A club to which new or stupid pupils were told it was desirable to belong to. Membership was obtained by standing on one of the wooden benches which marked the boundary between boys and girls recreation areas and shouting 'I am a cunt!'
Your status within the club was determined by the number of shouts achieved. For instance a 25-cunter obviously outranked a 12-cunter. The shouts had to be audible to a panel of judges who stood at a safe distance.
Iain Grant's claim to be a hundred-cunter was dismissed as it was achieved outside school hours. If a teacher was on playground duty each shout counted as a shout and a half for scoring purposes.
The highest verified status was Mark Jeffries' 43-cunter and the lowest was for a shout of 'I am' followed by a punch in the stomach.
Rival clubs, such as 'I am a Bastard' and the boundary-stretching 'I am a fucking cunt' never really caught on.
A song to the tune of Matt Bianco's cover of "Yeah Yeah".
I am a mongol, and i run around town,
and people hit me on my water filled crown,
it took me two months just to do up my tie,
I had an option to do it or die,
I say uuuurr uuuurrr.
John Connors was asked to sing it in assembly as the english teacher thought it was called "I am a Moron". Connors was put in detention and had to write a letter of apology to Mrs Ware who had a down syndrome child and had run out of assembly crying. This all seemed rather unfair.
It was a commonly held belief in my school that all robots moved their arms like Hazel O'Connor in 'Breaking Glass' and went around saying 'I am a robot' in Dalek voices and did nothing else. This bore no relation to the two (non-fictional) robots anyone had seen: 'Bigtrak' a kind of tank thing that fetched apples for your dad and shot the dog, and Hero 1, essentially a robot arm on top of a radio controlled car. Unless you count Twiki of course, he was real.
During a Humanities lesson, our teacher was astonished (and completely terrified) by the sight of Dennis bursting into the room with a hammer from woodwork and wearing a crudely fashioned paper beard. He announced: "I am Sutcliffe!", did a twisty dance, and ran from the room. Where Dennis had come up with this piece of theatre is anybody's guess but he had many a detention to mull over his behaviour. But, try as they might, they couldn't break the would-be serial killer, and he signed my shirt "the youkshire ripper fan-club" on the last day of school. I hope he doesn't drive a lorry now!
Kid A: What's the ninth letter of the alphabet?
Kid B (pause while fingers are counted on): I
Kid A: What colour is the sky?
Kid B: Blue
Kid A: What's the opposite of on?
Kid B: Off
Kid A: Euuuurrrrr! You blew off!
You blew off! Hey everyone, [Kid A] just said "I blew off"! This works best if you run around doing it to as many people as you can, because it's only a matter of time before everyone has heard it. And if that doesn't happen, there's only a brief period in your life when you will be childish enough for it to be funny.
My primary school's old assistant head told us at assembly once:
"If someone makes fun of you for not having the latest fashionable gear or a brand new bike or something, just tell them you can't afford it - that'll shut them up."
Even aged about 7, we knew that was a really fucking bad idea.
Classic reply to the belligerent "what are you staring at?"
Also consider, "dunno, the label's dropped off", "dunno, but it's staring back", and "a cunt".
The mantra of one, evidently peace-loving gentleman at my school.
The only confusion arose from his body language - the fact his olive branch was offered to an unaggressive child, whom he was punching again and again in the face, made it all seem just a touch more psychotic than everyday violence.
The brilliantly misguided defense used by a contemptible shit in my year by the name of Ben Wilbur, when encircled by a group of 12-year olds, doubtless virgins themselves, mocking him for not ever getting his oats.
He was roundly hated before he revealed he'd spaffed in his sister, but after that bullying efforts were trebled on the irritating twat (he used to get in your face and make a noise like Snarf out of the Thundercars, the cunt), culminating in the most astonishing display of mass youthful brutality I've ever seen, nay, been party to. To win some friends, he climbed onto the school roof one lunchtime to retrieve a football. Seeing him up there, prancing round like a cock, made some sort of collective tolerance get breached, and suddenly the hapless wank was bombarded with rocks even the fucking prefects were joining in, loner girls who'd never been heard to speak were fucking pelting the git and baying for blood. Mad, sad, and a little frightening. The whole school got bollocked immediately after lunch in the only emergency assembly we'd ever had, with Ben getting carted off in an ambulace.
At the age of eight, we managed to convince pikey Sophie James that having an orgasm was a terrible thing, by admonishing "Don't have an orgasm, Sophie" every time she showed the slightest hint of excitement. After about the millionth time, the phrase would set her off into a monumental tantrum: she'd screech, stamp her feet, bellow "I HAVEN'T HAD AN ORGASM!", and run off to cry in the toilets.
Fifteen years later, I can't help wondering if she still does this when her boyfriend asks her "Did you come, dear?"
Disproportionate retort to a perfectly reasonable statement. For example:

"Hey Andrea, have you got a red pen I can borrow?"
"No, sorry."
"Well then, I hope your firstborn is a cripple."

If anyone from Killy High has since given birth to a crippled child, I accept no responsibility for it.
During primary school Christmas dinner in the mid-to-late 80's, it was customary to announce "I now have the honour of eating a potato" in a Margaret Thatcher voice before stuffing an entire hot roast potato into our mouths. We would maintan an expression of pained satisfaction as steam shot out from our ears.
If you are of the lower castes, and a higher ranking child says this to you with his hand outstretched and welcoming, run. Run away.
The best you can expect is a crushing handshake.
But it's rarely a lone wolf attack - to risk approaching someone as unpopular as you, there's usually going to be a bigger payoff. Chances are you'll be held in place while others come to laugh at the fact you dared to want or expect friendship. Often, there is violence.
Finally, the crowd will be overjoyed if the injustice causes you to howl "you liiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeed" before losing conscousness. They know they lied. That was the whole point. No wonder you get picked on.
If there's one thing school children should be congratulated for, it's coming up with blue lyrics for the songs in the hit parade, often mere seconds after the release of the tune.

Back in the heady days of 1993 Ace of Base released "The Sign" which was transmogrified into "Your Mom"; the words to which are:
I saw Your Mom,
She opened up her legs and said 'come on'.
Life is demanding,
When you're doing it on the landing.


Brilliant, I'm sure you'd agree. Obviously you couldn't let someone sing this to you unpunished which led to someone coming up with the blocker song, "Your Dad", which replaced the fist two lines with:
I saw Your Dad,
He opened up his legs and said 'not bad'.


This, in turn, was blocked by the fact being pointed out that having your opponent's dad opening his legs on the landing and appraising you for sexy purposes was pretty fucking gay anyway.
Alternate lyrics of Kylie's debut single, which summarised the plotlines in Neighbours of the time, and added a rubber ducky.
I should be so lucky with my rubber ducky
Strangle Mrs Mangle today
Daphnes had a baby
Called it little Jamie
Bouncers gone a bouncing away.
Then the second verse, which lost its way somewhat...
Daphnes nearly Dying
Gails just arriving
Des doesn't know what to do
Mike's at college showing off his knowledge
Picking up a date or two
As a follow-up to a witty one liner, I intended this to mean "what I just said was excellent, I'll accept your money via credit card". My classmates, however, interpreted it as an admission that I liked to stick dildos up my bum.
A line from Nora in the A-Level English Literature study-favourite 'A Doll's House' by Frederik Ibsen.
"If only I dared go out. If only no one would come. If only I could be sure nothing would happen here in the meantime. Stuff and nonsense! No one will come. Only I mustn't think about it. I will brush my muff. What lovely, lovely gloves!"
At this point, discipline faded fast.
(Also consider "Ride you tonight, my lord?" from Macbeth)
Desk-writing poetry.

I woz ere
Ere I woz
Woz i ere?
Yes I woz

Affirming. My best friend Emily McQuade once filled in the space underneath with:

You are sad
Sad you are
Are you sad?
Yes you are

We liked to imagine the first-year who wrote the original poem seeing that, and crying.
The infamous statement made by the hottest girl in our entire school in front of all of my friends. Within five seconds my trousers were on the ground. Luckily she followed through, otherwise my all time greatest achievement could easily have been the most embarrasing moment of my life.
Based on the pubescent pop group 3T. Michael Jackson's nephews no less. Tito's sons? Probably.
Their one hit was "I'll Give You Love". Whenever the group performed this on stage, one of them would wear a large rucksack over one shoulder. Then, when he got to the emotional pinnacle of the song - the high bit - he would throw it down on stage in an aroused huff. Every time.

This original move led to an entire month at our school where every lesson we would all, in unison, start the lesson by screaming "I'll give you love" in high whiny voices then slamming our bags down on our desks.
It was in this way that I broke my cartridge pen. We were not a very cool school.
The cry uttered by me during a complex game of cops and robbers, where the criminal element was far more varied. "I'm a murderer!" "I'm a drug dealer!" etc.
For about a week after the incident, I couldn't sit near a girl without her crying out "Jon, stop trying to rape me!" and occasionally hitting me.
I'm not a rapist. Honest.
The Editors of Playground Law wish to let it be known that they do not endorse Jon James' claim not to be a rapist. If you have been raped by Jon James, please go to the police. Alternately, tell your story here, and we'll do our best to get him sent down for good.
Two kids had been caught fighting. Our headmaster made a big dramatic cautionary speech about it the next day, during which he got rather worked up, causing him to offer the following as his peroration: "So anyone who wants to fight in the future, fight me! I know the alley! I've fought in the alleys! I'm an alley cat!" These ludicrous threats was heard out in stunned silence, only to be much analysed and mused in the following days and months.
Meet Mr Graham Barnes, a physics teacher with an unnaturally high voice. We used to sit at the back of the class shouting 'Graham is gay', prompting him to one day reply with 'I'm not gay'. Naturally enough. From then on, any accusation of someone being gay was met with a barrage of high-pitched voices stating 'I'm not gay'. He once broke down in tears after we told him we had phoned Childline and said he touched us.
After a half-hour barrage of gay insults by the majority of our form, imagine our surprise when tiny Nick Jordan snapped and bellowed the above.
A brief silence followed out of respect and gratitude, before the barrage was resumed. And this time, we had truth on our side.