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.