A particularly apt set of initials for a member of staff who was a particularly large arsehole.

I concur - and the fact that he acted like your best mate once you were in the sixth form didn't make up for the fact that he'd acted like a cunt in all the previous five. But I digress -- Phil
Lee Sylvester was 2 years above me at school, and clearly the school hard man. He demonstrated this by decapitating a rabbit and nailing its head by its ears to the school basketball hoop.
He took me to one side and showed me the rabbit's foot, making it form a fist by pulling on the tendon hanging out of the back.
I'd never spoken to him before - the fact that he showed me alone made me feel very special. Does this mean I'm a gayer?
Alan brought his pet mouse into school in a plastic ice cream tub. Boys then skewered its regular supply of droppings onto sharp pencils and ran after more sensitive children, attempting to flick the wee beastie's shit onto them. A direct hit would lead to the victim solemnly being informed they now had rabies, and would, unfortunately, die foaming at the mouth when they got home. One particularly weak child got some in his eye - naturally meaning he now had super-rabies. He spent the rest of the day sobbing under a desk, waiting for the inevitable.
A simple variant on the classic humming game, that requires no self-control. Start a slow crescendo of humming, imitative of high performance motor vehicles, is performed by each member of the class whilst all is quiet. The race is approaching.
Once the teacher becomes aware of engine noises, students are free to roar with gay abandon, mimicking whichever vehicle they damn well please.
A totally non-PC game where somewhere's rubber is daubed with the union jack and the words BNP. For additional effect, the rubber can then be used as a stamp to accessorise exercise books.
A team effort requiring patience, a streaming cold and a strong stomach.

By coating a radiator with snot and phlegm and leaving it to bake hard, it is possible to 'grow', over the course of a few weeks, a material akin to snakeskin. Further prosthetic enhancements (especially ears and lips) can be made from the Hubba Bubba mountains on the undersides of the desks.

All you need to do then is find someone on whom to perform a unique makeover.
Only certain children are capable of achieving the rage. It is the state where you are empowered by two silver lines of snot running from your nose to your mouth. Once this bionic power feed is broken, the child will lose their powers and become sullen, sorry, and somewhat confused at the chaos that surrounds them.
Unpopular children who would come to school with bags full of sweets in a pathetic attempt to ingratiate themselves with the more popular, infinitely richer, and therefore fundamentally better kids.
Over all the streets and houses
Rain-bones flying high.
Shoot the little Cheese-man's children,
Kill them till they die.
Over all the streets and houses,
Rain-bones turned to green.
3-4 Methelyn-dioxy-
Shall we go and Napalm Browntown,
With a chickens head?
Why has mr Tidmann got a small boy,
With him in his bed?
Mr Tidmann was an RE teacher, who had once said 'everyone goes through a homosexual phase. I know I have.'
Another of the mystical acts, such as felching, and squicking. Simply to clear the air, my understanding of a rainbow kiss is that the man gives the lady a mouthpiece when she is subscribing to the monthly rags. After a certain time, he rears up his head and kisses the lady, who doesn't appear to mind that she is being fed her own chewed up placenta. Why this is a rainbow kiss is somewhat confusing. Red, for the blood, obviously. Yellow, for the wee-wee. But green, purple, blue? I should be concerned.
Small multi-couloured puffed sugar rice. On sale at the breaktime tuck shop for 5p a bag. Contained enough E-Numbers to fell a mechanical horse. Guaranteed to induce raging spasms, violent behaviour, and epileptic fits in anyone fortunate enough to try some. And that's before you even get started on the name.
The most anti-climactic moment of a generation's primary school life. Everyone got the afternoon off to watch this momentous event on the TV in the assembly hall, and what emerged? A couple of planks of soggy wood. Everyone shuffled off home disappointed that the promised magnificent galleon and flagship of Henry VIII's war fleet had spectacularly failed to appear.
Recounted tale of a girl in a first school I didn't attend curling one off on a radiator. As you do, when there's no toilet near by.
Not a convincing reason why you shouldn't be sent to the headmaster's office for pointing a replica pistol at the caretaker. See also "don't push me, I'm muscley".
The first Indian kid at our school once mentioned that he went home for lunch. We naturally assumed that this meant he made the journey back to India during his lunch hour, every day.

The details of his journey (by the elephant, which he kept tied up in the bike shed) became increasingly elaborate and this was made all the more charming (or insulting, depending on whether or not you are Ramish) by the fact that we didn't know a single thing about India, or Indian culture.

[log]I love this, but I get the feeling I'd love it more if you told me about these misinformed fantasies. If you can remember any of the best, please share...[/log]
The unfortunately monikered Rammy was widely rumoured to take it "right up the batty hole" and so a song was composed to commemmorate this. The only lyrics were as follows:

Who takes it?
Rammy takes it,
Right up the batty hole.

This grew in popularity to such a level that impromptu renditions, often involving the entire class singing repeated verses in close harmony, became commonplace in most lessons.

The dance remix was inevitable, but still welcomed.
'B' block had three floors and two stairwells at either end ot the building. Although you couldn't get more than about three metres before hitting a right angle, you could - albeit briefly - slide down the bannisters.

One afternoon Richard Randall started his trademark descent from the top floor. Something clearly went awry, because instead of enjoying a few seconds of sliding bliss, he plummeted to the floor at bottom of the stairwell.

As a direct consequence of the event, slightly weedy looking 'safety bannisters' were welded onto all bannisters in the school, bringing their height to about 2 metres - far too high to slide down. These were immediately christened 'Randallbars'.
Most things at our schol are random. It dusnt even have to be that odd it will just be random its sorta one of those unwritten rules!
Perhaps based on the word “rapier”, I thought for some time that the term “rape” meant to attack someone with a knife. I rather foolishly enquired with a group of male friends whether or not we should go rape the girls.
(The image is only improved by the idea that Widdler was waving a knife around at the time… - Log)
The announcement that several thousand Mars bars had somehow been filled with rat poison would, in any normal town, have driven sales through the floor. Not here.
Kids were buying armfuls of the stodgy buggers,hoping to get one with that elusive blue biro cross that "proved" it had been injected with poison. Rumour had it that shopkeepers began to randomly mark Mars bars to sate the endless thirst for Work, Rest, and Death.
This led to a bizarre forms of playground bullying ever seen; a child would be forced by pogrom to consume a "tainted" Mars bar, after which he or she would be detained to allow the court to "observe the effects". Generally this would involve bad play-acting by the accused in a misguided attempt to make the court feel first guilty, then panicked, ideally summoning a teacher. Needless to say, this was wishful thinking, and the victim was "buried at sea" by hurling them bodily down a hill.
Nowadays we would be eating poisoned chocolate so we could sue for compensation. In 1986, we simply didn't have an excuse that good.
The practice of rolling up a towel diagonally, so it tapers to a fine point. This can then be used to whip people coming out of the shower.
I could never perfect the whipping action, which made it all the more surprising when I caught Francis Gotto on the end of his cock with an absolute corker of a flick. However, something (I presume a label from my towel) went flying off just as the crack (and subsequent howl of agony) happened. For a few horrid seconds I was convinced that I had literally whipped the top of his dick off like popping some sort of phallic champagne cork. Images of expulsion and/or prison rampaged unchecked through my head.
I never rat's tailed anybody again.
According to school rumour, womens' bits smelt of raw potato. This could never be disproved because the girls wouldn't let the boys check.
For the record, mine don't smell of potatoes, raw or otherwise, and these days, I'd be quite happy for you to pop round for a sniff. My address is: the remainder of this entry has been witheld.
After the title "God and Morality", simply write "...sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G". It worked for me.
When asked to read out loud, bear in mind that one of two scenarios will always prevail;
  1. A child not making mistakes would be jabbed in the ribs with a ruler. This would make his voice break, allowing everyone to call him a girl.
  2. A word would be seriously mispronounced (for example, the Christopher Frame Orange-Ootang incident). This word would become one's nickname for the foreseeable future.
A third, more dangerous path, was to add references to the last film you had seen into the book you were reading, largely by shouting "pyow, you're dead meat sucka" in the middle of Charlotte's Web.
There was a boy at my junior school who, if you stamped your foot in his general direction and went "Yargh", even at some considerable distance, would curl up into a ball on the floor with a look of sheer terror on his face.
Only now can I assume that he was being abused at home every night, and in fact I was contributing to an existence more miserable than I can ever dream of.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a victim.