browsing the letter a

A girl's retort to any insult. It works on the same theory as "what you say is what you are", or "I know you are, you said you are, so what am I?".

Bully : Elaine, you scabby thighed fat bitch!
Elaine : A bit like you, really.

This is an imperfect reflection. The bully could quite logically reply:

What, just a bit like me? Do you mean I'm scabby-thighed but not fat? Or that I'm scabby-thighed AND fat, but just not as much as you? Either way, you just admitted that you are a scabby-thighed fat bitch, and I'm telling the headmaster.

Once when I was in secoundary school, this bloody tosser came up round this girl we knew as Stephanie Stank ( real name Stephanie Stanck) and triend to pull up my skirt so that him and his mates could all have a good look. Well, they were able to get the skirt up to Stephanie's head, but sad for them, good ol' Steph hadn't changer her nickers for three days. (She was wereing those nickers with the days on them like they had in the 70s). Well needless to say, we all thought it was funny, and the day after me and my mates slipped a note to the tosser saying

Mr Gregory was our geography teacher in year 2. We hated him, so formed (and my toes curl at the memory) the Anti Gregory Liberation Army.

The IRA and SAS can sleep easy in their beds - our rebellion stretched as far as making small badges with a picture of a beard drawn on with the wobbly green letters 'AGLA' underneath. These were then worn under the lapels of our blazers.

Our one tactical strike was putting the clock forward 10 minutes in lessons so we could get out early. Plot was foiled when Gregory, er, looked at his watch. No members of the AGLA ever went on to serve in the Gulf War.

Fiendish plan by two nine year olds who wished to dupe the charitable British public into giving them money to buy Star Wars stuff. The "Anthony and John Figure Fund" involved rattling homemade collection tins made from Panda Pops bottles with attractive labels drawn in felt tip and wandering the estate until we got bored. After two afternoons we had extorted £2.00 each from our parents, who found their children begging for toy money from their neighbours extremely distasteful.

I got Lando Calrissian - result!!

If you're going to throw a paper aeroplane at the French teacher, you might as well make a trip to the art room before the lesson and do it properly.

A variation on the normal game of tig. The aim was the same, except you had to play it with your coat over your head, peering down one of the arms, which ostensibly looked like you had an aardvark's snout. What we actually looked like was a bunch of kids running about with coats on our heads.

Abbot was popular, charming, and irretrievably fixated on all things sexual. Most of what he did and pretty much all he said either referenced or simulated sexual function. A few examples that stick in the memory:

-Enthusiastically and noisily licking a protrusion in the classroom’s plasterboard wall on the basis that it was "a clitoris".

-Jumping in front of the deputy head in the 6th Form common room, bending down low and spreading his arse cheeks apart with his hands. Because (in Abbot's opinion) the deputy head was gay, and would appreciate it.

-Drawing a detailed picture of a naked Mrs Tomalin, with meticulous detail and colouring on her vagina. He labelled this the “Triangle Of Delight” and pretended to pleasure it with his mouth like it was some kind of clitoral plasterboard wall.

-Pretending that a glue stain on the common room window was in fact his semen, which had flown out while he was masturbating. He would simulate the sound of this hot ejaculation by going "SSsssss".

-Serenading Dytham with a song outlining his gayness.

Well, Dytham’s a homosexual
He really is so gay
He likes to get boys on the ground
And roll them in the hay
If you should hear old Dytham
Making such a din
He’ll have got some poor boy’s trousers down
And pushed his penis in

Dytham was not gay, but that's OK - it he was, this song would have been homophobic.

-Proposing to the school council that we should have a swimming pool party in the school pool. When asked to elaborate what that actually involved he said “we just get a mixed group of sixth formers in there and encourage intercourse”

We never had that swimming party.

Are you ABC? Watch out! What ABC stands for depends on your response.

Say yes, and you've confessed to being an African Bum Cleaner. Say no, and you've just denied that you are A Brilliant Child

This doesn't exactly work if you're going to be a dick about grammar. And it is, to be fair, only really funny if they say "yes", because that's the only way you get to say "oh Jesus you're an African Bum Cleaner, this is most irregular".

When Mr Craig asks you to 'parse' part of a Latin sentence, you must reply with this answer. Mr Craig will then mutter "Oh, God" and put his head in his hands before weeping quietly.

The distance that Danny Swailes fell to escape a 10 minute after school detention for the whole class. Danny said he was leaving at the normal time. When Mr Luck blocked the door, Danny slid the back window open and hopped out.
Despite his confidence, Danny sprained both ankles so badly that he couldn't actually walk for a week, and had to ask a teacher, who happened to see this crumpled, crying mess on the floor, to phone his dad for a lift home.

A dinner lady once asked a colleague what the magic word was, after he forgot to say please. His response?

"Abracadabra motherfucker, now give me my potatoes!"

He later claimed that he had been calling the dinner lady "Mother Hubbard" as a term of endearment. It was a nice try.

Given to the smallest, weakest kid during games lessons. Victim is pinned to the floor and asked if he wants "an accelerator". Regardless of the answer (no-one ever says "yes"), you spread his legs, put your foot on his bollocks, and floor it. The engine realistically rises in pitch as you press harder, just like a real car.

This was one of those terrible events that you piss yourself laughing about until the day you die. It occurred in my last year at high school, at our Sports Day held in the Queen Elizabeth II recreation centre.

Now, Hillmorton being the PC, progressive school that it is, we had a special unit on the school grounds for students that were severely physically and mentally handicapped. After the initial shock of having "them" in the school, people soon learned to capitalise on the humour element, as they had the habit of making loud mongoloid noises in school assemblies. Quite amusing.

Anyway, it was decided that, to be fair and equal, these students would have their own race... a wheelchair race, where able-bodied students would push the handicapped students along the track in front of the school. That was fine... everyone was sitting round going "isn't it good that they can take part, please have some of my fine sponge cake". And thus far, we had satisfied ourselves with laughing at one of the helpers pushing a wheelchair, who was hugely fat. However, we were to be treated to something deeply more.

To the absolute shocked amazement of everyone watching, one of the wheelchairs ran into a stone on the track. The wheel jammed and came to a sudden stop. The confused helper kept pushing, however, which lent an extra momentum to the handicapped girl, who was now sailing through the air.

She landed face first onto the hard track... and because she was so handicapped, she could do NOTHING to break her fall. This was the source of extreme tragedy, and consequently, humour. It all seemed to happen in slow motion... we saw her fly out of her chair, and do a graceful arc in mid-air and then slam heavily down onto the ground. There was a collective inward gasp amongst the crowd, and a rather shocked silence.

Then, to the disgust of the teachers who worked with the handicapped teens and who were now rushing in horror to the girl's side, the faint murmurs of laughter could be heard tittering round the place. With hindsight, something like this HAD to happen... and in a really unpleasant way, I'm glad it did.

The Action Man is a great tool for measuring how loved a child is by his parents. Simply tot up the Action Men owned by the child, and refer to this key.
0-1 Action Men : Child is physically / mentally abused. If he has one Action Man, and it is up his arse, he may also be sexually abused, or gay. Also has headlice.
2-3 Action Men, 1 Vehicle : Child escapes the more serious symptoms of neglect, but the house is devoid of love. Divorce may be on the cards, mostly thanks to the stress caused by the financial burden of raising a child. You.
4-5 Action Men, 2+ Vehicles : Average. The child will grow up contented, and have a string of relationships with Russian spies before settling for an obedient plain girl.
6+ Action Men, All Vehicles : Clearly the parents have just died, and the foster parents want to stop him wetting the bed. Either that or the child knows how to play divorced parents off against each other.

Used in response to someone insulting your father, or any other family member, said tearfully and sincerely. The victim would hopefully say "Oh shit, I'm sorry", and then you'd laugh in their face.

The new name chosen by our maths teacher in the mid 80s when it became apparent that teaching at a secondary school might become problematic with the name Mr Ades.
In our attempts to bring you only the truest stories of playground cruelty, we searched the online phone book for Adeses. London gives a paltry two results. However, they're popping up like Karposi's Sarcoma in Surrey , with a massive dose of 13 Ades. Leeds is Ades-Free for now, but with this many Gays, it's only a matter of time. L*cy H*n*af*r*, our research leads us to believe you. Congratulations!

A synonym for moodiness or anger, one may be in an adge, or feeling adgey. This becomes a Jaffa Adge, if the rage is particularly pathetic or impotent, such as hurling a rubber four feet across the room.

Adidas bags can be doctored so that the logo is an acrostic for;
all day I dream about sex
after dinner I do a shit
a dirty indian did a shit
arse dicking is dangerous after supper
For double deedas, try;
a dirty indian did a shit and did it down a sewer

Cheap 4-striped Adidas 'kick' clones. from Woolworths. attempting to disguise them by removing the surplus stripe only resulted in a kicking.

Adrian Gombault (cleverly nicknamed Gaydrian Bumjolt) was....
The rest of this entry has been removed, as it frankly couldn't live up to this early promise.

An undiscovered anagram of which is "Bad Anal Rim". Thankfully, no-one found out - I had the piss taken quite enough already.

Andrew Sillitoe's voice was the last in our school year to break. It didn't take long before the connection between his wholesome blondness and that of Welsh choirboy Aled Jones was noted. The insult was soon tripled by some genius to Aflid - a nickname that spread like wildfire around the year, causing Sillitoe to cry, and lectures on bullying to be delivered to our entire school year.

Post-university, I bumped into him in London whilst very drunk. He was very friendly and his voice had deepened to Barry White proportions, but that didn't stop my mate Angus calling his mobile later that evening and screaming "AFLIIID!" like some rabid member of S-Express.

A trick played on gullible friends and younger siblings. At a party or similar gathering, produce a bottle of Haiya Karate or Old Spice that your Gran always gives you for Christmas once you’ve started shaving bumfluff off your face. Pull the waistband of your trousers out at the back, and pretend to pour the aftershave up your nipsy, while making violent orgasm sounds and telling the crowd how fantastic it feels. The sexually inexperienced audience members will want to experience this heady stimulant, so allow yourself to be persuaded to lend the bottle to the victim. Tell them to lie on the ground and pour it up their arse. About two seconds later they will be running around screaming with their arse on fire and the sounds of evil cackling ringing in their ears.
This is by far the best way of disposing of unwanted aftershave gifts, even better than drinking it. It makes your breath stink, by the way, but funnily enough it makes your farts smell incredibly masculine.

Uttered after a fart. Can anyone explain?

(I’d imagine it comes from an advertising slogan, Condor being a kind of rolling tobacco. Made of egg and cabbage presumably.)

Disease that is surprisingly easy to diagnose. Tell patient to hold their breath, then informing them they can breathe out "if they have AIDS." If they don’t breathe out, they’re in the clear.
I wonder if, in The Olden Days, it worked with TB or Polio?

Apparently what Christopher Rose had for his dinner. Every. Single. Day.
Despite being a great believer in brevity, this entry is a bit short, even for me. What method was used to apply the AIDS to the toast? How did it taste? How many slices did Christopher eat? Mark your entries: 'I have a fucking doctorate in AIDS on toast and ye shall heed me'. Ta.

An exclamation of anger, surprise, enjoyment, pain, or arousal. Found in the Bibliobus, a French reading compendium style thing much used in the 90s. This may seem unlikely as an impromptu exclamation, but then French ducks don't even go quack, they just say "zut", or something, whilst smoking a cigar.

If you are a fat kid, and it is approaching time for PE, the following excuses are most convincing;

• twisted ankles - and no wonder, supporting that vast bulk
• nausea - both from unaccustomed physical exertion, and the body's natural way to make room for more delicious food
• stomach ache - and with that much stomach, it's statistically certain that some of it must ache, although this is often interpreted by fat children as hunger with the cry "I can't do volleyball, I'm hungry"

Just try not to run too fast to the coke machine once you've been excused.

Ainsey was a strange ferry-loving kid who looked about 52. The rumour grew that he was haemerrhoidal, so post-changing room chat usually took the form of "did you see ainsey's piles?" Incidentally, there was never a confirmed sighting of ainsey's piles. But he had 'em, oh yes, he had 'em.

A girl at school told me once that if you blew into a woman's vagina while going down on her, it'd kill her. I don't know if it's true, but I can easily imagine an episode of Quincy where Jack Klugman says "How many more teenage girls have to die of air embolisms before you start teaching oral sex in schools? Why I oughta!", so it probably has some factual basis.

One way of getting a lorry driver to sound his airhorn is to scream "airhorn" at them. This is more effective if you are severely disabled, and it is good etiquette to wheel away in delight upon hearing the horn. At least, that is the precendent set by local cripple Dale Kaye, who invented the practice and is therefore entitled to invent whatever rules he likes.

To play Airwolf you will need a willing accomplice, and a park with a set of swings, ideally three seats next to each other.
Tie the outside seats to the posts, leaving only the one in the middle. This gives you loads of room in which to have your Airwolf adventure.
You, as Stringfellow Hawke, mount the middle swing, and your business associate, Dominic Santini, has to give you a push whilst you sing the Airwolf theme tune (your theme tune) and make whoosh, neeeow, er-er-er-er-er, peeow noises.
In practice, this was ace. Written down, it sounds shit. Sorry.

Alain was a small plastic French-Canadian penguin with a circled-A "anarchy" symbol on his chest, and erstwhile religious icon. He was prone to falling out of very high windows into rose gardens, and anyone who rescued him from such a predicament was deemed a "hero" with all attendant privileges.

Oppressive ambulance-following game. The ambulance (Alan) would run around making dee-durr noises and all the other kids would have to get behind him and follow his lead. Making the ambulance noise yourself or not getting in line behind would mean a punch in the face. Curiously Alan left you alone if you were playing marbles.

John Stinton, to give him his full name, taught my class in the final year of junior school. Highlights of his teaching included an impromptu sex education lesson, which included various far-fetched (and pretty inaccurate) descriptions of puberty and sex acts. He used to frequently 'forget' to fasten his trousers.
My friends and I sneaked a look into his rucksack one lunchtime and found the bottle of 'Lucozade' from which he constantly sipped. Smelt kinda like vodka...
I used to amuse myself by never looking at him directly when he spoke to me, but instead focusing on a spot to the left and behind his head. Watching the poor drunk try to work out what was going on was quite funny really.
I helped get the shit suspended, and he had to go into rehab. Came out, took up drugs, went back to teaching at the same school.

A bizarre game which seemed to take up most of our time when we were eleven. It involved two of us grabbing a hand each of our friend Ali, who became Ali Bugger for reasons best known to himself, and as you may have guessed, launching him as hard as we could by running at full speed and then letting him go.
Far from quickly tiring of this game, Ali Bugger always insisted we play it and ended up striving to make his next fall more spectacular than the last. Plans for the following launch became tactical sessions in morning lessons and analysis of failed launches in afternoon lessons. I believe the others involved are now working on the North Korea missile project.

Terrorvision's single of 1994, which condemned a number of Alices to displays of melodramatic sympathy should they be anything other than hysterically happy.

It should be said the most caring way possible, with puppy dog eyes if possible, whilst empathetically feeling her pain. Ideally, the teacher will interrupt this minor bullying with the question "Alice, what's the matter?"

Theoretically, if you write this on a clean board, it will drive your entire class to the brink of insanity, as they try to work out whether it is true or false. If it is one, it is automatically the other, yet the two are mutually exclusive.
What actually happens is some idiot writes 'Aodhna likes girls' and 'Johnny isn't gay.' Cunt.

Every year, our school had a group of Israeli kids come over to visit for a few weeks.
It was 1972 and 'All the Young Dudes' was high in the charts. One of the kids had literally just got to school, and he asked if he could go to the toilet. Soon a load of them were saying that they also wanted to go, and as they headed for the door, Mark Spatchurst started singing
"All the young Jews
Having a poo."

Start of a Muslim chant. Teachers and Muslim pupils react badly if it is sung to the tune of 'Everybody Dance Now' by C&C Music Factory.

Sorry to crash your entry darlin’, but even us mighty editors can’t submit new stories while the backlog remains so big. (It’s my only motivation for wading through most of the fliddy tat we get sent, I can tell you.) (Just joshing, Log thinks it’ll sex up the site a bit if I’m all stern and authoritative. Fucking perv.) Anyway, our school consisted of about two hundred white kids and one black girl. The teachers were afraid to ask her what sort of "black" she was, in case they looked racist, so to play it safe they got us to learn about all the other religions in the world that weren’t Anglo-Saxon, the better to acclimatise her to our culture. This culminated in an RE lesson where we were told to split up and write a song about one religion per group. Our group came up with the wildly popular "S.I.K.H". Sung to the tune of YMCA, it went:

S.I.K.H, it’s fun to be an S.I.K.H/
You can worship five Ks/
Wear a turban on your head/
If you don’t want to do that, be a Jew instead, S.I.K.H…

If memory serves correct I played the letter H. -Susan.

Bespectacled, Fred Dibnah-esque Woodwork (and if staff shortages demanded - metalwork) teacher, with poorly developed social skills. Fondly remembered for the stoical nature by which he would tolerate our endless tampering with his woefully unfashionable Honda C90 moped. Less fondly remembered for the occasion when he finally lost his tolerance and proceeded to repeatedly punch one 13 year old full in the face until restrained by the caretaker. Replaced the following term by the imaginatively nick-named, but less entertaining "Woody" Stephens.

All-encompassing phrase for any bunch of kids sent on a school trip. Used by the most senior teacher, seconds before getting off the coach. Laughably, this is designed to appeal to a sense of school loyalty.
In use; "Now remember, you are ambassadors for the school today so no loutish behaviour."
Some years later, zookeepers in Chessington would say, "Ravensbourne School For Boys? Pah! We received an important diplomatic envoy from that school, and their ambassadors covered our lions in lager."

Very much like tag, but emphasizing stealth. Everyone on the playground played, whether they realized it or not, whether they wanted to or not. The stalker had to sneak behind someone, push them to the ground and shout 'Ambush!' Should the person survive, they were the new stalker. This game fractured my kneecap.

Upon return from 'America', every child would have stories of seeing Indiana Jones part 5, bought Nike Air Max 9 trainers, a copy of Super Mario Bros 7, and the new Hyper Nintendo. Challenging any of these children to bring these in led to the disclaimer 'I left it at my gran's house'.

This might just be for the boys and I'm not sure if this is a recent occurence or a long-running one. I certainly don't remember doing it. Have you listened to young boys (aged 2-4) playing make-believe games recently? I have. Constantly speaking in an extremely poor American accent is perhaps acceptable when the game is "Cops" or "Cowboys" but when I listened in on two lads playing "Garage" with a Southern drawl, I had to ask myself why they bothered.

(No doubt the girls are playing fucking "Starbucks", or "God bothering ignorant warmongers stuffing their fat fucking faces." –Susan, who likes most Americans in real life.)

When someone discovers this book, and manages to get past the relatively slow beginning, delight can be had from reading the filthiest passages (in particular, the famous rodent/vagina incident) to the more shy children. They will generally leave the room by the time he's sliced off the nipples and fucked the decapitated skull.
(Editor's note : Avoid the chapters which go into an in-depth appraisal of the careers of Whitney Houston and Genesis. They will generally not shock.)

A computer superior in every way to the Atari ST. ST owners would bleat about built-in MIDI ports, but that marked them out as even bigger, sorer losers.
Sadly, their one weak spot, the chink in their armour, was the insertion of a digestive biscuit into the disc drive by a younger brother.

When learning the perfect tense in French, our teacher taught us a fantastic method of memorising the 13 most common irregular verbs.
Amsterdam police never rape virgins.
Hairy Sally laughed a lot. Did I mention Hairy Sally? She's all hairy.

Apparently it's not gay to have male-male anal sex if you wear a condom. Sounds like someone was in denial.

Game created on a 'team building' trip with the rest of our sixth form which involves somebody (in this case Andrew) allowing line of people to poke his face, and slap his cheeks or whatever, until at a random number, andy will release an almighty thwack to the side of that person's head, usually resulting in the person falling down. This is similar to the game 'buckaroo' where you load up a toy horse or something and it kicks out and makes you jump when it's had too much stuff on it or something.

Can be contracted by passing within a few feet of Andy Graham, the poor kid, or by eating custard at school dinners. (Only Andy Graham would eat the stuff, and we assumed it was because he was so poor and didn't have food at home). The only cure was to be wrestled to the ground by a group of kids screaming "NURSE!" and pretending to spray you with aerosol. Sometimes, if the afflicted person was unpopular, nobody would attempt to cure them for fear of contamination themselves. Thus, sat at the back of the class with no mates, when the teacher asked what the matter was, the often tearful child would mutter "I've got the Andy Graham Disease sir".

Andy McNally : an oafish lump of a child. His squirrel game : to take a squirrel that he'd found outside his house, take it into a field and repeatedly throw the roadkill as high in the air as possible.

Angel's Mum was an older girl in our school. She wasn't my mum, of course, but she was judged enough like her to warrant the nickname.
She died in her sleep the night before an exam, which was absolutely awful. Almost instantly, I was being equally consoled and ridiculed for having a dead mum.

Select a victim who is eating something runny e.g. custard, milk, rice pudding.
Just after he has filled his mouth with food, run past screaming "ANGRY DRAGON!" and slap him round the back of the head.
This will hopefully result in the food coming out of his nose - and when he turns to look at you, he will indeed look just like an angry dragon.
If the food doesn't come out of his nose, you still have the chances that he might reflex-swallow and choke on it, or bite his spoon really hard. He'll still be angry, so it's all good.

The name of a mystical pornographical film, in which a man makes love to a chicken, and a woman is taken by a horse. Someone's brother had a copy, of course, but if you all ran around their house, all 200 of you, and piled into their bedroom, they'd have lent it to someone. Someone from another school who was even older, who wouldn't give it back until you'd all found out about WASP, and started singing "I Fuck Like A Beast", and couldn't care less about men shagging chickens anymore. This all seems quite old hat, now that 4 year olds are getting emailed videos of wanking monkeys and men running their heads into an elephant's fanny. Porn just isn't sacred anymore.

My mate Pike jumped on a squirrel. He did. It's eyes popped out and everything.

Readers! Have you ever jumped on anything so that it's eyes popped out? My brother once trod on a pregnant gerbil, and apparently her eyes AND babies popped out! Unfortunately, he couldn't say whether the babies' eyes popped out, too. Please! Share your stories of jumping on something so that its eyes pop out - Log

A retarded girl.
It was a peculiarity of Anita's retardedness that she got upset very easily. You would only have to say "Hey, Anita!" to get her attention, then say something innocuous, like "It's raining!". This would cause her to scream "It's not!", start crying, and run away.
When I was about seven years old, Anita would have been about fifteen. My friend and I climbed a small flight of stairs to find her standing at the top, with her handler and a teacher (who was congratulating her on how well she was behaving that morning).
I decided that this would be a very good time for her to go mong in the head, so I yelled "Hey Anita... YOU HAVE NEW SHOES ON!"
Normally she would have said "I DO NOOOOT", cried, and run away. This time, however, she picked me up, bellowed in my face, then threw me down the stairs.
Funny folk, these mingmongs.

In the late 80's there was a weekly, Captial radio phone-in about personal/sexual problems. It featured self-appointed sexagonal-aunt Anna Raeburn, and a Doc. Essential listening for all 16 year olds eager to learn about loving relationships, Or the eye-watering ins and outs of butterballing.
One night, Adam Wright was the anonymous caller. After the tragic death of his mother, his dad was forcing him to do the housework. Wearing her frocks and perfume.
As things worsened, he was urging young Adam to pay particularly close attention to the bedroom. In order to show him some fundamentally incorrect love.
Adam was gulping and fighting back tears throughout, and so moving was the concern of Anna and the Doc, that Adam didn't have the heart to tell them - even when his mother called him down for tea - that they'd just been fished in by a fuck-minded teenager.
The TDK D90 containing this conversation was a treasured artefact for many weeks.

A crowd chant to sing along with acoustics from banging on your lockers to welcome the years ugliest minger through the doors at break. After a while, thanks to a form of short term nostalgia, this is still fun even when Anne Marie isn't there.

Song about Anne, sung to the tune of 'Consider Yourself' from 'Oliver':
Anne fingers herself,
At home.
Anne fingers herself,
In front of the family.
She wanked off a horse,
At the farm.
Its clear,
She,
Didn't do any harm.
Not to be confused with 'Annie's Song' by John Denver. In THAT one she wanks off a pony.

At 12, I was in love with her, and everyone knew it. But she had an on/off relationship with Duncan Keeling.
Out of pure, wretched sympathy for me, she gave me a peck on the cheek for my birthday, pausing just long enough to look for a clear patch of skin that wasn't covered in adolesent acne.
It still hurts now.

An alternate name for the windowlickers who often have their special lessons in an annexe. The mong migration can be observed with an Attenborough-esque sobriety.

The Scotsman newspaper always ran a story each year about the ranking of all secondary schools in Scotland. It took into account performance and attendance, and also had a section on facilities. When I read the bit about my school, I saw that we had a pony club. Did we fuck.

Song sang to greet Mrs Keates back to school after a lengthy absence, during which her father died. Her mother died 6 months previous.

Said, slackmouthed and emotionlessly, in reply to patently unfunny joke/remark. Preceded by: Oh. Ha ha.

Any question on any exam can easily be answered with "Only smarties have the answer." The triumph of this art undoubtedly came when my mate and I translated the phrase into German and wrote it for every question we couldn't do in our german GCSE - which was probably such a high proportion of the exam mainly because we spent our lessons looking up things like "Only smarties have the answer," on reflection.

The many variations on the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dream Coat song "Any Dream Will Do" (Or, "I Did a Huge Poo") (Or, "I’m a Mass-ive Jew"-Susan).

Must also be accompanied by a child choir, so the song will go thus:
"I closed my eyes (I closed my eyes)
Walked into a table (Aaah aah)
Now I'm disabled (ah aah)"
The song tended to end there.

Previously, the only kids who got to watch a film in the main hall were the big ones going to secondary school the next September. So when we were told we were watching a film that afternoon, we reckoned it was the sex-education one we had been discussing since moving from infants to juniors (specifically discussing if there were willies in it or not). But it wasn't. It was a farm safety film, the action cutting between between a bunch of Children’s Film Foundation types playing hide-and-seek on a farm, and a crying mum making a party tea. Except the playing kids all died one by one (one drank weedkiller by accident, one drowned in silage, one got run over by a tractor) and mum was getting ready for a wake. It put us all right off willies.

"Go ape shit", to spazz-out, have a benny, throw a wobbler. Extreme versions include "ape shit crazy on all fours" (Stephen Fry) and "ape shit on toast".

A word used in science, and PE. And no-where else in the world.

A less macho name for multi-million selling album "Appetite For Destruction".

In lieu of a see-saw, we had a big plastic bowl thing, which wobbled around on the ground when filled with children, like a giant weeble.
When inverted, it resembled a giant pie crust. It was therefore a logical step for myself and various misanthropic cohorts to carry it around the playground, trapping unsuspecting children beneath it, climbing on top and hammering on it with our fists, all the while shouting "APPLE PIE! APPLE PIE!"

This sounds way more fun than a crappy see-saw. Hats off to that local education authority - Conor

Unfortunate but generally OK history and politics teacher, whose name, as Richard Beddoes once noted, sounded like a fart in the bath.
(This reminds me of Robert Newman's nostalgic entry in the Mary Whitehouse Experience Encyclopaedia, in which a butler called Waddle was accidently summoned to his master's bathroom with a hot water bottle, after the master farted in the bath. When the master questioned his butler, Waddle replied "I distinctly heard you say What about a water bottle, Waddle". Christ almighty, I'm having nostalgia about other people's nostalgia, now. I hope, one day in 2018, someone fondly recalls this paragraph. - Log)

The tube of a cotton reel neatly accommodates a pencil. Loop a thick elastic band over the bobbin (fnuff!), pull back the rubber (phraa!), and you can fire the pencil out at puncturing speeds.
If the idea of launching a sharpened pencil into someone's face and eye causes you some concern, simply launch the entire school pencil supply into a polystyrene ceiling.
If anyone asks where you got a ladylike thing such as a cotton reel, answer "I stole it off a gay". If they ask why you are stealing things from gays, reply "to better know mine enemy".

Another way of calling your friends gay. Originates from our headmaster - Mr Archer - who was apparently caught bumming off another man in some public toilets.

If you ask someone whether they are a benny tied to a tree, they will generally reply "no". This will give you the opportunity to run away, screaming at the top of your voice, "BENNY ON THE LOOSE!"

The highest possible accolade a teacher can bestow upon one of their pupils. The only possible answer is of course "yes", which may result in the reward of expulsion from the class. Sometimes, braver teachers will offer an invitation to 'entertain the class then'. Of course if you are truly successful in entertaining the class this to will result in being expelled from the classroom.

Quote by some wacky-toothed Gail Tilsley look-a-like in "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". This was asked of Julia Hwyll Jones everyday on account of her crowded gums, and was funny up to and including the very moment she had all her teeth knocked back into her head in a car crash. Considering her accident, we repeated the same phrase, but with a lot more lisping and spitting.

The similarity between "homo sapien" and "homosexual" can, in limited circumstances, be used to gain sensational confessions from classmates. Brings a whole new meaning to class outings! [wipes tear from eye]

Every Poppy Day the local branch of apprentice cannon-fodder, the army cadets, would be on parade in our school Assembly. They had to stand facing the school in their hot and sweaty army uniforms for half an hour while we got lectured on remembrance. We whiled away the time placing bets on which cadet would faint first; at least one was guaranteed to collapse each year. Extra points were gained if he bent his trumpet or shat himself.

Being named Arran Bees would usually be considered sufficient grounds for a thorough and protracted bullying, yet the impossibly-named Mr Bees also had the gall to possess a pair of knobbly knees - which rhymes.

If you stand on a nick, you will marry a brick, and a beetle will come to your wedding.

Associative device used primarily to link an unsuccessful caricature to the name of the intended lampoonee, in situations where the talents of the caricaturist are insufficient to render the drawing recognisable on its own merits. If that sounded like a crock of shit, try the masterclass.

The caption of a grisly doodle or the cry accompanying a re-enactment of an excruciatingly painful demise. Represents "Arrrgh Pain!" interrupted by death.

Said to put the willies up someone who has broken the rules. The "arrrrrrrr" is followed by the name, form, and any other identifying details of the transgressor, followed by a brief description of the naughtiness and moral judgment from the speaker. Can be within earshot of a teacher. For instance, "arrrrrrrr, Jonathan Lee Blyth, 2C1, of 108 Weaverthorpe Road, you're sniffing glue, that's so naughty". I did get told off for sniffing glue, with two friends. We were sniffing a fucking Pritt Stick. However, between the girl who saw us and said "arrrrrrrr", the form teacher, and the headmaster, that crucial detail was forgotten. The headmaster showed us pictures of a dead boy.

This version of arrrrrrrr is followed up with an identically-drawled "bar-barrrrrr". We did this because we thought a "bar-barrrrrr" was a poo. Curiously, so did all the teachers, who wasted no time in royally bollocking us if they heard someone saying it. This of course led to a cyclic form where someone would do something bad, someone else would say "arrrrrrrr bar-barrrrrr" to them, then everyone else would turn to that person and say "arrrrrrrr bar-barrrrrr", and then to each other, and so on and so forth. Mass hysteria, particularly in the heavily-regimented and dinner-lady-policed lunch queues, would often result.

Yes, yes, thankyou. We hope you're feeling VERY ASHAMED now.

(Sent in by RL M, judged by Susan.)

The time-honoured 'giving somebody a sweet that has previously been inserted in your arse' trick had become so tired, that no one would ever accept a sweet from our gang. Then one day, we came up with this variation.
The boiled sweet was passed around a group of about nine of us, all of whom rubbed it around inside our cracks before it was carefully rewrapped. The next person that walked into the room was subsequently invited to participate in a beautifully choreographed game of 'scrambles'.
Havoc followed and the sweet changed hands many times before the victim finally emerged triumphant, and with a bummy, shit-flavoured sweet in his mouth. He genuinely believed that we wanted that sweet - I still remember the look of pride on his face at having won.

From the phrase 'about as much use as a one-legged man at an arse-kicking party' which still makes me laugh.
The concept of an arse-kicking party thus established, the cry of "arse kicking party" was made as a announcement of - and justification for - an assault on Matthew Moore.

Any sentence beginning with "I said" can be adjusted, with only minor tinkering, to sound like "Arsehead". This is, of course, funny. Arsehead!
However, if your friend doesn't quite hear you saying "four quid", a golden window opens, and you can say "arsehead fuckwit". This is such a rare occurence, that you should celebrate by running around your victim six times, pulling an imaginary trucker's chain, and going "HOOOONK".

Sung in the dinner hall between courses:

Arsehole, arsehole, a soldier I shall be,
To piss, to piss, two pistols at my knees,
Fuck you, fuck you, for curiosity,
Fight for my cunt, fight for my cunt, fight for my counnnnn-tryyyyyy.

Caused many a detention. I wonder why?

An alternative ending was "Fight for the Queen's cunt, fight for the Queen's cunt, fight for the Queen's cunt-ree". Some people think that this scans better and is funnier because it's got the Queen's cunt in it. It's all a matter of perspective, really.

One sunny afternoon, Sean Gardner was experimenting with a magnifying glass. He began to focus the sun's rays on the sleeve of our French teacher's jacket and within seconds, the garment began to smoulder. Noticing that his sleeve was somewhat on fire, he cried out, "What on earth do you think you're doing, boy?"
Sean had to think of an explanation, and he had to think fast. "I'm setting fire to your jacket, sir". Amazingly, he escaped punishment.

"I might get stoned, just for the inspiration" was what I heard one girl say to another before a practical art exam, obviously thinking that some cannabis would be just the thing to induce an 'art trance' and allow her to produce a work of complex, challenging psychedelia.

Well, the world was obviously not ready for her, as she ended up getting kicked out for attempting to spit paint at the canvas. Whether she was high or not remains a mystery.

Arty Farty had a party,
all the farts were there.
Tutti Fruity done a beauty,
and they all went out for air.
Not well received by infant school teachers who like to think that young children are unaware of the air that often slides noisily and surprisingly out of their arses. Even if it does fit the brief of "tell the class a poem you have recently learned".

During our production of 'African Jigsaw', it was not uncommon for assemblies to be gently interrupted by scarily-realistic papier-mache zebra heads peering inquisitively around the curtain.

I swear someone said this to me as a comeback to a "your momma" joke but to this day I have no clue what he meant...

Arises from the magnificent birthday poem written to celebrate Jamie Hutchison's birthday. It went as follows: "Today's the day Your dad is gay But don't be sad Lick some girl's pad." This gave rise to the saying "At least my dad's not gay", which could win you an argument when reason - as it so often does - fails. Alarming fact: it was Jamie's 16th birthday.

Irrelevant but effective comment that can alter the swing of an argument radically. Diddy : You're not very good at the High Jump. Log : Well, at least my mum's not in a wheelchair. Diddy's mum was in a wheelchair, by the way. Low.

What Lisa shouldn't have said to the girl in our class who's younger sister had a deformed jaw, unless she genuinely wanted to make her cry all afternoon and be sent home.

A very imposing nun who ruled the entire school, and was rumoured to be the controlling power of the blue nun that rode the art room's horse mural through the attic at night.

Nickname given to a boy with 'gozzy' eyes. In the first year of senior school his eyes were great, man, no problem. Then one eye went West, meaning that whilst one was looking directly at you the other was pointing towards Prestatyn or somewhere. This earnt him the nickname 'Home And Away'.

Then his other eye went weird too.

Yelled by a victim immediately after a strike to the testicles.
However, it takes the balls four seconds to switch from “spunk and fuck” mode to “Christ, that hurts” mode. So genuine testicle pain begins some time after the strike, leaving the poor man precious seconds of hope before the nausea, agony and red piss starts.
So, why the immediate awwwww!? Two possible reasons – it’s either a desolate wail of the man who foresees his immediate future, and sees that it is bad. Or, they’re filthy eunuchs who’ve never known the true agony of the thwacked nut.
Girls! Think you have an equivalent pain to the white thud of the smashed bollock? Speaking on behalf of the boys, I don’t think so. Convince me otherwise for a prize!

Song that reached the height of popularity during the Satanic Verses saga, sung to the tune of "London Bridge is falling down":
A-ya-tol-lah Kho-mei-ni, Kho-mei-ni, Kho-mei-ni
A-ya-tol-lah Kho-mei-ni, Sal-man RUSH-DIE!

Alternative form of tennis developed following the tragic death of Formula 1 deity Ayrton Senna. Like regular doubles, except once you started motion in any direction, you couldn't stop or reduce speed until you made contact with the nearest solid object. After injuries piled up, was rejected in favour of Thalidotennis.