|Report for anonymous user|
|Pending stories (hidden)||325|
|Rejected stories (hidden)||546|
|Deleted stories (hidden)||1048|
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').
soon after desert I did another
Accusations of minterdom are rarely backed up with any form of medical or photographic evidence.
Participants are offered one cup of squash diluted with tap water, and one cup of squash diluted with river water that has just trickled through the corpse of a sheep.
They are then offered the chance to say which is the real "Barker '95". Their answer is entirely irrelevant.
Town planners do it deliberately you know. Rude-sounding place names are what made this country the Great Britain that it is. Ah, I can almost hear the sound of a suggestively brassy trombone and Esther Ranzen chuckling her way through a link to a piece on cot death. Nostalgia!
Thanks guys! I don't miss any of you.
I live in a frying pan.
I turn up the gas and I burn up my ass,
I'm Popeye the sailor man.
Q. Guess Why
Q. Pork Pie.
On reflection I'm a little dissapointed that we never utilised when, where, how or who. Especially who, because that rhymes with poo.
"Durexpect me to believe that"
The teacher got more exercise than we did.
The guy was Italian and scary. The ice cream tasted weird and we told him Steve's was way better. He smiled and winked and told us that HIS ice cream was better because "It's full of the stuff that little girl's need and little boys know about" He laughed and handed over his "ice cream".
The guys loved him and used to rush out shouting "Deeeeeeno! Deeeeeeeno!" thinking that this guy was just the dogs bollocks...the girls used to avoid that side of the playground altogether and Dino eventually disappeared once a girl in Year 10 claimed that he tried to grab her. We never got a new ice cream man. Thank God.
It involves shouting duck!, and then hitting the victim around the head with a hard object.
After some time, the subject may get wise to the game, and take steps to defend himself. At this point, simply shout duck! after hitting him with the hard object.
I just laughed because this urban myth is rife with fifteen year olds around the time of GCSE mocks. I still don't believe him but he swears it's true. It happened in Wigan, which makes it ever so slightly more believeable.
You can slowly back away slowly and find another cubicle, or you can shit everywhere and run screaming through the crowded dining hall with your trousers around your ankles. I chose the latter course of action.
Thus, if someone selfishly hogged the ball it was called a 'jew run'.
In my innocence, I always assumed that what was being said was 'due', as in 'due respect'. It was only recently that I discovered the anti-semitic overtones of our playground taunts. Obviously I pissed myself.
So the game pretty much consisted of running, and I had no idea there was anything wrong with selling videos of it to sweaty old men.
She shouted 'fuck' quite clearly then added 'shun' on the end in a meaningless attempt to disguise what she said. Rumours went around for six weeks that she was being sent to teach in the Congo.
The boys loved me, and the girls hated me. I am fifty years old now, but when I was nine years old, I was the first girl in the history of my school to wear a bra in Grade Five. They were cotton then, with metal hooks, and pointed...Beverly Hillbillies was big back then, I had long blond hair...I became the immediate focus of all the boys attention, being yelled at with "falsies" each and every turn...I made the big mistake of replying "I don't wear falsies." I got a big guffaw, well prove it...I guess they expected me to lift my bra...this was aside from the boys always pulling at the straps. One day leaving school, I noticed a crowd of boys gathered..."You are going to prove that you are not wearing falsies", I knew I was in big trouble, I ran...I ran, and I almost made it home, but I was knocked down, and about twenty guys put their hands up my bra and got a good feel...oh this was about 1963 when all the world was full of prim and proper people...
I wish this wasn't true! The practice ended just after I left, due to the 'self-consciousness of the boys'. No shit. This was in 1985.
A nice twist came when the swimming teacher's daughters (in cossies) were in the pool on some sort of open day thing, and we all dived in to join them, much to their embarrassment, but not ours.
Happy days indeed.
As I discovered, one almighty fuck off great big bang later, and the transformer that serviced that block caught fire.
Most amusing. So much so I repeated it whenever I could. Damn the day when the circuit breaker was installed. Damn it and its eyes to hell and back.
Nobody ever questioned any of this. We were 17.
However, it takes the balls four seconds to switch from “spunk and fuck” mode to “Christ, that hurts” mode. So genuine testicle pain begins some time after the strike, leaving the poor man precious seconds of hope before the nausea, agony and red piss starts.
So, why the immediate awwwww!? Two possible reasons – it’s either a desolate wail of the man who foresees his immediate future, and sees that it is bad. Or, they’re filthy eunuchs who’ve never known the true agony of the thwacked nut.
Girls! Think you have an equivalent pain to the white thud of the smashed bollock? Speaking on behalf of the boys, I don’t think so. Convince me otherwise for a prize!
Two things really. Primarily, I'm establishing my alpha male status in the only way I know how, and on a more personal level I'm venting the rage that I feel from physical and mental abuse in the home
as he continued mushing the weedy intellectual's face into pulp.
A rather pitiful response from a victim of, what they consider to be a needless beating, a victim of playground fun. This usually gives the victim about three seconds whilst the attackers think of a reason for said beating. The most common responses for this are: you have a weird face, cos I feel like it or the all time great...shut up you little cunt followed by another thump. what do they think, that your gonna suddenly think shit, what am I doing. Use of imagination would not go unnoticed, sniveling is just pathetic.
Then both parties run away, because punching girls in the tits gives them cancer.
Alternatively, penis out, legs open which is a general term for tediously drawn out foreplay.
Added fun : launch the bloated frogs on a pool and try to burst them using marbles launched from Black Widow catapult.
There’s only one thing we hold sacred here on Playground, and that’s TRUTH. (And fags. Fags are important as well.) We believe this entry to be unmitigated bollocks. However if you know different, if you are a zoologist or specialist in frogs anuses, please write in. If you’d like to write in just to go "aaaaaah, anonymous user is a vast liar and probably GAY", then that’s all to the good too.
We can’t even guess how you’d go about finding a frogs anus.
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.
It goes on to descibe how he'd taken her over the filing cabinets and she'd dragged him yelping round the office with his bollocks tied by his tie. Still, they were having an affair so they probably deserved to get eaten by gigantic fuckoff rats.
(Also, in Creed, there was a bit where a nasty lady wanked off the hero and wiped her fanny with his "juices", (what a word, Mr. Herbert, what a word!) which created hundreds of little sex ghosts that floated around the room. I think James Herbert needs to give his mother a ring and start asking questions –Susan.)
Please don't try this at home, school or anywhere else.
(Unless you think it would be really funny, of course -Susan.)
sticking their handlbars up their bum.
This is true.
Employed with this exact effect by one Stuart Bywater, who perhaps believed the bully would look at his fist and say "God, and bullying's wrong, isn't it?" then become a fucking architect or something.
The act of swinging a smaller child by the fur-rimmed hood of their Lord Anthony parka until rippage, flight or boredom ensues.
More fun can be had by tying the parka's cords to the metal bars on the bus home, giving the wearer two choices - a new coat or an unplanned trip to town, missing Grange Hill.
Possibly this is made up. I don't care. A silver trowel! My sides are bursting with class outrage! Like an episode of Citizen Smith! Sadly this submission came anonymously but whoever you are, we salute you and your shitty past. You're head of ICI now aren't you?
"It's a woman's dick," Darren explained enthusiastically.
And come on, who hasn't farted onto something and then smelt it out of curiosity?
"The cleaning ladies have complained about someone inappropriately using the facilities... and that the person responsible knows what we are talking about mean by that and I hopes it will not ever happen again, because measures will have to be taken if such an occurrence should repeat itself."
I am now 32, and I should probably get a new fantasy.
(Uncle Log advises : why not re-enact the fantasy with a current partner or prostitute, then have sex? You might have an erotic version of that thing where you hear half a song and it's stuck in your head until you hear the whole thing. An important footnote to this advice is that the re-enactment should NOT be with a 10 year old girl. Unless she's got lovely tits.)
Trevor Nyanalsecks etc.
Not to be confused with more direct humour of names like Mike Hunt, Hugh Jarse etc.
"Would you suck a black man's willy for TWO bananas?"
"Well what WOULD you suck a black man's willy for, then?"
Hilarity will ensue, as assuredly as night follows day.
Shinny led a distraught and solitary life, and the nickname accompanied him into his early career. I like to think his personal accessory choices may have helped him along a bit in the real world of work, as some kind of compensation.
Very briefly became Fireball - the same principle as above but applied to an old Mitre football instead of one's footwear. Briefly, because people started getting hurt.
If blowback does occur, however, take advantage of the situation and have a cartoon fight, in which spectators will only see the occasional arm or leg coming out of the dust cloud as you shout "Ooyah!" and "Take that!"
More pages breaks mean more racy passages, which you can then learn and mumble under your breath instead of saying the Lord's Prayer in Assembly.
sex all day in dad's apartment
Saves all that fucking about dropping your trousers and trying to take a shit so fast the person doesn't have a chance to take a single step back and tell everyone you're being a full-blown bronno.
For extreme cases, imitating a JCB operator or the motion of the Channel tunnel excavator is required.
At this point, your friend will probably open their eyes, as they weren't expecting the little invisible man to have a tangibly wet anus. You will be looking up to see their reaction, pretty much like a dog. It's difficult to know who's in the most undignified position, really.
I didn't know that this was a widely-known joke until recently when I was perusing a children's joke book.
Pupils who had seen the Twilight Zone lived in constant fear of turning their head around quickly enough to see a huge version of themselves looking down at them.
Went to the pictures and couldn't find a seat,
When the pictures started everybody farted,
Skinny banana long legs with webbed feet.
But what happened next? I'm not sure if I'd have stopped and watched the film. Not standing up.
This phrase has become legendary.
And yes, I owned a mood ring, but it was a GIFT.
Can't you pay more attention to the posts here? I was about to complain about the post about hitting the frog on the back with a hammer, but I refrained. (Think about that one - surely the frog would have moved with people approaching it, and even it not, where the hell did the kid get a 'claw hammer' from at that particular moment?)
While this site used to be the Financial Times of playground law encyclopaedias on the web, it's fast turning into The Sun.
Sometimes, even the clearly made-up has merit. Prisoner Cell Block H was "made up" but we all enjoyed it. What we enjoy even more though, is when readers get as bitter, angry and fuming at submissions as we do. We’ve dragged you to our level and we love it. Point taken, though, and well made too. Marvellous. xxx
The point I was missing? You grip the actual end of the cock itself, pinching the piss hole half shut so that it's really small. Then start the flow, and you'll have a fantastically long-reaching stream. Great for standing at one urinal and pissing sideways into one that's about two or three down.
Warning. This will not work with a regular camera because the lab will call the police and you will be arrested for fucking a nostalgic biscuit.
Take a packet of Jammy Dodgers into school. Offer them around, with assurance that they haven't been spat on. The second the biscuit is in their mouth, show them the Polaroid.
The photo is good for around three packets of Jammy Dodgers before word gets around that it's a joke. Or that you're the guy who puts his dick on Jammy Dodgers.
"Winnetou der Weise spricht:
Laute Forze stinken nicht,
aber die leisen,
die um das Arschloch kreisen,
vor ihnen hüte dich,
denn sie stinken fürchterlich"
For the non-german-speaking, here is a rough translation:
"Winnetou the wise says:
Loud farts don't stink,
but beware of the silent ones,
that circle around the arsehole,
for they smell terrible."
Winnetou was a native-american character from the popular cowboy and indian stories written by Karl May.
The foreman replies "No we don't. The closest we've got is Maude the tea-lady, who's a bit of a slag, but never with me, the bitch."
It was told to me by my friend Billy Yourjokeisthemostcontrivedjokei'veeverheardanditsucksspackers'herpesoffaspork. We used to tease him about having apostrophes in his name, but he insisted it was how his name was spelled. We drove him to suicide. Grrrrrreat days.
Popular in the playgrounds of North London, hence the name, which is consequently not actually anti-Semitic. Consequently, not actually that funny.
The best one featured a young child praying to god, with the caption "Please sir, free Deidre" crudely inserted in a speech-bubble above his head.
We like to think our little campaign in some way influenced the decision of the Coronation Street writers to release the chicken-necked cunt.
I do not know how to "pick up magic wand"
>>fuck right off
I do not know how to "fuck right off"
A joke my friend made up:
Q: What do you call 7 gay guys at the bar(re)? A: Ballet class
Sir's reaction proved that he was entirely, or at least partially, deaf.
Disturbed by my own perversion, I took your advice and decided to act out this fantasy with my wife. We went to a restaurant, and I asked her to pull her knickers down to mid-thigh, then I 'dropped' my fork and bent down to take a quick look. It was quite disappointing in how little a turn on it was. So now I'm cured, and have moved on to another fantasy, this time involving a healthy middle aged woman.
Love, The Poster who Posted the Above Post.
I have it from a very reliable source that when a jinx arises in french playgrounds they say "you shall be cuckolded before I".
Nobody wants to be cuckolded - not because it's the fearsome prospect of being married to an unfaithful wife; more because it sounds like it's got "cock" and "hole" in it, and is therefore referring to the fearsome prospect of your unfaithful mum.
We know. It's, um, ironic. Oh piss off you KEENER.
Word got around about these Jews, in utter isolation from reality. Those two worlds colliding during a Nativity service, when James Dunlop read from the New Testament. He managed to finish 'he shall be King of the Jews' before collapsing into laughter, along with the angels and choir.
Stand face to face with your mate, the poo between you, and link hands over the poo in a soldier's grip. The name of the game is to push and pull your mate until he steps in the poo.
Simple, effective, entertaining. Best practiced when your mate is wearing new shoes with good, deep treads.
Based on the (pooless) Scottish sword dance, the protagonist cavorts above the poo to the strains of a pretend bagpipe. Points are awarded for technical complexity and how close the Clarks goes to the poo without touching it.
The game ends when the Dancer either stands in the poo or gets bored and, if it is a dry poo, kicks it at a spectator.
I know this because when some friends of mine went on a French exchange trip, two of the first questions they got asked by the French kids were "ecoutez-vous le musique 'Hard Rock'?" and then "ecoutez-vous la groupe 'Telephone'?".
See them on Amazon here
Apparently Telephone are pretty crap, which is surprising, considering they're a hard rock band called Telephone.
Fairly basic, but always a pleasure to see someone interrupt a conversation with - Stop - Spanner Time - then mime wanking for a while.
by the sign of the Swinging Tit,
There Hu-Flung-Dung was murdered,
by his brother Hu-Flung-Shit.
This was printed on a bus stop outside our school. My big brother's mate conceived her first child in that bus stop. Awwww!
Since the turd had a good six inches protruding from the water, he wrapped his hand liberally with toilet paper, reached in, and rescued it. He wrapped it up in reams of toilet paper and smuggled it out to the playground.
He then proceeded to show us what at first glance could have been a baby mummy snatched straight out of the Egyptian Room at the British Museum. But no, to our even greater delight, he unravelled the wrapping to reveal a firm, long, and generally mammoth turd.
But we never let him know that.
The boiled sweet was passed around a group of about nine of us, all of whom rubbed it around inside our cracks before it was carefully rewrapped. The next person that walked into the room was subsequently invited to participate in a beautifully choreographed game of 'scrambles'.
Havoc followed and the sweet changed hands many times before the victim finally emerged triumphant, and with a bummy, shit-flavoured sweet in his mouth. He genuinely believed that we wanted that sweet - I still remember the look of pride on his face at having won.
Alternatively, you hetero back-sporkers are just closet homos, and simply aren't MAN enough to admit that they are sur l'autre autobus. Always stick with your first answer, faggot. - Mansh
Half a pound of nuts and bolts,
Half a pound of plastic.
Stick them in the washing machine,
Out pops a spastic!
The single redeeming feature of this rhyme is the jubilant bursting out of the washing machine by the freshly manufactured spastic. You could almost imagine him with a rose between his teeth and jazz hands.
A and B are listenind to the radio. Wham!'s hit single Careless Whisper begins playing.
A : I hate Adam and the Ants
B : This isn't Adam and...
A : Aaaaah!
Annoying yet rewarding, even as a 28 year old.
Had she attended one of your schools, she'd have been called 'Albino Cunt Bitch', repeatedly abused to the verge of mass rape, then exposed to some kind of (dog) poo-related activity that you're all so fond of.
Readers! Have you had surgery that has replaced your real memories with birdsong and rainbows? If so, please use this entry to tell us your heartwarming tales of calling fat kids Mr Healthy Appetite, and calling the effeminate kid Captain Diversity. We'd love to hear how idyllic life was for you. - Log
From then on, that teacher was owned.
The problem with this was that by saying "It's opposite day" on opposite day, you were actually saying that it WASN'T opposite day. This, however, was entirely beyond our 9-year-old minds, who really just wanted an excuse to tell the entire school that you loved Alex.
Every school year was a dash to steal his books from his bag, administer these pen strokes, then politely return the books.
"Adios, Infected Dick Sucker!" Chuck in a Speedy Gonzales impersonation and you're away.
This three-part epic featured Norman meeting someone and saying "I am the poet McCaig", before receiving pieces of sage advice.
His three oracles were a man with a large hammer, Yoda and the Jewish Cheese Man. Jewish Cheese Man regularly appeared in our workbook defacing, and had a book of Norman's poetry hidden in his large cossack-style hat.
Has anyone else had a similarly depressing experience, such as finding their name on a gravestone with 1974-TOMORROW written underneath?
Half past the monkey's ass, and a Quarter to his balls.
Honestly, where do these gaymosexuals get off?
Phil: anonymous user, you make a compelling argument. I am afraid to admit that I was the foolish editor who allowed this one through, though in my defence I was pissed at the time.
As played by a rosy-cheeked, spangly-chompered teenage Shane McGowan.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Rory Bremner has left the building.
a: "Can you climb up glass?"
a: "Then how did you get out of your test tube? - Is your star sign 'Pyrex'?"
Leave it too late and you might accidentally lock the germs into the affected area, so be careful.
Life is a compromise.
Let me tell you a story 'bout a man named Jed,
Couldn't find a toilet so he went behind a shed,
Couldn't find the bogroll so he used a bit of grass,Up popped Ellie May and shot him in the ass.
Next thing you know old Jed's in bed,
Wanking himself till his balls turned red,
erm, can't remember the rest rumtitum...
Next thing you know old Jed's a millionaire,
Selling condoms at 2p a pair,
2p, 4p, even two bob,
It all depends on the size of your knob.
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen.
*Oh what a shit joke. Sorry. Um, I only put it in to "test" you. Please don't run over my hands with your wheelchair, if you are one of the wheelchair ones. Xx
Excellent story Ian. As a disabled person nothing angers me more than do-gooders moaning about stories like these. It's hangovers like them that make decisions like having children in wheelchairs pushed at speed on running tracks.
If something is funny and it happened, that's life, live with it, it's the PC society that has been created today by moaning, do-gooder muppets that makes living in the UK today like living in a totalitarian state. Shut your faces and let people live their lives and laugh, life's too f*****g short.
I now step down from my soapbox.
When they turned to look back, you'd sharply look away, and busy yourself with your work, perhaps putting the finishing touches to a pencil sketch of your victim.
This is continued throughout the lesson, until the victim is either irritated to fuck, or harbouring his first nervous hopes of love.
For instance, Graham Matthews always reacted with this game with a genderbending cocktail of embarressment, anger and curiosity.
Pretending to be gay outed him to all.
- Place a banger in the path of a large black slug.
- Wait until the slug gets close. Move the banger if the slug changes direction.
- Light the banger.
- Watch the slugs antennae spring up in terror, as it realises what is happening.
- Run backwards as the slug strains to do a 180.
- Try to find traces of big black slug in the surrounding area for the proper, respectful burial.
While it was true that the doorknobs were always wet, and that in a world where children shit up walls and in hats, it wasn't inconceivable that disturbed children would stand there and piss directly onto the doorknob, I still feel that it had more to do with the broken hand driers.
(WHAT? What are you talking about, anonymous user? Why would you quiz a sweet after sticking it up your bum?
"Why were you up my bum, sweet?"
You put it there, you buffoon/'nana!
Not to mention that egginess doesn't apply to things actually being up your bum. That's sulphurous farts, not shit-smeared Swizzle Sticks you've had jammed up your ring. Leave this website immediately. If you haven't already left it in the nine months since you posted this entry. Sorry!
is this funny with my addition of a tips pages walkthrough?
no it's not
fuck you I'm approving it anyway
A text-only adventure. I always got stuck on the bit where you had to cross the river in the bathtub with polygonal holes in it.
Well, anonymous user, we can help you there! In the true spirit of Crystal Tips and Alistair, here is the solution to that tricky bathtub teaser! To plug its holes, USE TETRAHEDRON, USE CUBE, USE ICOSAHEDRON, USE OCTAHEDRON, USE DODECAHEDRON. To make yourself light enough, DROP BOTTLE, DROP PHIAL. Then LOOK BATH to traverse the flow. Does anyone else have any problems with 1980's text-only adventures? Have you tried asking Gandalf to carry you?
As our understanding inevitablly developed, we discovered that the front hole had ANOTHER two holes in it, like women were a damn Mandlebrot set of ever more specific holes.
One boy who clung to the single-hole theory also believed that a vibrator was a kind of footspa, and that you could ask your hairdresser for a blowjob.
Recreate the rave piano effect by pressing one note with the forefinger of each hand, like a retarded typist.
If the national anthems of other countries are played, be a part of the global village by standing for those, too. If you are told not to stand to these, say "ar, sir, don't be racist".
Reads so much better if you read it out of context (as I did) and visualise sausages instead. - Phil
Oh PLEASE let this be true! Yes, it's cruel to mock the afflicted, but if they voluntarily choose to run about in the dark listening out for a jangling hamster toy, they deserve everything they get, frankly.
b : No...
(A slaps B hard around the around the face and shouts in a comedy Nazi accent)
A : Liar!
If the question is answered with a weary "Yes", then slap them and call them a liar anyway; disorientation is a perfectly valid method of interrogation.
Although the hysteria will get everyone sent to the changing rooms early, you will never convince anyone that your mother isn't a big hairy man.
Baa baa baa, the sheep is in the field.
Baa baa baa, he's keeping his eyes peeled.
Baa baa baa, he's feeling kind of funny.
Baa baa baa, he's looking for his mummy.
The poem then becomes more broken in style, perhaps reflecting the panic of the young sheep. It continues;
He spots his mum in the corner,
He runs to hug his mummy,
But it's not her!
It's a great big rock!
The poem then climaxes with;
No-one can argue that this is the best poem ever.
Down at fragle rock,
Grab a fraggle by its cock,
Swing it round and round,
Then bash it on the ground.
If it wants some more,
Jam its bollocks in the door,
If it isnt dead -
Kick it in the head.
If you think its right,
Blow it up with dynamite,
Pick up all the bits,
And throw them in the bin...
Throw them in the bin...
Throw them in the bin...
Although this starts out as a routine session of Fraggle-bashing, it's worth noting that the second verse is done with the Fraggle's permission, and the third verse (the Fraggle probably being unconscious by this point) only carries on the violence if the attacker deems it right. Say, if the Fraggle had been touching up the Doozers, in which case the filthy little bastard deserves everything it gets.
- Getting a candle from art class.
- Melting the wax onto the tips of your fingers.
- Before the wax hardens, insert a drawing pin.
- Scratch the face of the fucking dick who grassed you up for spitting off the top of the English block.
Make sure they know it's a pinfinger, otherwise you might be confused with a girlie-fighting fingernailed ladyboy.
An addition to this basic pinfinger is to write AIDS over a bottle of Quink, and dip the pin into it before attacking. Make sure your victim sees this.
1) I could not be bothered to leaf through the entire Bible
2) I do not own one
However, as 30% of the Internet consists of Christian Americans, I thought a quick Google search would confirm or deny. Here are the helpful, and conclusive, results: http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=jesus+%22i+come+too+quickly%22&hl=en&lr=&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&safe=off&filter=0
Best met with the reply "yes, they are". Because, after all, they fucking are.
Adjust the volume.
Hopefully, the television will be before on-screen displays of the volume, so it would just seem like a mechanical glitch. The teacher will be concerned, but not enough to stop the video.
Timing is everything. First, quickly stop-start the video to let everyone know something is amiss. The second time, not too long after the first, and only resume when the teacher gets out of her chair, leaving her hovering in mid-air, unsure which way to go. Then leave it for a minute or two, until everyone thinks it's working again, then pause and leave it until she actually gets to the video before you hit play. Then hit pause the second she sits down. When she gets back to the video, move to the next stage.
Fast Forward / Rewind
Convince the teacher that something is seriously wrong by pressing something on your watch immediately after she presses something on the video. She presses play? Hit rewind. Continue until she is hopelessly flustered, and fetches another, more male, teacher.
Resume Normal Service
When the other teacher is in, you obviously let the video run normally. You should also complain that this video on the Bayeux Tapestry is really interesting, and it's frustrating that you can't seem to watch it in the manner the programme makers intended. The other teacher will leave, perhaps rolling his eyes at the flapping woman in his wake.
Tear Her Soul Apart
No mercy. The second he has left the door, bombard the video with everything you've got. The look of pained helplessness and growing panic on her face will inspire sympathy in only the gayest of children.
One night, Adam Wright was the anonymous caller. After the tragic death of his mother, his dad was forcing him to do the housework. Wearing her frocks and perfume.
As things worsened, he was urging young Adam to pay particularly close attention to the bedroom. In order to show him some fundamentally incorrect love.
Adam was gulping and fighting back tears throughout, and so moving was the concern of Anna and the Doc, that Adam didn't have the heart to tell them - even when his mother called him down for tea - that they'd just been fished in by a fuck-minded teenager.
The TDK D90 containing this conversation was a treasured artefact for many weeks.
Bullied to the point of "the rage" (q.v.) by a sikh boy, I decided in my desperation to retaliate by being racist, as I'd been told that this was "the very worst kind of all abuse".
Alas, my chick-pea eating, Greenham-common-supporting upbringing got in the way, and all I managed was a rather oblique comment about "things having a rather dark complexion."
He just looked a bit perplexed. However, he must have brooded about it nightly for a long time, because after not seeing him at all for four years, he suddenly approached me and threw me down a stairwell.
Mr Hardy: "Where have those two boys gone?"
Mr Laurel: "They're both in the storeroom."
Mr Hardy: "Humph. Reading the Gay Times, I expect."
all day I drink animal spunk
Particularly loquacious bullies in the Wild West of Scotland might say "fin', keep: brek beak" which roughly translates to "I'm going to pat you down and if you've lied about not having anything, you get a fucking broken nose".
For the matinee performance of one my school's plays, the special education students were brought into the auditorium in their wheelchairs and parked in the front row. To prevent the students in the motorized chairs from going anywhere, the teacher turned off the power on their chairs.
Being the light-board operator I had seen the production several times and was paying more attention to the audience than the show. About halfway through the performance, one of the handicapped children caught my attention; he had pushed himself out of his chair. I watched him for about twenty minutes as he pushed himself further and further to the right, until he finally reached his goal.
A boy in a motorized wheelchair, who had fallen asleep on his joystick.
Motorized wheelchairs are capable of decent speeds, it seems. So when (after twenty minutes of sterling work, mind you) the crawling young man flipped the power switch on his neighbour's chair, the hapless sleeper was rocketed forward full throttle, slamming the chair into the low stage.
The now very much awake student flew - in that slow motion way that disabled people flying out of their wheelchairs have - onto the stage. The actors stopped, the audience was aghast, and the only sound louder than the wailing cries of the student on the stage, was the hysterical laughter of the young man on the floor where once a wheelchair was parked.
Getting pissed on a fourth year trip to Stratford, knicking a traffic sign and singing 'On a Clear Day You Can See My Penis' outside the girls' dormitory at midnight.
SUSPENDED FOR TWO WEEKS
Bringing ice-cream to school for his packed lunch. Ice cream melted in his bag, ruined his books.
Bought a frozen dessert from Tates for his lunch, tried to defrost it by putting it under his armpit, ate it.
GOT STOMACH CRAMPS
Jacked off into a 35mm film canister as a love gift for Natasha Holmes. She ran off.
TREATED WITH WARY DISDAIN FOR SOME WEEKS
Got smashed on vodka in the 6th form, puked up neat vodka through his nose onto his pudding at lunchtime, continued eating it.
GOT THROWN OUT
LAST SEEN SELLING CUSTOMISED CLIPPER LIGHTERS AT CAR BOOT SALE
Parents say they'll "throttle" you if you don't shut up... getting your foreskin raped seemed, therefore, entirely appropriate for underperformance in a coloured brick-piling exercise.
A rubbish insult, but a wonderful image - Alton Towers for half wits. People queueing the wrong way. People buying do-nuts and hugging them, and suffocating in the plastic ponchos you buy for the water rides.
It still makes me smile 10 years on.
Attempts to recreate this biological marvel meant that it would be a rare day which didn't result in Mark acquiring at least half a dozen new bruises.
With facts used clearly marked, try to uncover better instances of heresy.Assuming that it was left over from the previous lesson, she will reach for the board rubber and begin to erase the quote... only to discover that certain "choice" letters have been written in permanent marker, leaving
f u c k y o u b i t c h .Cue hilarity.
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.
This is a photo of Splinter. Sexy Splinter. Phwoar. Splinter.
It's called "ecksies", because you cross your fingers. Like an X, you see? - Jimmy Disco T
For thousands of of us in the north-east it was "skinch" - Spuddy
Shut up, it's "SCRIBS!" - Lou Watson
It's "paxies". From the latin for peace. You flimsy jizzrags. - Jimbob N
And with that, NO MORE ENTRIES FOR FEIGHKNIGHTS.
Being a philosophy student, I'd spent all my time drinking red wine and wearing berets in a fug of existential despair instead of doing any actual work, so to this day I have no idea whether I answered it or not.
Hindsight is not helpful in this instance. It is still unfathomable. Unless, of course, you posit that we were all terrible little homos.
The assumption is that these are mutually exclusive conditions, but I've met many cheerful chubby people, and they can't all have been hermaphrodites. Could they?
Watch the actors closely - you can see the spear carriers mouthing 'wanker' at each other.
Nope. Photographer's assistant.
She once made a teacher so frustrated by her persistent one-word outbursts that he picked up her, her chair and her desk in one scooping movement, and put her outside the class.
After he deposited her outside the door and returned to the class, everyone went quiet. The calm was punctuated by a plaintive question from outside;
This was an innovation; she'd never punctuated her gerrunders before, and a new range of Gerrunder Moods was born.
[pause as we tried to work out if he was joking]
Brilliant idea! That'd be amazing! You go first!
[he wasn't joking]
Thereafter, she was only ever referred to as Sweetcorn Sandra, as it became widely known that upon extraction, he discovered that a piece of sweetcorn had become lodged in his Jap’s-eye.
Instead of running, or walking off swearing, Babb, chose to skip contentedly behind the bus. He only fucking skipped. For long enough for everyone to see.
Subsequently, when you had a conversation with him, there were people queuing up to do a Babb behind his back. From that day, Babb was cursed to never have another conversation with anyone who wasn't laughing at something that wasn't quite him.
Used pejoratively as a self-regulating disciplinary mechanism amongst groups of teenage boys:
"Eugh! Smiffy's getting his cheapies"
When men were bold,
And women weren't invented.
They drilled big holes in telegraph poles,
and walked away contented.
I think the implication is that they fucked the hole in the telegraph pole. Otherwise it's a pretty weird way to get your kicks, drilling holes in telegraph poles then walking off.
For those of you who didn't know that women were invented after telegraph poles, here is the first ever telegraph conversation.
Attempts by him to disprove the rumour by stretching his scrotum for all to see, showing a clear 2-ball outline, led to accusations that he was pressing out one of the bumps with his finger.
But, eventually, we had to accept that he did have a second ball. A plastic second ball.
Whatever, it didn't affect his virility as he managed to get Angela Smithers up the duff before his fifteenth birthday.
We're still not sure what Andy was getting at.
It was funny for exactly one and a half days, by which time we'd run out of comedy poses.
Turn the key and watch him pee.
The stock schoolyard chant for when you wanted to torment someone by the name of Michael for no other reason than the fact that his name was Michael.
Other popular variants include "John John Leprechaun", who also did a pee when you turned a key.
That Germans made such a vowel-heavy nasal whine in their death throes made them big wet pansies. A stout Englishman dying in the field would bellow "WHOOAARGGGHH". In days of heavier casualties, it was like being trapped in the Brian Blessed dimension.
(Further discussion here. Good grief. - Log)
This was bad enough, but when he was using an overhead projector, the very considerable amount of spit that landed on the sheets was magnified, heated, and projected onto the wall.
It was the saliva equivalent of shitting onto a glass-topped coffee table, but with thirty children sitting underneath.
This is particularly unpleasant if you leave them in the middle of the playground in summer, and your school is in Mombasa. Where mine was.
He told me that he enjoyed wanking wearing a condom, as it was 'practice for the real thing'. But you had to be careful, as johnnies didn't always flush away down the loo.
His dad once found one of Dewy's spunk filled rubbers floating in the bog, and to spare his son's blushes, he fished it and put it in the bin.
Unfortunately, Dewy's mum then found it and demanded of her husband an explanation. To save his own skin, Dewy's dad grassed him up and Dewy had to face his parents, and explain that he wasn't having sex, but just poshing it around the house at every possible opportunity.
But it doesn't end there. It should, but it doesn't. Dewy went on to say that we couldn't be sure that he hadn't left floating johnnies in his grandmother's house.
I don't know what's more disturbing;
- an old woman poking at a floating, spunky sheath
- the fact that Dewy, on hearing that he was going to visit his grandmother, had grabbed a condom and said "this calls for a wank!"
(How does that relate to her behemothic monolithicness? More fatties please.)
You are only allowed a mong dolly if a) you are a mong, and b) you're willing to cry for six hours if anyone so much as touches it.
Additionally, if he was knocked down he couldn't get up again. He'd thrash about briefly, like some gargantuan speaking tortoise enjoying a mudbath, before blowing the whistle and asking, plaintively, "help me boys, I can't get up".
(How can I get out of the mud? I know! I'll eat my way out! scronfscronfscronfscronfscronf! Oh no, I've eaten the entire mantle of the Earth! Why oh why was I cursed with my bigbones™?)
B: [separates the "wires" with his index finger]
A: "Your bum's on fire."
Bunting-baiting had a brief renaissance when we overheard someone with a Japanese accent pronounce his name "Mr Bum King".
However, if your friend doesn't quite hear you saying "four quid", a golden window opens, and you can say "arsehead fuckwit". This is such a rare occurence, that you should celebrate by running around your victim six times, pulling an imaginary trucker's chain, and going "HOOOONK".