A: Would you rather eat beef stew or poo?
B: Beef Stew
A: What if the beef stew was made with poo, would you rather eat the beef stew or just the poo?
B: Beef Stew
A: You want to eat beef stew made with poo!!!

"CAN YOU BEES?" screamed Henry as he sat on fellow special needster Alan, "CAN YOU BEES?"

Punchy tune composed apropos of nothing, by Jason La Torre. The lyrics ran thus: The beetroot song, da da la da da da, The beetroot song, da da la da da da The beetroot song, da da la da da da, The beetroot song, da da la da da da, Eat the beetroot! Eat the beetroot! Eat the beetroot! It makes you turn...PINK! The song ended abruptly, and in curious triumph.

The highlight of a 1984 edition of the Acland Burghley secondary school's 'Weekly Bulletin' was the 2nd year football team being congratulated by the headmaster after a particular good cup run. The picture revealed an assortment of 13 year olds wearing Pringle diamond-cut pullovers, Lyle & Scott roll necks, and Farah's slacks looking for all the world like Brucie, Tarby, and friends at the Bob Hope memorial Pro-Celebrity Golf Tournament.

Take a Philips school atlas and find where you live on it. Show your friends what you’re about to do. Bring your thumb down on your home town, and you should hear all your mates screaming with terror as a 50 mile wide thumb descends upon them and crushes them like red mites. Try gobbing on the map and hear them choke and drown. Best of all, turn round and fart all over the East Midlands.

Using the laser printing technologies available in some schools, it is relatively easy to print out fifteen life-sized copies of your French teacher's grinning face, and for the whole class to be wearing them when he enters the room.
If he says "that's a waste of resources", simply reply "what's a waste of resources, sir?"

Many years before children became properly aware of childhood illness issues we were sat down by our teacher and told we 'have to be nice to Craig as he has something wrong with him'. This, naturally, led to much speculation as to what it actually was, until the conclusion was reached that he had been born without a cock. This established, following craig into the toilets to see what he pissed with became something of a group activity. In retrospect possibly the only thing wrong with Craig was the fact that he didn't lash out at the oggling cock-staring pervos in his class. We never did find out as he didn't come back to school after the summer holidays. Maybe he just filled up with piss and burst.

Our PE teacher often made everyone who was shit at football (me included) compete against the actual football team. It's never been clear to this day, what he was actually trying to achieve by this.
I remember one day, I made a woefully feeble yet heroic attempt at a goal, which was easily deflected by our opponents. Taking his job seriously, our captain explained to me about the taking part being rather more important than the winning.
My response to this was to run around the pitch, attacking members of the non-shit team with my bare fists, tears in my eyes and roaring at the top of my voice. It still hurts now. Hurts bad... So bad...

This refers to the practice of playing at being a rock band in a rainy lunch hour in the art room. Using window poles as mike stands, scrubbing brushes as drumsticks, and so forth, we took the whole 'tennis racket/bedroom mirror' phenomenon to its logical conclusion when we actually invited some boys to watch our show. Drunk on celebrity, giddy with hormones, during the last song we decided to smash our 'gear' up a la The Who, causing untold damage to said window pole, some jamjars full of poster paint and Jason Miller's head. It was at this moment that the trendy art teacher showed up and - to our mind - reverted to facist type by sending us to the deputy head. Our potential punishment was as nothing to our sheer bloody embarassment when asked what we were doing. One of our band - I'd like to think it was me - muttered meekly 'we were just being The Who, sir'. The utter surrealism and fuckwittedness of this was such that the deputy head crumpled inwardly at the strain of not bursting out laughing and sent us away with some vague demands about clearing up the mess.

In my infant school, the standard punishment for being naughty was spending playtime facing the wall under a large and incredibly heavy Victorian brass bell. The inevitability of the bell falling down and striking Andrew Lynn's head was rendered less slapstick by the severe hospitalization that ensued. By the age of 13, Andrew was reading at a rudimentary level.

An alternative to "durr". Said in classic spacka pose with tongue pushed out against bottom lip. "Belm". Similar to "Jimmy Hill" (rubbing chin) and "Chinny Rack-On", in that they denotes the feeling that someone is talking shit.

An imaginary card that you never knew you had until you are informed that you have dropped it. An instinctive glance at the ground is then instant proof that you are a member of this exclusive club.

I always thought this was a strictly our-school-only term for a botty bandit until I googled it today and found someone selling t-shirts with it on. I suppose it could have been specially commissioned by David Burns of my class, who has written in his Friends Reunited entry, "Yes, you were right. I really was a bendy Herman and I still am". I like to imagine him wearing his special shirt on gay pride marches in case he runs (or possibly sashays) into any old school friends.

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Benson was the butler in Soap. He was so loved in America for being a servile black man surrounded by his white betters, that he got his own series. So, if you asked anyone for a favour, they would comply grudgingly, and say "just call me Benson".

John: Steven, could you pass me that book?
Steven: Tch, for God's sake. Just call me Benson, why don't you?

At some stage, this developed into a full rendition of the theme tune to Soap, whenever anyone was asked to do anything.

Ben Watt quickly learned to write his name with the smallest possible space between the words, to prevent a couple of 'T's being squeezed in there.

Childish insult that, in adulthood becomes one of the most cutting things imaginable. Try it. Call someone a berk today!

Many thanks to all the Cockneys who completely missed the fucking point and wrote in to tell us that berk is actually rhyming slang for cunt and very rude indeed, actually. 'Cuntybollocks' is rude. And so is 'why don't you just bloody piss on your nan's bum, you cuntybollocks'. 'Berk', 'nitwit' and 'der-brain' are not. Jesus. - Ponky

Abusing an unfortunate child's unique habit of biting his clenched fist in moments of anger. Taunting will occur on an hourly basis to see who could be the first to break the skin by proxy. His father was dead, so shouting, "Where's your Dad, Steve?" usually worked a treat. When his Mum died, he actually came in the next day. Out of respect, he wasn't insulted for at least a week - but there was obviously new ammunition once it recommenced.

Frazer was married to Betty. Desite his vehement denials of the obvious fact, I put the matter beyond doubt by writing "Betty" on several amall pieces of paper, folding each twice, sneaking up behind Frazer and sprinkling them over his head whilst shreiking "Betty Confetti!" inches from his ear.
Sadly, his eardrums were not perforated. However, he did complain of a ringing in his ears. The ringing of bells. At his wedding. To Betty.

Inevitably there came a time when a teacher would ask the pupils to make a list of their names- with luck it was a supply teacher who didn't know who you all were and would then read the names out. In these cases, it always paid to have some handy rude spoonerism names to pad out the list. E.g.
Betty Swollocks
Paul Smeenis
Mary Hinge
Kelly Smunt
Joe Blobb
Tex Soy
Trevor Nyanalsecks etc.
Not to be confused with more direct humour of names like Mike Hunt, Hugh Jarse etc.

Bag Full Of School Dinner.
Almost every lunchtime during the third, fourth and fifth form we made a BFOSD by pretending to eat our school dinners, but in fact each sneaking spoonfuls into a plastic bag. These creatures were then named and taken out to the playing field, where they developed a personality of their own as they were thrown around until they burst - usually on Wayne.
The best BFOSDs tended to be composed of a base of mashed potato, custard and segments of orange, along with other associated foodstuffs. The acidity of the orange was generally believed to curdle the milk in the custard, turning the BFOSD into a stinking near-lethal chemical weapon.
Early BFOSDs tended not to last more than fifteen minutes or so, and required rebagging at frequent intervals if their lifespan was to be increased. Then some genius suggested putting the BFOSD into a sock taken from the PE Block lost property basket, and a whole new era was born.
Putting a BFOSD into a sock meant that, when the plastic bag burst, the mashed-up food that was its very essence did not escape onto the ground. Instead it oozed into the material of the sock, making it very, very unpleasant indeed, but also maintaining the BFOSD's integrity. This meant that, rather than lasting for an hour or so, BFOSDs could last for days or even weeks before the foul stench of rot caused us to discard it.
With the lifespan of the BFOSD extended almost indefinitely, all sorts of shenanigans ensued. The contents of the BFOSD leaked from their M&S terry toweling home at a reasonably restrained pace; school blazers were frequently dotted with stains, but nothing approaching the full-on 1963 Dallas head-shot stains that bursting plastic bags left.
And so the BFOSD managed to live past the lunch hour until after school when they made their way into Walsall town centre - where hilarity inevitably resulted: thrown onto crowded buses, pushed through open office windows, deposited on the shelves of the local Sainsbury's. We behaved in a manner that brought shame to both our school and our families. But we didn't care - we were young rebels blazing through puberty, and we did it with stinking socks in hand.

The well known practice of looking up rude words in the School Library's Big Dic-tionary also works in the Bible. A quick summary of my findings...

• Song of Songs 5:2-4 contains passages about honey soaked, er, passages.
• Philippians 3:8 has Saint Paul using a bad word. Um.
• 1 Samuel 25:22 has King David using the phrase "he that pisseth against a wall".
• Isaiah 66:11 has a little breast play.
• Proverbs 5:19 has some sound marital advice - plus nudity, rape, besitality and bum sex galore!
  A rich playground for the horny teen looking to spazz out during a dull RE lesson.

Alien who started his one man invasion of Earth in a small primary school in the north east of England. He started his bid for world domination by frightening an eight year old girl in the toilets by saying "Biddy-Biddy, Hello!" After two months of children combing the school field and "butterfly garden" in search of this beast, and several telephone calls by worried parents to the headmaster because their children couldn't sleep at night, it was finally stopped by a school assembly where the existence of aliens was strenuously denied and the by now heavily armed (with sticks) anti-alien sweeps were ordered to stop.

Another hilarious disability insult - this time for the lucky sufferers of spina bifida. Also biffa.

Biff shoes are any utterly unfashionable shoe, preferably large and cumbersome with deep tread soles. So called because of their resemblace to a medical shoe and braces, at the time thought to be worn by people who suffered from spina-bifida.

Standard male reply to the age-old question "How's it hanging?".
A suitable girls' reply was never established. "Fine, thanks" seemed to suffice.