in a Primary School Geography lesson. Had I not been watching a dog running outside, I'd have known the answer she was looking for was 'The Sahara Desert'. Hilarity, as you can well imagine, ensued.

[anon]

middle, it's snapped in the

Mon, 01 Nov 2004 00:00:00 +0000

You know when you sharpen a pencil, right? And you’re excited, because you’re going to draw a picture of your family outside your house, and you’ve learned how to draw bricks and what’re probably seagulls.

But when you apply pencil to paper, the nib of your brilliant new sharp pencil gives, and flakes out to one side.

Pulling out the nubbin of graphite, you start to sharpen the pencil again. But now, you have about an eighth of an inch of futile non-sharpening, in which there is no “lead”, just a broken collar of wood. While you do this, the mental image of your family outside your house is fading, like the photo of Marty McFly in Back to the Future.

After seconds seeming like minutes, you will have sharpened the pencil again, and paid no heed to the clicking sound that didn’t feel like a natural part of the pencil-sharpening process. This recklessness will come back to haunt you, sooner than you think.

With your tongue hooked over your top lip, you start to draw the outline of your father’s head. After a quarter of the circle is completed, your fingertips sense something awry, and it feels like a premonition when the pencil lead snaps once again.

That feeling of foresight leads to an overwhelmingly frustrating sense of I could have done something to stop it . This, heaped on top of the injustice of a twice-snapping pencil, can bring tears of impotence to the child who just wants to draw his mummy and daddy holding hands.

The explanation given by mothers and scientists in this situation is that " it’s probably snapped in the middle “.

Jon B

A similarly horrifying experience was if the snapped-off pencil lead stayed stuck in the end of the sharpener, causing the blade to slide impotently over the wood, no matter how hard you turned the pencil. Brown pencil crayons were particularly prone to this snapping-off phenomenon, and were guaranteed to provoke tears of hot frustration when you were in the middle of colouring in a picture of a big, fat poo.

Nick H

Masturbate, inability to

Sat, 23 Oct 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Meet B. You could describe B as small, shivery, asthmatic, bespectacled. You could also describe him as religious, so he was almost perfect for good natured probing.

One day, we were gently interrogating him about his wanking regime; he replied that it was sinful, then became wincingly tight-lipped on the matter. Eventually, a larger child got whiff of the conversation, and boomed “what, don’t you wank, B?”

He finally exploded; " No, I don’t, and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could! "

There was five seconds of perfect silence, while every child said Grace for the wonderful gift they had been given.

Doc

Mong Dolly

Thu, 14 Oct 2004 00:00:00 +0000

A toy that - if you weren’t educationally subnormal - would be snatched from you and confiscated, with an unsympathetic order to " grow up “.

You are only allowed a mong dolly if a) you are a mong, and b) you’re willing to cry for six hours if anyone so much as touches it.

[anon]

Mallet

Tue, 12 Oct 2004 00:00:00 +0000

A male who has yet to grow pubic hair. Or - and this is the tricky bit - anyone who does not know what a mallet is.

Doktor R

motorcycle, michael michael

Sat, 01 May 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Michael Michael Motorcycle,
Turn the key and watch him pee.

The stock schoolyard chant for when you wanted to torment someone by the name of Michael for no other reason than the fact that his name was Michael.

Other popular variants include “John John Leprechaun”, who also did a pee when you turned a key.

[anon]

my name is Jacob and I like eggs!

Sun, 21 Mar 2004 00:00:00 +0000

In the first tutorial together, pupils are forced to do introduction exercises, teling the class their name, and telling them a bit about themselves. “My name is Jacob and I like eggs” was the appalling example offered by the form tutor to get the ball rolling.

It did prove to be a bonding experience for the class, in that we bonded by saying “Hello, my name is Jacob and I like eggs” for half an hour.

Alan D

Murder Ball

Wed, 17 Mar 2004 00:00:00 +0000

This was a kind of ‘Tag’ game, played by hurling a tennis ball at someone’s head from shockingly short range to make them ‘it’.

As throws from behind were perfectly legal, it was quite possible not to realise you were playing until you felt a stunning blow to your occipital.

It was soon decided that tennis balls simply weren’t murderous enough, and so they were replaced firstly by cricket balls, which themselves were succeded (on account of not having ’enough corners’) by large cubes of solid pine stolen from the woodwork room.

Luckily, the game was outlawed before someone took the decision that lumps of timber simply weren’t ‘Ninja throwing star-y enough’.

Andy M

The climax of Murder Ball - for the loser - was often the ‘Tunnel of Death’. Everyone playing would stand facing a wall, with their arms forming the roof of the tunnel. The loser would then have to crawl through while everyone kicked the shit out of him, while somberly intoning ‘Tunnel of Death, Tunnel of Death, Tunnel of Death’.

No-one ever died in the Tunnel of Death. Some wished they had.

Ste C

We played a variant called “Roller Balloon”, due to a very tenuous similarity to Rollerball .

Basically, you all sit in a circle and pat a balloon to each other. The person who allows the balloon to touch the floor gets the shit kicked out of them by everyone else. This game is interesting more for its combination of the frankly rather gay activity of patting a balloon with ultra-butch macho hitting.

Can also be played with a kinder egg.

[anon]

Mercy

Wed, 11 Feb 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Very well known game, in which combatants link fingers and attempt to get the other person to say ‘mercy’ by damaging the other person’s wrists as painfully as possible. More fun if you use the other person’s hands to hit themselves mid-bout, BUT watch out for the one in 2,000 children whose wrists bend back painlessly to meet their arms.

These children can never lose at mercy, and even if they’re too weak to get a mercy out of you, there’s no dignity to be had from trying to hurt someone who is smiling in that sickening way that shit people have when they’re doing the one thing they’re good at.

Additionally, if you let go, that constitutes a ‘mercy’, so you’re stuck - effectively holding hands - with this leering feebler, until he gets bored. And he won’t get bored, because he’s doing the one thing he’s good at.

Just be careful, is all.

Jon B

For a more painful mercy, stand back to back with your hands between your legs, grab your opponent’s hands, and pull upwards.

Impotence and red piss are guaranteed for the loser. Emphasising your victory by jumping as high as you can is considered brutal, but necessary.

The only downside to the game was that it looked as though you back-bumming - see http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=3954.

Dai

Mr. Marsden's toilet.

Fri, 06 Feb 2004 00:00:00 +0000

Mr. Marsden’s classroom was right next to one of the boy’s toilets. One day we caught Marsden’s son Owen in the cubicle with his ear pressed against the wall, listening to his Dad teach whilst having a big fat wank.

waffle

Meany Christmas

Sun, 21 Dec 2003 00:00:00 +0000

When your handwriting isn’t all that good, as it tends not to be when you are nine, you might write “Merry Christmas” so that it looks a little like “Meany Christmas”.

Then, if your teacher is the hysterical sort, who can’t abide there to be any hint of unpleasantness in the world and squeals at the merest whiff of Roald Dahl, she might rip up that card, throw it in the bin, and scream “Have a Meany Christmas? What a horrible thing to write! You awful child!”

And when the child tearfully explains that it said " Merry “, that same teacher - the one who strives for a perfect world in which children never have to feel pain - looks into that child’s baffled and hurt eyes, sees that she has ripped up his innocence, and hopefully spends the rest of her life clawing at her own forearms like a damn maniac.

Araxoth T

An insufferably dull History lesson inspired us to draw Mr Smyth a completely normal, non-piss-taking Christmas card - because, we reasoned, it was likely to be the only one he would ever receive.

He caught us, ripped it up before throwing it in the bin and shouting ‘What the BLOODY hell are you doing?’

When we answered the question truthfully, the look on his face of sheer guilt mixed with woebegone loneliness made for a wholly unexpected and welcome conclusion to the affair.

Tim H

Mars Bar Party

Sun, 14 Dec 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Yet another joyful urban myth that left children agog, the Mars Bar Party was briefly the talk of every town.

This Roman-esque orgy of an event involved lots of women willing to pop Mars Bars (lower rent Taxi or 5-4-3-2-1 parties were relatively scarce) inside themselves, to be eaten by the lucky boys in attendance. If there were enough women, some boys might even get two Mars Bars - yum!

A well-developed fantasy given our age; very few of us had sticky dreams by this stage. The one function this urban myth briefly served was to cause any girl seen eating a Mars Bar to be instantly labelled an orgy-crazed cock-demon, in so many words.

Tyrannosaurus F

Oh! Oh! I drew a picture of a Mars Bar Party during a german exchange visit. Featuring Florian, who was the brother of one of the german girls.

We were under the impression that continental europe was a liberal, eurotrashesque utopia of unshockable, if style-less people. So we showed, (and explained) the picture to the german host family. And then had to live with them for another week.

Kate

Mini Baby Bells

Fri, 12 Dec 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The cheeky little cheeses were a source of endless fun for tykes like myself. A ‘hotpipe’ area where coats would hang from heated piping was the prime opportunity to balance the red wax casing, and let it drip down people’s coats.

We became known as - well, we called ourselves - The Stabbers because of the horrific Ripper-esque bloodstains from the red patches of molten wax. It may not have been as dramatic as I’m making it sound.

matches burning twice

Thu, 27 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Large Child : Do you know how to make a match burn twice?

Small Child : Gasp - surely that isn’t possible?

Large Child : But it is!

Small Child : Then show me! Show me this magical match!

Big child strikes a match, blows it out, then sticks it on the arm of the small child.

Roy H

Milky Bar Kid

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

The only legitimate nickname for the class albino.

Apart from Superhonky of course. And the slightly less popular Senor Blinky .

[anon]

What about Casper? Great White? Cue-ball? Mary Whitehouse? Mr White White McWhitey White, the Whitest White with WEIRD EYES?

Mouse H

MC Spanner

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

MC Hammer sounds a bit like MC Spanner. This was combined with “Wanking Spanners” to make MC Spanner a term for wanker.

Fairly basic, but always a pleasure to see someone interrupt a conversation with - Stop - Spanner Time - then mime wanking for a while.

[anon]

Midland Extended Play

Sat, 01 Nov 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Extended Play

In order to extend a playtime, the entire school would throw their bags into a massive teetering pile toward the end of break. Obviously the teachers couldn’t allow us back into class without our bags, so they all had to be sorted.

Midland Extended Play

Extended play became even more extended when the Midland (the only local bank) offered every child a free low-rent black nylon holdall, if they opened an account. By the time we’d sorted over a hundred identical black bags to their proper owners, it was dinner time.

Except for the flash cunt with the Head bag, who went in on time and had to do some hard sums.

Ben K

mates

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

Randy 5th former Graham took a strong liking to our French teacher and sent her a card declaring his intentions. He included a packet of three condoms and the punchline “from me and my Mates”. What he hoped to achieve by this and what actually happened are events that belong to different sets that intersect at no point.

Dom T

Mr Jennar's eyesight

Sat, 04 Oct 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Mr Jennar had to wear glasses with lenses like icecubes. To help him out I would do my homework in impossibly small writing using a 0.015 Rotring art pen and a magnifying glass; I found that by doing this I generally got improved marks. I can only assume that he didn’t want to let on that he was technically blind, and simply gave my shoddy offerings the benefit of the doubt.

Andy M

We had a supply teacher in year 6 called Mr Maughan who was blind in one eye. Consequently, his eyes appeared to look in different directions.

When he shouted, “You boy!! Stand up!” , a lack of further clarification would result in anywhere between 2 and 20 boys standing up, mostly looking confused and bewildered at having been pulled away from a really good long division sum.

[anon]

my aunt nellie

Fri, 26 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

My Aunt Nellie had a hole in her belly

And a hole in the biscuit tin

She was sitting on the grass

With her finger up her arse

And her tits going ding-a-ling-a-ling.

If anybody has any theories as to where the biscuit tin fits in to all this, I’d love to know.

Jon

The biscuit tin is where she keeps her biscuits, I should wager.

[anon]

Oh, Richard Irons. People like you deserved all the abuse they suffered at school. *All* of it.

Nick H

Another song may explain what the biscuit tin was for;

Oli oli oli,
Put your tits in the trolley,
and your balls in the biscuit tin

And i can’t remember the rest.

griff

This variation of the Aunt Nellie rhyme is for a man called Mike, and dispenses entirely with the frivolous whimsy of the biscuit tin.

Mike, Mike

Does your mother ride a bike?

With her finger up her ring

Ding a ling ling.

Is it the bike going ding a ling ling, or is that the noise Mike’s mum makes when she sticks her finger up her ring? We never found out.

Medibot E

My Friend Billy Had A Ten-Foot Willy

Fri, 19 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The definitive version of this hardy perennial primary school classic follows:

My friend Billy had a ten-foot willy
And he showed it to the girl next door.
She thought it was a snake
So she hit it with a rake
And now it's only 2 foot 4.

In some areas, the willy was left at a rather more impressive 5'4", which would have been of little consolation to Billy, who would have suffered considerable rake trauma and the loss of his helmet.

ms.

Wed, 17 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

In the time pre-post-feminism, this was the title of choice for some female teachers who refused to be identified on the basis of their marital status.

Roughly translates as too old to be single, too dowdy to be married . Whispered accusations of lesbianism would follow.

Jon

Mum

Mon, 08 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

What not to call ones chemistry teacher in class, or any other time for that matter. Unless, by some strange quirk of fate she is your mum, but that would make you her uncle or something.

Nath D

Another situation in which you should never shout mum - and there are many - is when you have been stung by a bee. And you are in your shorts, during a P.E. lesson. And you are running towards your teacher, who is a man.

Although the hysteria will get everyone sent to the changing rooms early, you will never convince anyone that your mother isn’t a big hairy man.

[anon]

I didn’t say “Mum”, but after being pushed over by another kid outside the school gates, I walked all the way home, bawling my eyes out with my hand up in the air. Kudos minus infinity.

[anon]

Myyeeerrrrs

Mon, 08 Sep 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Myers was a kid in my games class who was made entirely of spheres. He wasn’t really picked on that much, but after and before every games class, in the changing rooms EVERYONE would shout Myers in a drawn-out fashion (emphasis on the ‘yer’ part). We even changed pitch like a motorbike changing gears. It was odd, someone would just start it and you had to join in. He always cried.

Graeme G

Alex Myers wet himself,
Wet himself,
Wet himself.
Alex Myers wet himself,
WET
HIM
SELF.

Sung at my school’s very own ‘Myyeeerrrrs’ because he once stood up from his chair in maths to reveal a wet buttock shaped patch. He never became too angry at this little chant because it meant that, for a few minutes at least, we stopped singing about the fact he fingered his dog.

Aly

Paul Statham once spat in my sandwich. In memory of this crime I composed the following refrain, sung to the tune of Grieg’s In The Hall of the Mountain King :

*Statham is a fucking cunt

Fucking cunt

Statham is a fucking cunt

A fucking, fucking cunt.*

Not big on variety or lyrical invention perhaps, but like many simple mantras it contained a kernel of profound truth.

[anon]

Miss, mischievous use of

Sun, 24 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

When playing Battleships in study period, under the tolerant eye of a female teacher, be sure to report unlucky guesses with a plaintive “Miss…”, thus ensuring that she constantly has to look up from her work.

[anon]

Magic E

Sat, 09 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

An animated wizard, who had special e-mazing powers. Voiced by Derek Griffiths, he would sing;

Fat becomes fate with me!
Rat becomes rate with me!
and of course
Shit becomes shite with me!
I’m magic magic E…

After comically noting that shit becomes shite with him, children would rack their brains, without success, to think of another rude word ending in a removeable “e”.

Gary W

pube - some people might say it’s childish, but i still find it funny at 26, so what do they fucking know?

(See also “rap becomes rape with e”. A cautionary tale for the hip hop generation. -Susan)

dan u

How about ‘Wankr becomes Wanker with me…’?

Harry, you might like to see http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=5, to guage the degree to which you have just entirely missed the point. Can anyone else see how Harry has missed the point of “a word that becomes a rude word when you add the letter e to the end” in two distinct ways?

Harry N

Maggots

Fri, 08 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Game played on school trips in dormitories. Consisted of combat between by boys who had to remain at all times on the floor wrapped up in duvets. Were it a cartoon scene, the word “squirm” would appear three times in each frame.

Maggots had no winners - play was its own reward.

Julian B

Magic Potions

Tue, 05 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The Magic Potion would be made from a hlaf-empty yoghurt pot, plus added ingredients such as barbeque crisps, bread crusts, apple pips and anything else to hand . The challenge was to make it as big and filthy a mix as possible, and for it to be stirred clockwise with the dinner-lady’s pen, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

The hapless yogurt owner would then have to eat this mess. If sucessful and was able to keep the mix down for more than ten minutes they were crowned “the Great Sage” for the lunchtime. If they lost the contents of lunch within the ten minutes, they were made to eat grass, because that’s what cats do when they have a dodgy stomach.

Lorna R

After George’s Marvellous Medicine was read on Jackanory (by Rik Mayall), my sister and I elected to make our own version. But rather than having curative properties, ours would be deadly toxic, and we would use it to poison the children at our school for whom we harboured a dark hatred.

So a Stork Margarine container was procured and a series of top-secret raids on household cupboards was organised. We managed to include a paracetamol, numerous cleaning products, goldfish medicine, Jolen facial hair bleach and shampoo. In a fit of conscience, my sister threw the medicine down the lav while I was occupied, riding around the garden in horse form. Her feeble excuse was that “we can’t just go round poisoning people at the school”. Surely she had not thought this was any more than a childish game? I wasn’t really going to poison anyone; I just wanted to make sure they didn’t go down with fin rot.

Cherry G

Matnik

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

The noise that a spastic produces when trying to say the word "spastic". Probably.

Sarcaustic

MAG

Mon, 07 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Shouted and accompanied by a flexing of a little finger. Denotes the possession of a unimpressive member. An abbreviation of Maggot, which little willies look like.

Variations include, maggee , Mr. Magoo , magga magga magga and magwaaaaah , shouted in a Zippy from Rainbow style voice.

The only reversal is, sadly, lacking in finesse. Simply shout back “No you’re the MAG! I’m a MONSTER!” Meaning, obviously, that your penis is huge, and very hairy indeed.

Brian B

Have you ever seen a maggot spit?
No…
Well, wank harder then.

[anon]

Mr Sparrow

Sun, 06 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Music teacher. Quotes included;

“Tell me, exactly what is funk?” - after Jack said that his composition was based on funk. - “Tell me, exactly what is soul?” - after Jack said that funk derives from soul.
On Elvis Costello - “I thought Jailhouse Rock was excellent” - “Of course, you can only get electric bass guitars” And, outside of music:
“You know, when we went over to sort out Afghanistan, I think we all expected to see them all living in tents and mud huts and things, but it was clear they’d derived some of the building ideas from the west” - After laughing raucously for about two minutes - “What am I laughing about?”

He also reckoned that I listened to “outrageous music” after performing a Beatles song and a Red Hot Chili Peppers song for performance. Outrageous indeed…

Charlie W

My Queen\'s Fairy Liquid

Sat, 05 Jul 2003 00:00:00 +0000

A type of washing up liquid that isn't actually Fairy Liquid, but shares an advertising agency.

On hearing Martin Newman singing “hands that do dishes feel as soft as your face, with my queen's Fairy Liquid”, I informed him that the correct line was “mild green Fairy Liquid”.

Rather than admit this simple mistake, he told me that actually he had been singing the advert for the other Fairy Liquid, whose full name was “My Queen's Fairy Liquid”. Apparently they had used exactly the same tune and almost identical lyrics. Even Martin was surprised by this; the conversation ended with him saying “god knows why they used the same tune…” and giving a nervous laugh.

phil : As joyous a tale of hole-diggery as this is, the fact remains that you were both singing along with washing up liquid adverts. The pair of you must be considered quite the double act at dinner parties.

[anon]

My Catholic Faith

Tue, 15 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Maths teacher Mr Rawlinson used to throw the board duster at us with unerring accuracy if we were misbehaving.

However, for particularly unruly acts, he kept a huge book called “My Catholic Faith” which he dragged out and whacked us on the arse with.

- supermoving

Merry Hill House

Wed, 09 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The residential home of choice for pupils studying Community Studies between 1980-87. Once weekly visits included pupils interviewing residents, helping the staff and writing a weekly report. This culminated in the pupils coming back to Merry Hill House at the end of the school year to give presentations to the staff and residents.

One girl did a talk on ’lovely old Elspeth and her fondness for peppermint creams’ Barry Rush did a song written for the residents which warmed the hearts of everyone. Then Roy Bird presented us with his highly complicated, mathematical graph of the most common causes of death amongst residents and even predicted at what age the remaining residents would die and of what cause.

Our school was subsequently banned from sending pupils to the MMH.

[anon]

Marcus Mellor's Magical Briefcase

Tue, 08 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Having cornered the marble market in his first year, in his second year Marcus Mellor rapidly established himself as the pornography kingpin of our school.

He dealt his grubby wares from a large, tatty, black briefcase held together with masking tape, and always filled to bursting point with an seemingly unlimited quantity of top-shelf magazines.

His empire came to an abrupt and spectacular end. Running to a lesson, his briefcase burst open, spilling Clubs, Razzles, Fiestas and Mayfairs in a slithering tide down the stairs. Despite his desperate entreaties, they were hoovered up within seconds by a huge crowd of unbelieving boys. I still can’t watch aid convoys arrive in famine-stricken towns without being reminded of the event.

Dancing B

I can claim superiority: I ran a similar operation in the last year of primary school. So not only was I really young, but I am also a girl , and was even then.

I would steal the raw material from under my best friend’s brother’s bed, cut out the best bits, and staple them together into little booklets, with plain covers onto which the boys could write “The Battle of Agincourt”, or something. These little creations would sell for 50p.

(No thanks to the fusty careers adviser, I now get paid for doing something not entirely dissimilar.)

spadge m

Mockjop Supper

Sat, 05 Apr 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The method by which you got rid of a person you no longer wished to associated yourself with. The least popular person of the group, you sent them to the nearest chip shop for the mockjop supper , and when they returned you had all buggered off.

This left the poor supper-ee bewildered, confused, and thoroughly rejected. But with a nice bit of fish.

Brother Benji W

Make Friends, Make Friends

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

(never, never break friends/if you do/you’ll catch the flu/and that will be the end of you.)

So we all know this one, but interestingly enough, the popular comedian Adam Bloom genuinely believes he invented this rhyme, in a playground in Richmond in 1977. No one else knew it before he invented it, and he will accept no argument to the contrary.

Susan T

In girl scouts, we had a song that went “Make new friends but keep the old; one is silver and the other is gold.” which we promptly adapted to “Kick new friends but pee on the old; one is slimy and the other is mould.” Don’t ask.

Mental Man

Thu, 20 Mar 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Mental Man lived on the Perrysfield estate. He would catch any child who got too near during daily taunting sessions, and would only release them when the police were called. This happened daily, for at least six years. Neither children nor Mental Man ever learned, but Mental Man did at least have an excuse, being mental.

Dinner D

Man in Jack-in-the-Box, The

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

Man with Jack-in-the-box, The, noun phrase.

Best known example of a freestyle epic narration (a form of oral storytelling in which profoundly eccentric characters have endless serial adventures in a world that is in various unforeseeable ways hostile to their existence).

A story featuring a man cursed with the possession - which he could never put down - of a large jack-in-the-box whose ‘jack’ could spring to a height of twenty metres; an optimistic young girl; a monk who had mastered a meditative technique in which one relocated one’s own centre of gravity to a point some way in front of oneself (this made walking impossible; he could only fall from place to place), and other minor figures. This trio encounters many trials as they negotiate, for example, perilous roof gardens made of papier mache and corridors which contrary to the laws of perspective, physically narrow to a single point.

The story was developed by the boys who didn’t play touch football.

Gil S

The Adventures of Licky Bongo

These adventures were always detailed by Mudge on school trips - coaches inducing a mild form of cabin fever. Lickybongo’s adventures included him being chased by a crocodile and escaping by pulling an inflatable QE2 out of his arse, and meeting a shelfstacker in ASDA who had tits on the end of her arse. Mudge was made to sit on his own normally about ten minutes into his monologues, because he was laughing too loudly at his own clearly disturbed mind.

[anon]

mash/baked bean pants

Tue, 18 Feb 2003 00:00:00 +0000

The slow kid was often asked to do something which he believed would make him popular. The most enjoyable requests were for him to fill his underpants up with mashed potato or baked beans and go and show the teachers.

Andy C

mini kievs

Tue, 18 Feb 2003 00:00:00 +0000

Hands-on parody of the popular TV advert in which a mother would shout “mini kievs” and her family would drop everything and rush to the dining table. Quite simply, a classmate would poke his head round the door just as a lesson was about to start. He or she would shout “mini kievs”, and the entire class would run cheerfully out of the lesson. Never to return.

Andy C

My little pony

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

My little pony,

skinny and bony,

went to the circus,

and done it on purpose.

(it being a crap)

Alternative ending to the well-accepted first two lines is “made out of plastic, looks like a spastic”.

Gordon Y

Alternate version;

My little pony, skinny and bony,

under the table, drinking black label.

Not the most shocking version, but quite cute I suppose.

Kate

Other words rhyming with Pony, apart from “boney”, are baloney, Police Academy’s Mahoney, Island (Coney), most pastas, and homey . I just wrote this.

My little Pony,

Just like Mahoney,

She’s got a homey,

Makes helicopter noises that are phony.

And that’s the best My Little Pony rhyme ever. SUBJECT CLOSED.

Jon B

I do hope by the final line of your poem that you’re not insinuating that it was Mahoney who made the funny helicopter noises in Police Academy. It was Jones. Everyone knows that.

Of course, if your little pony is just making helicopter noises in order to provide a very bad rhyme at the end, well, that’s an awesome little pony. Mine didn’t do anything. Except have really flammable hair.

Thanks for your feedback, Chad! No, I am aware it was Jones who made the noises - Jones is Mahoney’s Homey, you see. I incorporated that into the language I used. And yes, my My Little Pony was awesome. We had amazing adventures, some of which didn’t involve pints and pints of piss. Log.

Chad C

music and movement

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

In the days before multimedia, there was BBC schools radio. “Music And Movement” was their public service to avoid P.E. teachers going into meltdown under the strain of ever having to have a single fucking idea, ever. Jonathan Cohen-type piano music and, for P.E., strangely soothingly-voiced routines of the “I’m a tree, I’m a tree, be a tree with me” kidney. The sort of things you could do without needing special P.E. kit, which is why to this day Debussy-type plinky-plonking takes me to the scary visual place of Paula Marshall in her tights the colour of diarrhoea. Manufactured in that colour, I mean. But even so.

Roy W

Mr. No Brain

Wed, 22 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000

If you are a teacher named Mr. O’Brian, it’s not a good idea to introduce yourself to a class by telling them that the name ‘Mr. No Brain’ is not funny as you write ‘Mr. No Brain’ on the blackboard.

[anon]

Similarly, the ludicrously diminutive Mr Hughes told his form class on the first day NOT to call him Mr Huge, as it really, really wasn’t funny. The result was as predictable as night following day.

Em B

“My name is Mr. Reese. Don't call me grease! “, snapped Mr Reese one day. To be honest, the thought had never occurred to us, so it was good of him to make us aware of the possibilities.

More than earning himself a new nickname, Mr Reese's outburst had such a satisfying rhythm to it that it quickly became a popular playground chant.

[anon]

mirror, mirror, can't say it back

Sat, 21 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

The only foolproof get-out clause for any given insult. This retort is to be delivered quickly and breathlessly, and for extra kick, suffixed with “no returns!”

nic d

Mo

Sat, 21 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

Mo: Abbreviation of ‘Homo’. Also a verb, “he moes/he mo-ed/they are mowing.” To gay up.

(Lengthy entry ruthlessly trimmed to size by Susan)

red a

A gay kid at school.

Adapted the music lesson song ‘Run Mo’ to be specifically about his gay exploits.

Mo & Mo had a porno store

Bumming each other behind the door

BNP run in, and Mo run out

Mo begin to scream and shout

Run Mo, BNP at the door

Run Mo, BNP won’t let me go

Run Mo, run as fast as you can

Run Mo, BNP are holding my hand

etc…

Ali B

Mashed potatoes?

Fri, 20 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A dinner queue offer best riposted with " no, it’s just the way my trousers hang “.

Also applicable to offers of boiled sprouts, grated carrot, hot plums etc

[anon]

Mong Cap (Mesh Mong)

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

The name given to those high-topped American trucker caps with mesh at the back. Became all the rage for a while. Name derives from the fact that all Mongs wear these caps. All the time. (As indeed do cancer patients).

The classic “Damn seagulls” mong cap, replete with hilarious fake bird poo, would be worn for mong-acting sessions, moaning “Damn seagulls” in a retarded voice and swiping at imaginary seagulls.

Tyrannosaurus F

Minter

Tue, 17 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

A child with an exceptionally small penis. i.e. a penis so small, it could fit in the hole of a Polo Mint.

Accusations of minterdom are rarely backed up with any form of medical or photographic evidence.

[anon]

mr bear has wet himself

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

The title of a popular cartoon of mine, starring a weeping bear lying in a bed, a large puddle of piss spreading beneath him.

The phrase “Mr Bear has wet himself” was inexpicably funny.

The original “Mr Bear” drawing has long since disappeared, although rumours of a copy on E-bay selling for £6 remain unsubstantiated.

Ben B

Munging

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

The not-common-enough practice of going into a graveyard and digging up a freshly decomposing corpse. It is essential that the corpse is in a certain stage of decay, were the organs have liquified and mixed with bodily fluids to form a fleshy soup. This “soup” ferments to produce gases that inflate the stomach of the corpse. Once such a corpse is found the munging can begin. A coin toss determines who does what. The loser of the toss places his mouth over the genitals or anus of the corpse (personal preference), while the winner proceeds to jump on the gas inflated stomach. The pressure should cause a fleshy explosion in the mouth of the loser and any deposits should be consumed (simple etiquette).

( Real, or hardly? You decide, dear reader – Ed (Log) )

(Jesus suffering fuck, Log, are “Slave Boy” and I the only people to watch South Park? *cough*ripoff*cough -Susan)

Slave Boy F

marla's bottom

Sat, 14 Dec 2002 00:00:00 +0000

marla was never going to find it easy. she was the first black kid at our primary school in the 1970s. we treated her with the usual respect accorded to people of different ethnic and cultural blackgrounds: we would run round shouting “blacky sambo” and claimed that she smelled of poo. which was perhaps a bit harsh for a skinny girl of an already nervous disposition. but what the heck, there were more of us.

marla’s bottom was the name given to the “chocolate” pudding that appeared in the school canteen once a week. this brown sugar-laden gunk came on a cardboard base with shaving foam on top. it was marginally better than damson pudding, which was on the same base, was translucent purple and had plastic film in (purporting to be damson skin).

but the canteen wasn’t the only place we saw marla’s bottom. one break time the whole school gathered round in the top playground while someone (he’ll remain nameless - i think he’s a bank manager now) de-bagged marla and displayed her bottoms, front and back, to the assembled throng. marla didn’t come back to school after that.

personally, i blame the sugar in the dessert.

Mr T

management, the

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

A game loosely based on the Hale & Pace characters of the same name. I can’t remember the character names now, but two boys would be the two management guys, and one other (usually me) was “Crusty” or something.

So, the guys would be trying to run a nightclub and any other kids in the area would be made to be the nightclub acts. I’m not sure exactly what was supposed to happen then, because it usually degenerated into a fight around that point.

Dupli C

magical anus smell

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

Even if you are wearing trousers and underwear, if you press your fingers hard enough up your buttock cleft and worm them around, a small amount of anus smell will be transferred to your fingers. The process by which this happens is entirely magical. On a really warm day, I managed to get the smell through underpants, trousers, and jumper.

Jon B

A couple of people have written to me concerning stinkpalm, but I haven’t seen Mallrats yet, so I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about.

Jon B

For the education of those who do not know what stink palming is–

Brodie: You stink-palm him.

TS:Stink-palm?

Brodie: You take your hand and you stick it in your ass. You been walking’ all day and you’re nervous, so you’ll be sweaty as hell… You shake hands with the guy. ‘Hey, Mr.. Svening. How’ve you been ?’

TS:What’s the point?

Brodie:You know how long it takes for that smell to come off? Scrub all you like, it’ll stick around for two days. How does he explain it to his colleagues and family? They’ll think he doesn’t know how to wipe his ass.

TS:Meanwhile, you are left with A hand that smells like shit.

Brodie:Small price to pay… For the smiting of one’s enemies.

(I’ve begrudgingly put this up, but I’m still not going to acknowledge that http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=3180 is a scene out of Gremlins, so STOP TELLING ME, I KNOW)

Esa R

making james fidget laugh

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

James Fidget (real name) had a false roof to his mouth that clipped on in some arcane way. It didn’t clean itself very well, so in between his roast dinner and his custard-drenched pudding he would remove the plastic thingummy and clean it manually. The trick here was to distract him in increasingly surreal ways so he forgot to replace it, and then - when he had eaten a fair whack of the custard - make him laugh hysterically. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen custard flood out of a schoolboy’s nose.

Lee F

malarkey

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

Gerald Malarkey was devoid of any kind of morality or humanity. Once he was disturbed from slamming a small kids head in a door by a particularly stupid PE teacher. This prompted the line “What’s all this Malarky….”, at which point he lost momentum, realising how his sentence must end. “….errm…. Malarky…” And we all laughed,except for the guy with his head in the door,who wept.

Pol S

mamma mia

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

Pleasingly close to diarrhoea. Mamma Mia / I’ve got diarrhoea / Plip-Plop / Can you hear my shit drop? is a fine example of this similarity in action.

Nick P

manners!

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

Inverted reproach for lack of courtesy in yourself. Drop the please from any request, and if the subject complies, you may shout “MANNERS!” at the top of your voice, teachers permitting.

Tim

manshead

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

Strangely uninsulting insult for boys with big heads. Almost Shakespearean.

Ben A

maps

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

A smack on the back of the head. It’s spam backwards, you see. Very clever. And therefore not thuggish.

Richard G

Don’t forget “pams” and “amps”, which are used for the sides of the head should the forehead be unspammable, or rear be off the maps. By using these four techniques in combination, every eventuality is covered, and someone

will be hit somewhere .

Toilet T

margett's moments

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

Soiling yourself in a moment of unforeseen and explosive diarrhoea. You will not live this down. Your name, if it begins with m and has two syllables, will be used to replace “magic” in the song “magic moments”.

Thommo

martial arts

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

Do not admit to learning any martial art, unless you are quite prepared, and physically able, to follow it up. The smallest kid in our year, sick of being the victim, screamed “I've learned tae-kwon do” as his ritualised and half-hearted bullying session began.

To astonished looks from his assailants, he proceeded to strike a number of ridiculous Bruce Lee style poses, while going an unhealthy shade of red. His mastery of the ancient Korean martial art was such that the first punch laid him out. Then, everyone beat him up. Only suddenly, it wasn't quite so half-hearted.

(Thanks to http://www.lawoftheplayground.com/browse.php?type=pupil&id=1699 for pointing out that Tae Kwon Do is Korean, not Japanese. Heaven forfend that there should EVER be an error of fact in this - the most thoroughly researched dictionary of bullshit on the internet)

Neil C

melinda

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

The name of the substance that drips from the anus after a rigourous session of bumfunnery. Also a girl’s name.

Dan W

Any medical condition that causes bleeding of the anus.

Tony B

That’s actually false. Melinda is not the word for the anal-sex by-product. I believe it’s been termed santorum .

( Readers! Can you be more snotty than Esa Rich about what the word is for the stuff that drips out of your arse after anal sex? It’s something to get worked up about, so post your word for it, phrased in the most insufferable language possible, HERE! - Log)

Esa R

Dan, Tony and Esa are talking inferior grade gobshit. It is self-evident and unarguable that the term for semen-based anal drippage is, of course , Pugwash.

[anon]

I believe that all of you need to brush up on your lingo. A good source of information would be the http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0920887767/qid=1101886269/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/002-9767283-1332809?v=glance&s=books .

Correct terms involve: abnormal seepage, foreign excreta, unobstructed flow or cadbury marble.

Here’s two I made up: ‘Spink’ (a shortening of pink spunk in the same way ‘Spam’ is a shortening of spiced ham); and, if there’s a brown tinge and you’re feeling continental, ’ejaculaffe au lait’. - Mansh

Pogglesnatch

Esa Rich is right, in a way. In the US ‘pugwash’ is indeed now known as ‘santorum’ after Senator Rick Santorum, a very vocally homophobic and deeply unpleasant individual. Readers of Dan Savage’s column Savage Love voted that ‘santorum’ should be the word used to describe ’the frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex’.

[anon]

Isn’t it “melena”? Online Medical Dictionary definition: “stools stained black by blood pigment or dark blood products”. Often indicative of gastrointestinal haemorrhage, for example as a result of a peptic ulcer.

Bleeding from the lower bowel usually results in a brighter red discharge as the haemoglobin in the blood does not have time to oxidise before being expelled.

Spunk in the stool is usually a primary indicator that the patient is a complete and utter hom - a right bottom boy. Like your dad.

[anon]

merry christmas, pucky poo

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

A rap written and performed by Nick Prendeghast in our festive assembly, about the birth of Jesus. It went: “There-he-lay / In-the-hay / Merry Christmas, Pucky Poo”. No-one understood it, and those were the only lyrics. The choir couldn’t sing after that for pissing themselves laughing, and Nick was suspended soon after.

Nicola

mervyn triplets

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

MERVYN : “I’ve got a Mervyn” - my knickers are wedged somewhere between my buttocks and are, therefore, causing me discomfort. In order to yank them out discreetly, one must confide in a friend, “I’ve got a Mervyn”, so that they can walk behind you, forming a shield.

MELVYN : “I’ve got a Melvyn” - for some reason I have been running about in a pair of ill-fitting tights. The motion of my legs and arse has caused the tights to slowly wend their way down my thighs. The crotch is now suspended between my knees, allowing me to part my feet by no more than six inches, and meaning that the cold air is now circulating around my knickers, buttocks and upper thighs. Don’t run in ill-fitting pairs of tights, you will only end up with a Melvyn.

MAUSTYN : “I’ve got a Maustyn” (pronounced “Moss-tin”). My sleeping bag zip is very stiff, and while I was fiercely yanking it up, I somehow managed to wedge the end up my arse. This is most painful, but results in much mirth at sleepovers. Whoever looks most uncomfortable has definitely got a Maustyn.

Holly

metalwork

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

The only lesson in which it is possible to make death stars, and burn the ceiling with welding equipment.

[anon]

Also an excellent opportunity for Andrew Marshall to demonstrate a preternatural hatred of the Welsh by thrusting a lit brazing torch into the face of an unsuspecting classmate from the valleys, causing rapid cremation of eyebrows and eyelashes, as well as redefining an adolesecent hairline to the degree that his victim strongly resembled “Ask the Family” host, Robert Robinson.

Is this the same Andrew Marshall that went on to write 2.4 Children, we wonder? Fans of the BBC Gentle-com doing a Google search on their favourite writer may have cause for concern. Though it would explain the episode where Bill (after a series of hilarious misunderstandings) finds herself trapped under a papier-mâché dinosaur with a naked plumber and escapes by burning the face off a welshman.

Mong B

The metal rulers at our school were in a rack labelled “Metal Rules”, prompting us ‘metallers’ to shout “METAL RULES!” whenever passing it. I find more and more recently that this is true.

Cravex

mighty mouse is on the way

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

Myself and two freaks used to sing this inspired “non-scanning” version of the theme tune. “Mighty Mouse is on the way. Here he comes to make your day even greener.” After which we would make massive bringing-up-snot noises. We were nine.

Jon B

miss holland

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

“If you’re Miss Holland, there must be some bloody ugly people in Holland.” Cue hilarity.

Si G

missile swizzle

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

Mr Jenkins (cross between Sylvester McCoy and Windsor Davies) sputtered with rage every assembly about the danger of Swizzle Lollys. Apperently if dropped from the tower block windows, they would ACT AS A MISSILE, and if a child looked up and was hit by such a lolly, THE CONTENTS OF THEIR EYE WOULD LITERALLY SPILL OUT! Naturally, our young imaginations were set alight, and many experiments ensued with kids being forced to look up with open eyes at the windows while lollies were aimed at their face. With disappointing, spill-free results.

Lydia J

mong stuff, the

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

Tom Williams had a retarded sister. One day I went to visit him, she answered the door, took us into the kitchen and made us coffee. We brought it to our lips and discovered she’d put lumps of cheese into it. To celebrate this, we wrote her The Mong Stuff, to the tune of NKOTB’s The Right Stuff.

Your first wheelchair was a good one

your second one was shit

The third one’s got BMX wheels

Can I have a ride in it?

You’ve got the mong stuff

Sarah

That’s why you chew toffee

You’ve got the mong stuff

Sarah

Why’d you put cheese in the coffee?

Gareth J

mong the merciless

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

There were a few kids in our school unfortunate to be born with Down’s Syndrome. One of these was particulally violent when provoked by somewhat unusual things. For example, fire alarms and pencils. When on one of his funny turns, he was granted tremendous Mong Power by the Lord, and would deal out tremendous, often uncalled for beatings to anyone who got too close. We didn’t see much of Mong the Merciless after this had happened a few times, as he was forced to leave our school to be moved to a special unit. God knows where he is now, but I wouldn’t be suprised if it was fairly secure and had plenty of sedatives near by. Poor Bastard.

Cheeky D

monks, misconceptions about

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

I was told that monks in France used to suck mercury off the floor using their anuses, hold it in their rectums for short amounts of time, then let it back out again. Apparently doing this aided relaxation and provided relief from stress. I did believe his story until I realised that sucking things up with your arse isn’t really feasible.

Rickybaby

monroe

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

An unfortunate girl with severe learning disabilities who shat herself. She ran from the classroom and came back in saying “I was halfway down the stairs when it just slipped out”. She had to wear the secretarys pants for the rest of the day. I also flicked a mackerel’s eye into her hair, but not on the same day.

Wilster

mooquackapootooweewillyplop

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

Looking at “fuck fuck willy willy wank wank piss” reminded me of a phrase I concocted in those ‘fuck the system’ times everyone has in the fifth form. The phrase, scribbled in red felt-tip pen in my history exercise book, was MOOQUACKAPOOTOOWEEWILLYPLOP* which is as rousing a cry to revolution as the masses have ever heard. Shortly afterwards many of my friends found God and stopped indulging in such puerile behaviour. Remaining heathen and filled with revolutionary fervour, I soon abandoned all pretence of doing history homework, instead decorating the pages of my exercise book with such masterpieces as “ah am de weel tar-zan” and “ziggyziggyzoo”. These manifestoes, though beautifully illustrated, did not endear me to the history teacher. * pronounced, naturally enough, as ‘moo-quacka-poo-too-wee-willy-plop’

mrs. power

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

Despite her heroic name, Mrs Power had a gammy arm and a bonky leg, and fell over on her first day. We used to make her cry.

Stephen B

muffs, pissing into

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

The mistaken belief (aged 7-8) that making babies involved nothing more than urinating into a girls vagina. In our school, vaginas were referred to only as ‘muffs’, as referring to a muff as a ‘vagina’ meant you were probably a girl yourself, or gay.

Nick

Weird kind of tie-in here. My friend Stuart and I used to call weeing into muffs a ‘Golden Eggyolk’ - we didnt think that was how babies were made, but rather used it as an example of how filthy an imaginary porn film that we didnt watch was to impress our friends.

He now lives in the Czech Republic, but we still ask each other if we’ve given any golden eggyolks recently whenever we speak.

Has this ever happened in real life? Does this practice have a name? (other than golden eggyolk obviously).

Harry N

mumm-ra

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

The similarity between his roar in the opening credits of thundercats and the cry of an enraged window-licker was uncanny. He even looked a bit like a mong with that wild look in his eyes.

Dan W

murray haynes

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

(high pavement, 1990-1992) An unusual figure of fun. The mockery was based around the fact that he was getting driving lessons from his mum’s boyfriend, but had to pay for them himself. More than that, when we asked him how many lessons he had taken, the number was nearly 100. To us, this was a clear indication that Murray’s mother was using her son as a source of income to keep her in sex and drugs. This fuelled a fantasy world based around their abuse of Murray, in which he was made to stand outside their bedroom door while they had sex, because he was hungry and all the food was in there with them. Occasionally they would slip him out a sandwich, but never enough to stop the hunger. The culmination of this mockery was the “Aspects of Murray” collection, which was cut up bits of paper with doodles which made every facet of his life plainly sad and revolting. He never saw the Aspects of Himself - we made sure of that. We may have been pointlessly malicious, but we didn’t want to destroy the poor bastard. Well, not until he searches for his own name on the internet, maybe.

Jon B

music room, weaponry of the

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

The Glockenspiel Beater : This weapon can be thrown with pin point accuracy to contact with a desired part of a victim’s anatomy with almost no effort. It is one of the subtler weapons as it can easily be launched by a nonchalant flick of the wrist whilst the assailant casually stares in the other direction. Beater throwing is optimal good fun if the head of the beater can be removed and thrown independently from the stick thus giving a two-fold attack strategy.

The Coconut Shells : These are for your more tactical assailant. They can either be used for the basic ’trap someone’s fingers in them as they slap shut at 47 mph’ gag. OR, for the slightly more adventurous attacker, put one coconut shell over some unsuspecting victim’s ear and hit with a beater (see above) until victim has perforated ear-drum.

The Xylophone Keys : Hard, metal, heavy, sharp. So many possibilities, so little time.

The Snare Drum Brush : Most popular of all. This tightly bound weapon consisting of half horse-hair and half wire is most effective when drawn agonisingly slowly over naked flesh - popular with the ‘fat kid’ bully network.

Kerry D

Maracas were the hand-grenades of the music room arsenal. Best launched from the upper platform in the drama studio, maracas would explode on contact with floor or head, scattering the enemy with small white pellets and imaginary gobbets of flaming napalm.

Paul Equinox C

Sheet music: although not a regular weapon, at our school a boy was sent to hospital after the kid who was handing out sheet music decided to just throw it at the class, and cut the boy’s eyeball open.

Dupli C

The piano, if left on castors, can serve many purposes. At its simplest, it can crush people against the wall, causing anything between a winding and organ damage. Or use it to barricade the music room door, for a session of uninterrupted violence.

Get it out into the corridor, and you can use it to smash open lockers, and batter down the doors of locked store rooms, allowing you to gather pots of glue, paint and detergent.

Get it outside… then you can sit on top of it, and roll into an adventure written by Roald Dahl. You might need the stuff you robbed from the store rooms to thwart the wicked headmaster.

Jon B

Timpani Beater : During a fit of aimless classroom fidgeting I slid a timpani beater down into a cardboard tube so that its round head stopped it going all the way through. Mid-conversation with a slightly dim girl, I absent-mindedly flicked it towards her, and the drumstick shot out of the tube and hit her perfectly in the eye.

Fortunately I escaped punishment, as she screamed that I had hit her with a “trombone stick”, and everyone was then too busy laughing for there to be any chance of repercussions.

Mark

hur hur “re-percussions”

Please write in if you spot any other unintentional punnage on the Law of the Playground. What a hoot!

Dan

The Guff Trumpet : Take one trumpet, guff with vigour into the horn end, and “play” it at other pupils. Be careful not to inhale.

Alana

muu, by dabe's....

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

A proper response to a stupid comment. Tongue pressed into the bottom lip in front of the teeth and the phrase ‘muu, by dabe’s …..’. If the need is great, you may finish with ‘and I’m a spack’, said in the same manner. Darren: What does ‘wank’ mean? Me: Muu, my names Darren, and I’m a spack. See also ehhrruuuuu, gay.