One day in maths, my friend leaned over and asked me for a pencil. I replied “Okay, but I sucked on it.” This seemed fair - by all means use my equipment, but they shall be marked by spittle.

To make myself heard over the drone of the class, I stated this loudly and firmly; certainly, my voice was loud and firm enough to silence the rest of the class, who immediately set about imagining the scenarios that might culminate in such an outburst.

Can YOU script a scene which makes dramatic sense, and culminates in the phrase “OK, but I sucked on it”? Send them in!

Tyler S

Since leaving school, no-one has ever, under any circumstances, needed to know what the fuck an oxbow lake is, or how it is formed.

[anon]

There were five conspirators. At lunchtimes we would run down to the wooded area at the bottom of the field and dig frantically at the ground with sticks. Our plan was to tunnel our way into the school, hence bypassing Mrs Delaney and enabling us to do proper indoor poos and wees.

However, loose talk costs lives. A teacher overheard us mentioning Operation FCD, and we were hauled in for questioning. Lee, the little cunt, spilled all the beans, including what FCD stood for, and we got a week’s detention and had to explain and apologise for Operation FCD to Mrs Delaney herself. God knows what she made of it, but I still see Mrs Delaney now - she works in my local off licence. For some reason she remembers me fondly.

[anon]

Attempts by him to disprove the rumour by stretching his scrotum for all to see, showing a clear 2-ball outline, led to accusations that he was pressing out one of the bumps with his finger.

But, eventually, we had to accept that he did have a second ball. A plastic second ball.

Whatever, it didn’t affect his virility as he managed to get Angela Smithers up the duff before his fifteenth birthday.

[anon]

Chris Long was rumoured to have a monoball; apparently he’d sliced his scrotum open on the brake wire of his bike.

Perhaps because of this, he was a very, very angry young man with special needs. If the special class wanted to leave early, they’d chant “remember you’re a one-ball, remember you’re a one-ball” at him until he started throwing things, and the lesson would be abandoned.

Rev Studly M

Legend has it that Sean Gorman was run over by a milk float and tragically lost a testicle. I’ve always found this confusing as the rest of Sean’s body remained intact. Was he sitting on the kerb with one bollock resting on the road? Sean was always very coy about the subject…and suspiciously unsympathetic to others who suffered groinal mishaps, like his best friend Michael.

One day Michael hopped a fence to retrieve a stray football which had been kicked into a field beside the school pitches. Unfortunately for Michael said fence was of the barbed wire variety and Michael’s scrotum became entangled mid-hop. Did Sean have vivid flashbacks to his milk float ordeal and run for help ensuring his best buddy didn’t suffer the same fate as him? Did he fuck. He made like the rest of us and started throwing stones at Michael while singing “Always look on the Bright Side of Life”.

Dr. D

Jonathan Evenet has a plastic testicle. As a result he always smells of wee a bit.

[anon]

Matthew Jones was also lop-sided, a secret revealed to us by his little brother, Gareth.

Apparently they had been “wrestling” on Gareth’s bed, Matt had gone for the piledriver, and in some unholy contortion, his balls twisted in their sack; one suffocated the oxygen to the other, which lead to its eventual amputation.

Matt’s brother told this to anyone who would listen, naturally delighted in the knowledge his bullying elder brother would be mocked by all his peers. Of course he was correct, but he had failed to anticipate the beats that would be dealt to him by effectively admitting that he had been bummed by his own brother.

In fact, Gareth had insisted upon so much bumming that Matt’s balls exploded. And because he couldn’t satisfy Gareth’s desire to be bummed anymore with his shredded testes, their dad had to take over bumming Gareth. Oh, he was a GREEDY little bummer.

Matt actually got off considerably lightly given that:

a) He’d had a ball off, and;

b) He’d bummed his own brother. Not now though. Not ever again.

Oxygen? to the testes? Are you sure you’re not getting confused with lungs? - Mansh

Chigwell H

I’m ‘monoballed’ and am pretty certain that I’ve shagged far more attractive women than you. Shame.

CHINNY.

[anon]

The myth behind Ryan Byrne's testicular imbalance was that he had been involved in a car crash, and rather than bursting, or tearing, the bollock in question had ‘went up inside him’.

Needless to say, he went by various names. There was the inevitable ‘Womble’ - which sounds like ‘one-ball’, you see. Yes, you saw. Then there was the less inventive, but much more informative ‘Ryan, that kid whose ball went up inside him’.

[anon]

We were left wondering what the fuck we were supposed to do with it. A few half hearted attempts to base games around it were made ( Did you play Let’s Stare North!, and West-Walking Hullaballoo? They were my favourites - Log ), before we decided to ignore it, as it was most likely for Muslims to point at Mecca.

Cherry G

They sprinted off round the track, resulting in the PE teacher soundly beating the 15 year old upstart. Nobody was particularly impressed by this, but whatever tiny amount of kudos he may have gained was more than lost when, after crossing the finish line, he collapsed onto all fours and vomited over his hands.

Spaghetti H

Yes, and the ability to flatten puny 12-year-old kids into the mud with rugby tackles is not really a valid demonstration of your sporting prowess, Mr Rich. You fucking evil hairy gorilla.

Matt F

I dearly regret bunking off one particular day in my 4th year. That was the day that one of the former pupils came back to school, as he’d promised, and kicked the living shit out of Mr. Burns, the short-arsed, swarthy, bullying games teacher.

Those who were there assure me that: it was “a beautiful moment”, “poetry”, “he had it coming”, and my favourite: “he whimpered”.

Not even touching Jeanie’s quim for the first time was adequate compensation (Jeanie was our dog).

uncle m

[anon]

[Teacher contrives for the class to revise electrical circuit symbols]

Teach [draws a circle with a ‘V’ inside]: “What does this represent?”

Pupil A: “A voltmeter, sir.”

Teach [draws a circle with an ‘A’ inside]: “That’s right. Now what’s this?”

Pupil B: “An ammeter.”

Teach [draws a circle with an ‘O’ inside]: “Well done. How about this?”

Rather too keen pupil C [adopting the air of having cracked the tricky follow-on question]: “Is it an ohmmeter, sir?”

Teach: “No. It’s a Mexican riding a bicycle.”

A year later, Pupil C, while remaining frustratingly un-Mexican, was knocked off his bicycle by a passing car.

[anon]

Our maths teacher was of much the same bent, although he added a rather sinister twist:

After doing the usual inoffensive “Mexican on a bicycle”, “Mexican on a bicycle going up a mountain” and so forth, he then drew a circle with three pointy triangles inside it, radiating from the inner circumference.

“What’s that?” he asked.

After a few guesses, we relented.

“What is it then, sir?”

The maths teacher looked pleased with himself, and proclaimed:

“The last thing a black man sees after the Ku Klux Klan have thrown him down a well!”

Silence. Utter silence.

[anon]

Simon M

He may have mistaken our keenness for actual interest in the subject. However, all we really wanted to hear was a teacher saying ‘ox bollocks’ over and over again.

[anon]

We had a Japanese assistant in Geography who taught us about “arse cakes”. Plate tectonics have never been so pantwettingly hilarious.

[anon]

Imagine how our Italian lecturer would say the molecular biology term ‘Beta sheet’.

Andy G

Our attractive French assistante, Sandrine was frequently asked to talk in English about how much she loved ’the beach’.

But she got off lightly compared to Miguel, the Spanish assistant, who, incredibly, was twice duped into asking us about our imaginary friend, ‘Juan Kerr’.

David R

Aged thirteen, we would practice our ollies for hours on end. When any of us got so much as an inch off the ground, we could all get seriously amazed.

During one afternoon of such cripple-hopping, we heard the roll and clatter of a familiar crap half-ollie, followed by a loud and insincere exclamation of " whoops! “.

Apparently, while we were looking the other way, Alan had accidentally ollied over his dad’s car .

Now, the thing that made this especially amazing, was Alan’s ongoing persistence that the trick was not in his mind. This went on for months, despite constant jeering and a failure to repeat the trick because when people were looking, it “put him off”.

These lies climaxed with an audacious lie-reversal, where he shouted at everyone that he’d never said that he had accidentally ollied over his father’s car, and that he hadn’t maintained the opposite for the last four months at all .

Ask him today, and he still denies he ever said it, which totally proves my point.

[anon]

Having the shortest word for gay written across your arse , the very place that gays have the sex, is begging for physically violent comment.

Justin M

‘So, where are all the orifice workers here?’

You will quickly discover that it is actually quite difficult to shoehorn many orifices into casual conversation. When you discover this, you can take the ‘Dan Wakefield Option’ of simply handing back your visitors badge at the end of the trip with the words ‘Thanks, orifice’.

Matt F

“Naturally,” replies Mr Patterson,laughing.

Jon B

This wasn’t even particularly strange behaviour for the honourable Mr Jones. On another occasion he arrived half an hour late and proceded to tell us how Uri Geller had broken his car radio.

I miss that man.

Jasmine S

We had a Mr. Emerson, who taught maths and physics.

The look on his face while he was using a calculator was something which his entire class shall carry to our graves. Y´know how the stereotypcial paedo leers at young children? He did that to calculators.

[anon]

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

Jon B

Competition was fierce, and once in your possession, you would be subject to aggressive attention and intense paranoia - if you let your guard down for a moment, it would be stolen away.

If you went to the toilet, you took it with you, and did so visibly - otherwise your desk would have 29 children crawling over it when you got back.

The One Crayon was finally destroyed by Donna McGhee, who inexplicably vomited all over it.

moogle m

I lost my bra,

I left my knickers in my boyfriend’s car.

This weighty verse differs from the infantile whimsy of http://www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=717, in that it contains a powerful moral element.

In ta-ra-ra-bum-di-ay, the loss of the knickers was spontaneous, and not the result of moral turpitude. As a result, the knickers were returned by the gracious Fates.

Here, however, the knickers are lost as the direct result of pre-marital sex. Notice that the loss of a bra - a powerful symbol of female sexuality - compounds the devastation. Neither garment is (at least, explicitly) returned, leaving us to assume that they were either found by a slack-jawed vicar, who - mistaking their function - used them as hanging baskets in his garden.

Also note that only the woman is punished. That is because women are temptresses, and all sex and betrayal in the world is a result of their vile chicanery and desire for ever-more children, as documented in Ace of Bass’s hit single “All That She Wants Is Another Baby”.

Jon B

e.g.

“What are you getting your mum for Mother’s Day?

Oh sorry, I forgot. She’s dead isn’t she?”

A handy P.S. to any partonising put-down is the word “Bless” accompanied by a smile and a cocking of the head. - Mansh

Ponky P

The problem with this was that by saying “It’s opposite day” on opposite day, you were actually saying that it WASN’T opposite day. This, however, was entirely beyond our 9-year-old minds, who really just wanted an excuse to tell the entire school that you loved Alex.

[anon]

A variant on Opposite Day was the Opposite Game. The initiator of the game would ask, ofr example, ‘Do you shag your dog? By the way, we’re playing the opposite game.’

Answer No : means you shag your dog, because we’re playing the Opposites Game, so no means yes.

Answer Yes : means you shag you dog, because we’re playing the opposites game, which means that to say “we’re playing the opposites game” means “we are no longer playing the opposites game”. In which case yes means yes. So you do shag your dog. And you don’t even have the decency to try and hide it.

Marty M

Our school refined the concept of Opposite Day brilliantly. The plan is simple; go up to someone and ask them if they’re gay. When they say no, inform them it’s opposite day and that they are therefore very, very gay indeed. Coax them into saying “Yes I AM GAY”, and then proceed to beat them mercilessly. For being gay.

I still use the basic technique today with my girlfriend when I can’t be arsed making a cup of tea. True genius never ages.

[anon]

give it to me.

You musta be joking,

It cost feeeefty peeeee.

There was another verse, however. Can anyone help?

-Um, yeah. It went: “Theee choc and nut
it may beee niiiice
but maybe not
that bladdy high prii-ice!”
Hope that helps- An Ed.

Claire F

The Graze : Used when your opponent was slightly slower than you. You´d have to get your front tyre to connect with their back, and hope the resulting wheel friction would veer your opponent into a hedge, and not yourself.

The Evil Kenevil (close range wild card) : Peddle as fast as possible, then dismount by slipping off your seat backwards. Suprisingly easy on a bmx, suicidal on a racer. Then, hope that your bike would continue in a straight line and smash into your opponent. (If your bike swerved off course after dismounting you would look like a twat, and your bike would end up in someone’s garden - use with care.

The Wheelie = used liberally if you were able to perform it (forget it, racer boys). Like being attacked by a horse.

Making tyre-on-skin contact with the spinning front wheel of “The Wheelie” is known as a “Chainsaw”.

Round up of the bikes:

• BMX Falcon Pro : all round winner, speed and handling. - Grifter : bulldog of the game, slow but like a Jag through a shop window - the blaggers choice) - The Racer : top for speed, but turning circle of a Viking longship. - The Chopper : laid back angle would never get you to top speed and left you exposed, but who needs fast when you look that good? - The Granny Basher : your mums bike, good speed if you could reach the pedals, though be wary of recriminations next morning when your mum finds out her shopping basket is fucked. - The Cissy : your sisters bike, if your dad was still trying to unbuckle your wheel from the last time you played. - The Granny Lowrider : weird-looking compact bikes, that really old people rode. This singles you out as an idiot child, and you will be constantly attacked.</ol>

If using the Granny Basher or the Cissy, resist the urge to take off the shopping basket, as it adds valuable ’tagging’ inches.

No girls allowed to play - this is BOY stuff.

The F

Paul H

They paid £10 for every ‘one for the ladies’ entry, leading Alun to come up with possibly the worst money making scheme of our young lives: he decided to submit a photo of himself in the buff. Worried that he might be recognised, he decided that he’d wear an SAS style balaclava to protect his identity. Thankfully, the plan never reached fruition, as I’m sure that child protection officers would have been very interested in tracing the origin of photos of a naked 13 year old boy wearing a balaclava.

Mr B

Simon B

Adam F

That was the cue for the other pupil who was in the cupboard to start hurling ink and paper at him, and shout teacherly things like “You, BOY!” at him.

Surprising fun for those outside the cupboard, who got to hear the shouting and watch a cupboard rattle around for a bit.

rob h

This isn’t always a lie. Our German teacher went to the special effort of hiding in a cupboard at the start of the lesson, to see what people said about him.

It’s a well-established moral to many tales, that if you have the ability to read minds, you must be willing to hear things you don’t like. Such as thirty children sagely discussing exactly how much of a cunt you are, not to mention a bit late.

Our teacher wasn’t nearly as philosophical about it; he burst out of the cupboard, shouted for ten minutes, and put us all in detention.

~ hazybubbles

We always used to hide in a small storage room in an adjoining attic room before the teacher arrived. Once, after our usual cheerful parade into the classroom, having got yet another good-natured one over on Sir, he noticed that one boy hadn't come out, and tried to coax him out with increasing frustration for over five minutes.

What we knew, that the teacher didn't, was that the child was off sick.

mr s

Bada B

Mr Bright taught commerce. He taught it with such a passion that spit would fly out of his mouth.

This was bad enough, but when he was using an overhead projector, the very considerable amount of spit that landed on the sheets was magnified, heated, and projected onto the wall.

It was the saliva equivalent of shitting onto a glass-topped coffee table, but with thirty children sitting underneath.

[anon]

Two interesting things about overhead projectors:

1. They get pretty hot.

2. Inside one is the last place your teacher will think of looking when trying to trace the smell of hot, week-old rotting kipper.

In retrospect, this is best used in someone else’s form room.

[anon]

Duncan A

Jon B

Matd

Nick

Matt K

Charlie