June 1987. Sports day. The fifth form 100m final contestants line up on the start line. Among them, Peter Bliss - wearing size 12 rugby boots, tatty grey baggy cloth shorts, a too-small t-shirt died pink in the wash and his trademark NHS glasses.

And they're off.

Ten kids hurtle down the track encouraged by the shouts of 500 kids and adults. But - within a few seconds, the noise falters, withers, then dies completely. Apart from a faint "phut phut phut phut phut".

Peter Bliss, with a furious look of red-faced determination etched on his spotty mug, is running faster than all the other competitors. He just isn't running in the right direction. Nobody's watching the race any more; all eyes are on Peter as he runs straight through the crowd of kids and shellshocked parents, and straight across the empty playground behind.

He runs straight into the toilets. With a big pile of shit tumbling out the back of his shorts.

It doesn't stay quiet for very long.

Victim is floored, arms out-stretched. Someone kneels on the elbow joint and the arm is pumped up and down. Often initiated with the question "Would you like leaded or unleaded?". Requesting "unleaded" possibly led to a less ferocious pumping but probably relied more on the benevolence of the initiator.

And I suppose if the kid started crying, you could all go "thar she blows!" and dance around clicking your heels and whooping, as though you’d struck oil like in them films. That sounds fun. Susan.

The pupil of Ysgol Tryfan, Bangor, who removed one of his dainty stools from the bowl, and smeared it across the walls of the toilet, leading to an assembly in which we were told we had "a very real problem". Retards and pyschopaths alike came under suspicion, but the plucky turdslinging Welshman who wrecked the walls with bowels of folly will take this secret to his grave.

They sought him here, they sought him there but the phantom shitter was always one step ahead of the posse.

It began in the October I think, the location was a horticultural college in Kent. The modu operandi varied but the result was always the same. The shock discovery of a turd in places where you really didn't want to make such a discovery. The first discovery was made in an empty bath (on reflection I think this is worse than a full bath)in one of the girls' bathrooms. The choice of this target was inspired, the outrage and gossip the act generated already meant that the Phantom Shitter had attained legendary status. The folowing months were to cement his (or her) place in history.

Over the next few months turds began appearing at random times and in random locations. Often they were contained in a tupperware container, or they were left on a deliberately cleared surface (so to heighten the aesthetic impact one would suspect). The actions stopped in as sudden manner as they started. The strtange thing is that once it stopped, we all missed the anticipation of the next discovery. And no, it was not I and we never did discover who it was. The Phantom Shitter, will however be a part of all of those who experienced it forever. Today, I see it as a kind of performance art.

Ask the askee; "Do you collect stamps?" -- If yes, you get stamped on the foot. A more sophisticated variant is to ask the question: "Do you want a Shakespeare Stamp?" And when the victim says yes, shake him, "spear" him in the chest, and stamp on his feet.

"My dad's a banker" "I was born on a pirate ship" "Two cows went up the hill and parted" Both are magically transformed if you put a finger in each side of your mouth and pull your cheeks apart when you say them.

By quietly repeating the words of the teacher a moment after they say them it is possible to have the poor bugger sitting next to you become so disorientated they start to write down what you are saying, and not the teacher. Once they are hooked, to their surprise they suddenly find they are not writing about the properties of oxygen, but a blue monkey with a huge penis.

This means "seal egg" in French. It is a great tragedy for pupils in French lessons everywhere that seals don't lay eggs. Or that you can't ask for one in Paris restaurants.

Should you be entrusted with the dubious honour of photocopying teaching material, it is incumbent upon you to make asinine alterations guaranteed to cause a giddy head rush.

Your starter for ten: a highly childish assault on the periodic table achieved by inserting the word "Jimmy" after the symbol for copper ('CU...Jimmy').

The wires used in physics to attach various devies to a battery - such as a clock - could be used by those not wishing to become Einstein as a whip. The plastic connectors could, on a good swing, break skin.

During my school days, I learned that the best way to stop pickpockets is to put a dog shit in a sandwich bag, and put it your coat pocket. You can guarantee they'll never do it again.

Aye, right. So you walked around with a dog shit in your coat pocket all day, just in case someone tried to steal your handkerchief? You've emerged as the clear winner here. You daft sod. - Matt

If anybody called you a pig, you could declare that it stood for "Pretty, Intelligent Girl", and was thus a compliment.

After the film "Lost Boys" came out, Jason O'Malley went to a careers interview and asked for information about Vampires, and he was rather badly Bollocked by the teacher. Undeterred he decided to get on the vampire Career ladder and started bringing pigs blood (procured from the bemused butcher) in to school and offering it to people under the guise of 'Home made Blackcurrant Juice'. After getting over our initial shock for a few weeks we were able to play games of 'Pigs Blood' at lunchtime which involved nicking the plastic Panda Pops bottle of pig's blood and playing football with it until it burst. The games ended when Jason decided he wanted to be a fighter pilot for the US Navy and ride a motorbike instead.

A fantastic story from the US... more like this, please, yanks...
Mrs. Bergstrum the biology teacher clearly checked the wrong box when ordering dissectable fetal pigs from hog-bit providers Edmund Scientific.
What showed up instead was a reinforced drum of full-sized adult pig heads swimming in their own facial sweat. Making the best of her mistake, an attempt was made to dissect these in class, but this failed miserably as no one could get through the skull.
Sensing potential, someone slipped accidentally on purpose, a pig head ended up on the floor, a head was thrown, a girl screamed, and things went from bad to worse.
Soon enough, the unused heads began to disappear from their storage cabinet and show up in girls' lockers, the ball bin at the gym, staring up sadly out of the toilet bowl, etc.
For a few days, these heads were everywhere.
Interest waned when the fruit flies arrived.

Our GCSE Science teacher brought a set of pig's lungs to class, around which we all gathered to watch as she demonstrated their function and dissected them for us. As part of the demonstration, she stuck a tube into the windpipe, and asked Chris Belton to blow into the tube so we could see the lungs inflate. Chris obliged - only for someone to bring their fist down on top of the inflated lungs, shooting air and mucus from the lungs back up the tube and into Belton's mouth.

A name for the admitted rare phenomenon of a child with one webbed foot. The success of the insult really lies in the protracted nature of the linked insults, e.g. 'Pass me that pencil, oh you can't, pigeons don't have hands'.

Like sardines, yet more violent. Still catering to the newly evolved homoeroticism of school kids. Basically, someone falls over on the hard gravel floor of the playground, and everyone else jumps on them. Pile-ons were regularly arranged for various break times as well, but few people were daring enough to be the first. Often led to serious injuries.

All good friendships must face tests. My friendship with Pilky - a truly lovely chap - faced such a trial when I got him to place his foot over a rusty nail sticking out of a fence. Then, I stamped on his foot.
It is a testimony to the magnitude of my emotional givingness that we remained on good terms. That and the fact he promised not to grass me up.

There was a kid at primary school who claimed that he dreamt that he was eating a giant marshmallow and when he woke up, he had eaten his pillow.

I didn't know that this was a widely-known joke until recently when I was perusing a children's joke book.

The application of a ?nipple-gripple? and dead arm on the first day of the month to the chant of "Pinch-Punch, First of the Month!".
There was also the quasi-sophisticated retort "A punch and a kick for being so quick." This implied that the pinch-puncher didn?t even know the appropriate time for such tomfoolery, and had gone blustering in like an overexcited toddler.

The painless insertion of a pin under a layer of dead skin on the fingertip. Experts can manage ten pinfingers without accidentally popping one out. This leaves the pinfinger able to do little other than wave their hands at people and say "look look " to people they hope will be impressed. (Log)

In my third year of secondary school, we all went on "camp", and I went to the water sports one in Wales. Me and some other boys played a few games of the role playing game "Call of Cthulhu". While I was running one of these games, I made the mistake of saying that one of the beasts was "pink and blasphemous", within ear-shot of a school bully. I was hounded by cries of "pink and blasphemous" until the day I left that school, 5 years later.

Our teachers’ admin and staffroom corridor was, for some reason, painted a bright pink. Pupils would occasionally be dragged up for various disciplinary matters.

Fortunately, we were sophisticated and mature enough to appreciate and capitalise on the significant double-entendre opportunities. "Sir had to take her up the pink corridor for a punishment." Teachers could be asked if they were "going up the pink corridor for lunch".

If you tell anyone that you like Pink Floyd in year eight, you will be singled out as a bender.

An unfeasibly tall, largely silent, unassuming Asian girl who wore unnecessarily garish stripey leg-warmers. To our (suprisingly tolerant) six year old minds she seemed perfectly normal, little did we know the she was gaining reknown elsewhere.

This hidden notoriety only revealed itself more than 10 years later, at a party for a departing teacher, when parents and faculty members alike chose her as the subject for their fancy-dress costumes.