Report for Jon Blyth
Approved stories318
Rejected stories (hidden) 2
Deleted stories (hidden) 4
SummaryPerfectly Exquisite

Incidentally, can anyone explain to me the shorthand difference between 2d10 generating a number between 2 and 20 (addition) and a number between 1 and 100 (taking one die as tens, one as units, double zero as 100)? Actually, if you can remember, something's probably wrong, and I'd rather you didn't contact me. Shoo. Get out.

Oh, and thanks to the many (four) people who have told be that the correct notation is 1d100, and that there was actually a one hundred sided die for this very purpose, resembling a golf ball. Now, I want you to tell me the name of this shape.

The online CASCAiD form with be back online momentarily.

The name of a mystical pornographical film, in which a man makes love to a chicken, and a woman is taken by a horse. Someone's brother had a copy, of course, but if you all ran around their house, all 200 of you, and piled into their bedroom, they'd have lent it to someone. Someone from another school who was even older, who wouldn't give it back until you'd all found out about WASP, and started singing "I Fuck Like A Beast", and couldn't care less about men shagging chickens anymore. This all seems quite old hat, now that 4 year olds are getting emailed videos of wanking monkeys and men running their heads into an elephant's fanny. Porn just isn't sacred anymore.

An alternate name for the windowlickers who often have their special lessons in an annexe. The mong migration can be observed with an Attenborough-esque sobriety.

Associative device used primarily to link an unsuccessful caricature to the name of the intended lampoonee, in situations where the talents of the caricaturist are insufficient to render the drawing recognisable on its own merits. If that sounded like a crock of shit, try the masterclass.

Said to put the willies up someone who has broken the rules. The "arrrrrrrr" is followed by the name, form, and any other identifying details of the transgressor, followed by a brief description of the naughtiness and moral judgment from the speaker. Can be within earshot of a teacher. For instance, "arrrrrrrr, Jonathan Lee Blyth, 2C1, of 108 Weaverthorpe Road, you're sniffing glue, that's so naughty". I did get told off for sniffing glue, with two friends. We were sniffing a fucking Pritt Stick. However, between the girl who saw us and said "arrrrrrrr", the form teacher, and the headmaster, that crucial detail was forgotten. The headmaster showed us pictures of a dead boy.

Irrelevant but effective comment that can alter the swing of an argument radically. Diddy : You're not very good at the High Jump. Log : Well, at least my mum's not in a wheelchair. Diddy's mum was in a wheelchair, by the way. Low.

Someone who has been circumcised. Effective, because people generally wonder what the hell the person's getting at. The punchline, "I've been cut off", generally pleases.

Baby Babylon was the name Andrew Karkutt gave to an appealing BusyBody character. BusyBodies were like chunkier, friendlier Lego people, with infinitely more convincing hats. Baby Babylon became the mascot for a range of cleaning products, which involved shouting "there's shit in my trousers" then whispering "Baby Babylon"

He was later joined by The Poo With The Flaxen Hair, who had this theme tune;

The Poo with the Flaxen Hair,
The Poo with the Flaxen Hair,
They seek him here, they seek him there,
The Poo with the Flaxen Hair.

Then there was Megaslap, just about the only thing I could draw. Here they are, the pricks.

The aristocracy doesn't come out well in the playground. Duke means shit. Viscount is a brand of cheap minty biscuit. And Baron was written on the tag that stuck out of my cheap, fashionless shoes.

No child wants to be a Baron. And those that do would be ill-advised to start that long journey by adopting a pair of cheap, aspirational labelled shoes. They do not command respect.

The stitching on my Barons formed a ridged lip around the top of the shoe. This rim would prevent water from draining effectively to the floor. This was noticed, and within seconds, I became Baron Fishponds. Baron Fishponds - the new-money peer who wasn't invited to top-tier social functions, because of his shit shoes.

Butterfly garden? Hunh?

According to the margin notes in my 3rd year English book, big brown brothels only cost 27p.

A faintly fruity french teacher should constantly be likened to a bitch on heat. The image of your teacher dragging her arse around on the floor, pulling herself along by the front paws should reduce class sympathy and break the spell of her fruitiness. This will make disobedience and cruelty easier. In the same way that Nazis introduced seperate text books for the biology of jews; it's a tried and tested technique.

There's a time and a place, Graeme. And this was both.

For the revolving whiteboard scenario, where the boards are lifted and lowered to reveal fresh panels, the class can prepare for the teacher by concealing a massive, gushing, member on the rear board. Half-way through the lesson, when the teacher needs mo' whiteboard, bingo! Guage the teacher's reaction; did they go red, and not know what to do? If so, congratulations.

A pair of breasts so outstanding that you feel compelled to say "blimey".

The reliance by some teachers on the Monty Python Déja Vu sketch theory that repetition of something that isn't funny (especially nicknames for students) follows a sort of sine wave of funniness. The 3rd, 7th, and 11th time you say something will be funny, albeit in an exasperating kind of way, no matter what. This does NOT work. However, the repetition of something that irritates a teacher will get steadily funnier with each repetition. This isn't fair, but really, teachers shouldn't even try.

Printers of school books. Possibly also a medical complaint, where your head turns into a body. Aged 11, I wrote my first swear word duet, and this is it.
Log : Fuck a shit head.
Paul : Who?
Log : Bodley Head!

Ask this question; "Do you look at the bog roll after you've had a dump?" Yes, the quizzee is a "scummy dinnerstabber" or a "dirty gaylord" or even worse, a "knobjocky", who enjoyed nothing more than looking at shit. No, then how the hell do they know their arse is clean, the filthy fucker? Escape through excess "yes, and I lick it off for supper" (not to be tried if you aren't all that popular), or by lying "no, we're so rich that we get butlers to come and look at our toilet roll for us". Or, by simply avoiding the question altogether, and running away.

Wholly innocent fun. No one gets hurt. One friend lies on his back, legs hunched up. Another friend sits on his feet, one buttock per foot. Friend catapults sitting friend to the best of his ability, saying "boost". Flying friend replies "morale!" upon landing. This isn't funny at all, is it? But it makes me smile so, Mr Sir!

After a P.E. teacher mispronounced Boucher (Bow-chuh) in a poncesome French Bou-Shay stylee, poor Boucher received constant stick for his vicarious pretention. He even corrected the teacher; that didn't stop up us putting our fingers to our noses and saying "My name's Bou-Shay, I am the Prince of Wales."

The only thing you can convincingly change the letters of Huxley to, should you know a boy called Huxley who compulsively writes his own name on everything. You can then insist on calling him Boxlex for the remainder of his life. Alternatively, steal the pencils, change the names, and then say "these aren't your pencils, they appear to belong to a boy called Boxlex. Since there are no Boxlex's here, I think I shall use them." Then, you can chew them for half an hour and give them back. I didn't actually do this, but I wish I had.

Opposite of "make friends". A remarkably civil ceremony that all friendly interaction shall cease, performed with a sharp, single, handshake. You may, at any time, "make friends" again, for instance, if you want to borrow a rubber, with this rhyme; "Make friends, make friends, never never break friends. If you do, you'll catch the 'flu, and that will be the end of you." Warning; this is childish.

Pointless re-extension of "brill" to make it just as long as the originally abbreviated word, "brilliant". To say that your new Big Trak is "Brillo Pads" reeks of privilege - you're asking for it, mister.

A female poor person who lives in a caravan and wears the same clothes every day. Possibly derived from Neighbour's Bronwyn, who was actually very nice looking.

This, in later life, can be used to return a pint of beer you don't want. Simply put your finger up your arse, hold the beer up to the barman's nose, being sure to keep your finger on his side of the pint glass. Even if you don't get a free pint, you can say "you just smelled my poo" to the barman. Also known as brown hitler, or shit lip

One of a near-infinite number of jokes based on the name Bruce Lee. Others include Bruce Tee (What kicks you in the face and holds your golf balls?), Bruce Me (What punches you in the stomach then walks away?), Bruce Pea (What mastered the one-inch-punch and is traditionally served with fish and chips?), and the slightly avant-garde Spruce Tree. See also scooby poo, wee-man and the masters of the pooniverse, and knowing wee, knowing poo.

An unexpected continuance of a bundy, or an uncle vesta, after a couple of moments to let everything cool down. The attack is resumed in an identical style, but instead of crying the name of the actual attack, you cry "brucie bonus", as the victim is very lucky to receive this extra salvo of pain.

As the true meaning of the word "bugger" bacame known, the phrase "bugger me" (also "fuck me") became somewhat dangerous. The responses vary.
Unsophisticated : Eur, no thanks.
Revolted : Eur, you fucking queer.
Precocious : I'll wait until after PE, when you've loosened up.
Camp Camaraderie : Ooh, ducky pops.

The favourite half-bullying attack of Arnold Hill Comprehensive, derived from mass killer Ted Bundy. Accompanied by the battle cry of "ooww, Bundy...", the elbow was raised above the head and brought down on the victim, as the assailant launched themselves wholesale into the attack. It didn't hurt all that much, but it was very entertaining to watch, so the victim got no sympathy. A crowd pleaser - encores often requested. It isn't a bundy if the attacker's feet don't leave the ground during the blow. They may cry "bundy" but they are wrong.

A place in Germany where all the unperformed bundies (qv) are kept, waiting patiently to be delivered.

The baffling french output of Darren Brown, who refused to learn any other French words than "C'est". To make it up to a full sentence, he added the English words "with relish". This, he said often and plenty, and did not limit to French classes.

The noble art of cat shagging can result in two very different responses. For instance, in our school, it wasn't all that bad; Wayne Radford was a catshagger, yes. But no-one minded. However...

Is it just me, or did latin references just not happen in Comps? And we never got up to mischevious capers, we just got bollocked.

A normal paper aeroplane, but with the names of over 200 celebrities written all over it. Primitive attempts to colour-code the celebrities were made (Bill Beaumont and Emlyn Hughes, being sportspeople, were brown) but didn't last. Aged 13, we did have a premature understanding of which celebrities had comedy potential. For instance, Bella Emberg made it onto the plane, as did Dustin Gee. Les Dennis didn't, and neither did Terry Wogan. Standards were high. Finally, we decided that we didn't want to throw the plane, in case we didn't get it back. Eventually, I think we sent it to Zzap! 64, in an attempt to get a mention in their Reader's Pages. They also ran a "joystick in unusual places" competition, and I made my best mate Paul draw a picture of a Seedy Casino With Topless Croupiers. Paul's own twist on the Casino was that it was inhabited solely by Bernard Cribbinses, with tassles coming from their nipples. I took a photo of my joystick on the page, but - sadly - it didn't come out properly, and looked rubbish. I sent it anyway.

The alter-ego of a boy who suffered from an irritatingly real form of mental illness. Cha Man had no special powers. In fact, he was lacking many of the powers that ordinary people had. Such as anything you care to mention. Cha Man was - incredibly - tolerated by 200 other children, whose kindness was also their cruelty. See Cha-Copter.

Designed by master craftsman Paul Daft, the Cha-Copter was a gift to Cha-Man. It was no faster than the Cha-Mobile, and indeed, no higher. It merely required more movement on Cha-Man's part, and thus made him far more excited. Indulging this fantasy may well have prevented Cha Man's integration into society on a permanent basis, as he is still a mong. He works in the Arnold branch of Sainsbury's. Check for the enormous overbite.

How Cha Man gets from A to B. The Cha-Mobile involved Cha-Man running around with his hands in front of him (as though he was gripping a steering wheel, of course) and going "cheeyyaaaaa" at a continually rising pitch as he gained speed. He would 'change gear' when he ran out of breath, and start again.

An insult for boys or girls who have red faces. A superior insult to "Ding Dong, Avon Calling", as it completely robs the victim of any comeback. This is because, in essence, it makes no sense.

What Andy left out was the reason Chicken George (or the local equivalent) gave up all his money to roam the streets, shitting himself. Why he left his wife and three children to bark at strangers. The reasons I have heard are (1) that he had a mental breakdown and forgot who he was (2) he had had the rapture, and was now barking for God, and (3) possessions hadn't brought him happiness. The last one, I think, was spread about by parents who didn't want to buy you things.

After resisting all the uses of the chin for a long time (feeling that Baddiel and Newman had covered it adequately), here they are:

chin nuggets : recipe for Chin Nuggets. Seize your victim in the classic "nuggy" position, with their head clamped underneath your arm. Then rub your chin all over their head whilst allowing yourself to dribble freely. Whilst doing this, make gleeful gurgling noises. This special attack is good for humiliation only, as it doesn't really hurt.

A good time to ridicule Jehova's Witnesses is to talk about your Christmas presents in front of one. In particular, ask four or five people what they got before you get to the Jehova, pause, then ask them what they got. Word of warning - make sure you do not ask a poor kid what they got in the build up, or else he might accidentally become the object of ridicule. See also knock knock jokes.

vt. To masturbate. As a noun, you are a "chugger", and if you are a prolific wanker, you are a "chuggernaut". Derived from the imagined effort and sound effects that go into a wank, which is, honestly, the equivalent of the engine on an ant boat.

A futile question designed to test the infinite patience of our Religious Education teacher. He would reply every time with a textbook response - "It is the removal of a small piece of skin from the male sexual organ, or penis." If he had answered without using the phrase "male sexual organ, or penis", he might have been spared the endless repetition. But he did, and he wasn't.

Not a proper or acceptable substitute for a lunchbox.

In the now well-established "skill = african bum disease" way, if you admitted to coming hard, then you fancied men. I was worried for a good year that when I finally started having sex, then a futuristic spunk cube would plop out of the end of my penis, that my partner would then have to eat.

Country Fayre was a house that had been converted into a cob shop. It was run by an immensely fat woman, who was given moral support from the back room by her family. You never saw the family, but the noises they made were unnerving evidence of their existence. It seemed like the fat woman lumbered from room to room collecting the various ingredients, then presented it to you in a white paper bag. The cobs were very nice indeed, but trade suffered from the widely held belief that she buttered the cobs by rubbing them against her armpits.

Use "fatty" near to fat people for a softer version, as it's not really offensive except to the fat person, and fat people can't really punch you because their fingers are like cushions.

to be laced, or planted. In context : "You'll get decked if you snitch - Holmesy may be a Trevor, but he's no scrap spastic."

Apart, perhaps, from eggy dribble, sly old fox, and emery dermis.

Classic Catch-22 for those who have got past their revulsion of the opposite sex. More vicious male asks male he wishes to kick the shit out of: "Do you fancy my bird?" Answer yes : "Well she's my fucking bird" - you get a pummeling. Answer no: "What, you think she's ugly?" - you get a pummeling. Answer well obviously yes, but she's your bird, and I respect that - "Are you being clever?" - you get a pummelling.

To perform this trick, go up to someone with your hand over your mouth while making the quotes sign with your other hand and ask someone (preferrably a teacher or dinner lady) "Do you like Sam Fox?". Utterly mystifying. What was going on? It was the bigger boys doing it but what the hell were they doing? (a.m.) Answers please, to the usual address.

A strangely feeble catch 22 where the victim is asked "does your dad drive a vulva?" Whether you mishear "Volvo" for "vulva" or not, and whether or not your dad drives a Volvo, the idea of your father driving or not driving your mother's vulva will amuse only a few people. The rest will just laugh at you because it directs attention away from themselves. Image can be enhanced with the idea that whilst driving your mother's vulva, your father "parps" her breasts like a poop poop horn.

The primary rule of the nuclear back-packs in Ghostbusters translates well into a toilet game where you both piss into the same bowl. If you do cross the streams, you must both squeal as you undergo an imaginary process of total particle reversal. This means getting a lot of piss on the walls, so it is best not to cross the streams.

You can't have done, because I did.

Said by the wanker in the middle of a crowd of people waiting to get through a door. Can be followed by "I'll sign autographs later". If said by a popular kid, it was sickening and offensive. If an unpopular kid tried it, he was punched by the popular kid he copied it from.

A despicable breed who share interests and sympathy with the geeks, but have somehow managed to end up with a popular set of friends. These double agents may even go to their geek friends' houses at the weekend to paint little lead goblins, but within school hours they are inexplicably distant, their one concession to the sham of a friendship being the fact that they only laugh half-heartedly at the routine deconstruction of the geek's psyche.

These were the children who had the terrible euphemism "special" inflicted upon them more than any other. Technically, they weren't missing anything - in fact, they had one more chromosome than everyone else. It's not fair. They get all the chromosomes and then they get to hog the drama workshops too. Jammy bastards.

Exclamation of incredulity. "Tommy Cooper's dead!" - "FUCK a DUCK!" A bowdlerized version spawned the fairground "Hook A Duck" stalls, in which you win a goldfish with athlete's foot coming out of its arse.

A Nottingham extension. Also, if William Shatner's famous cop had come from Nottingham, he would have introduced himself by saying "I'm TJ Hooker, duck", which relates a little to the previous entry.

Constructed, like coats made from animal skins, by the zipping together of five or so duffel coats. Then, climb inside and giggle until bored. Ski coats, which had detachable arms (in case you became trapped under a tree whilst skiing, and needed to sacrifice a limb), could be made into a ski ensemble, by unzipping the arms, zipping the arms to each other and wearing them as trousers. Then you could walk around like the Lord of the Manor, even if you did walk like duck wearing a nappy full of shit.

"Green Flash" trainers were re-released in 2001, with stands of them in fashionable places like Schuh, and Raw. I haven't seen one pair being worn during or since this feeble attempt at a comeback. Even the lure of retro couldn't shake off the fact that they were still pretty affordable.

The development of coloured chalks and all-over dusting never really caught on, for two reasons; coloured chalks were considered unnecessarily fancy, and it is much more difficult to incorporate the firm and friendly patting of a mate's arse into a nonchalant gesture. Advanced dusters were generally derided and beaten as hopeless queermos by their traditionalist brothers.

Stack the entire classes chairs around the captain of the dying spaceship, then kick them over so that the captain is lost in a tangle of awkward metal and plastic. Just like in a real dying spaceship scenario, the captain can be hurt very badly.

Cartman's mum described her fart as a stinky apple, too. Is there a link between apples, parents, and farting?

The fat bloke out of Brush Strokes, therefore any fat person in any class in any school, from 1986-88. In particular, Andrew Barlow. Andrew delivered swift and heavy justice to people who called him Elmo. He was the tallest boy in the year, and so was in the most commanding position to deliver a painful bundy. The fat bloke was also in Chelmsford 123, with a similarly stupid fat sounding name. This caught on for a brief while, but appalling as Brush Strokes was, it was better than fucking Chelmsford 123.

A deeply regrettable insult on the part of the inventor. Referring to the eczema of his opponent, and the emery board like complexion of his epidermis, the insult just sort of hung there for a few seconds before the cries of "emery what?" and "say that again, you fucking ponce" let him know that he had lost the argument.

The response of the BBC Model B to any statement that didn't follow its unjustifiably strict rules of BASIC. Made for limited fun, so.
> chris is great and everyone likes him

There was a series of Wally games on the Commodore 64. On the back of one of the games, they actually had the gall to record a novelty song called "Everyone's a Wally". Anyone remember the words?

If a member of your group has been excluded, perhaps for not laughing at the leader's jokes, a lackey may be deployed to further your exclusion This lackey will approach, pretending to comfort for just a few moments, until a reluctant smile plays hopefully onto your lips. Then they will say 'He was right, you ARE a pussy' (or something to that effect), then run back to the group laughing. IMPORTANT NOTE : On no account should you use your time in the wilderness to gain an empathy with the people you would normarily bully.

This is true of all ages. In younger years, a finely rounded fart in assembly is absolutely hilarious. No-one can deny this. In later years, when applying for a late licence in the magistrates' court, a similar enhancement occurs. I can promise you.

Holding in a fart can yield great rewards if you release after a key phrase. For instance, after a scene in Star Wars where someone asked someone else to put a trace on a spaceship, I dropped cargo and declared "put a trace on that". Bravo, me.

You won't have to wait long. It's quite easy.

How do you do?
Much better now, thanks.

What time is it?
Too farty.

Calm down Jeffrey, he wasn't talking to you.

This last one works best if you're known for having an anus called Jeffrey

Again, more popular than you may think. After getting the Guinness Book of Records for Christmas, me and my brother discovered that the heaviest man alive was called Danny Lambert, and we performed much the same dance whilst singing "Danny Lambert, Danny Lambert Oy Oy Oy".

I was fat myself, but luckily I was tall and looked stronger than I was. I mostly escaped taunting on the grounds of my weight - these people didn't.
The funniest fat boy in school's surname was pronounced Weight-Man. It took me a good while to realise that this wasn't a nickname. For his PE option, Weight-Man chose trampolining classes because they involved, potentially, no movement. Sadly, they didn't spare him from mockery, for three good reasons. He had incredibly hairy legs, the sight of him climbing onto the trampoline was a Mr Bean-style masterpiece, and during his turns on the trampoline, his feet never left the elastic. He would just use the initial tension of his climbing onto the trampoline to bob up and down until the teacher (increasingly angrily) told him to get off. This was probably a good thing, as none of us had any intention of trying to catch him if he tried to jump and fell off.
Then there was the ginger, huge one, cursed with the belief that no-one would take the piss out of him if he tried to be the jolly fat man. Trouble was, his jokes created an angry confusion, and a "who does he think he is?" ill-feeling. Went on to get a BSc and MSc, I'm told by an angry reader, although presumably not in Mirth and Merriment.
Finally, we had our year's only proper black girl, so it was a relief to our developing brains that she didn't break the Tom & Jerry Big-Momma stereotype. She always bought in a big pack of sweets. As far as I can recall, I was the only person she ever shared her sweets with, which led to some ridicule on my part, as a potential suitor. At the time, though, I was so careful not to seem racist, and more importantly, not to shy away from girls in case people correctly assumed that I was a fat gay, that I accepted her sweets and sat next to her in a class. Once.

[examples] Two subjects of a perpetually expanding song. The pattern of comedy would follow the Little and Large model, wherein Fatty would fart or do something amusing, and Thinny would either suffer, or not be involved. Thinny never got the laughs, and probably fantasised about Fatty's death in many different ways - if my understanding of murder motives is correct.

Sucking your own spunk out of your partner's arse. A mythology grew around this word, thanks mainly to The Mary Whitehouse Experience, and the unwillingness of people who didn't know what it meant to admit it, and making something up. I'm still not entirely sure about it, as in some versions you are allowed to use a straw.

Oh, and I've done the same thing with squicking on this site - for the record, squicking is the (uncommon) practice of fucking the unformed skull of the under eights.

The use of a straw has created something of a talking point - apparently this is called "shrimping", or "mungfelching", depending on where you are.

French woman whose misadventures in the Tricolore textbooks were entirely unspectacular - except for the fact that her eyes were a pair of tits. Her pupil-nipples (or nippupils) existed, unfeasibly, outside of the eyehole. There were two types of tit-eye in the cartoon:

The amiable, ponderous, motherly dumpling eyes. As tit-eyes, they're potentially worth a quick wank if:
  • your genitals have just started shouting at your brain and you can't hear anything else
  • you don't mind tits looking at you
  • you can imagine a mouth into a belly button without being distracted by the body horror

On the other had, there were the shrewish, upturned tit-eyes that looked like they were desperately trying to avoid seeing a homeless man. It's difficult to imagine sucking a satisfying amount of milk from the pupils of these eyes. Not impossible: just difficult.

"First the worst, second the best, third the dirty donkey." Dirty donkey also known as Hairy Princess. Obviously sung by people who weren't quite first, and taken unusually seriously by the person who was first, who in theory shouldn't have anything to prove to the person s/he just beat. Also used to punish the third place, who was often rewarded with a beating (or, in toilet related adventures, pissy trousers). The third person, however badly humbled, could take solace in the fact the he wasn't as bad as the person who came first, who was, after all, the worst.

Ask the victim if they want to get high and see amazing colours. They usually say yes, and so the game shall begin. Place the victim (who, it must be said, has to be a very trusting victim) on their knees and hold a towel in front of their face. An accomplice would then pull the towel up while you pushed on either side of their nose with your palms. Once the towel is removed, ask them if they can see the flying colours. Obviously, they don't, so you try again. This time, however, press your arse against the victim's nose and teasingly drag the towel away. It might help if your accomplice presses their face forwards. It would seem a terrible waste to go through all this effort if their nose didn't go up your arse.

The essence of foot chuffers is to stamp on the opponent's foot. To do so is to score a chuff. However, to prevent random stampings, rules were developed regarding a signing on and off process. To sign on, both combatants must raise their right leg and declare the commencement of foot chuffing. You remain in a state of war until one player signs off. Formerly, a mutual and simultaneous signing off was required, in the same fashion of the signing on. However, some warriors would refuse to sign off, and carry on stamping on their opponent's feet for days after, sometimes weeks. After much injustice, the amendment was passed to allow unilateral signings off. Special moves include the reverse chuff, the double chuff, and the total chuff combo (a reverse double chuff). Exotic moves, such as the flip chuff, the uberchuff, and the black spin, were postulated but never put into practice.

Apparently, there's a variant of this game, in which you have to say "anal fist fuck". A few people have emailed to tell me this. The stakes are substantially higher on this one, and I'm curious to know if there are any even more extreme versions.

Variations include fuck shit bastard wank twat, fuck shit fuck shit fuck, and fuck shit bollocks arse cunt. Well, that's this page fucked for NetNanny.

I don't get it either.

A furtive fondle. A form of intimacy popular amongst turtles.

Gay just means stupid - there never seemed to be any real implication that you were actually gay if someone called you gay. Pete Beal's Banana Bowl was another matter.
Teacher : What is the capital of France?
Elaine : Is it Calais sir?
Darren : Sir, Elaine's being gay!

Also an Indian restaurant in Manchester. "Eating at the Gaylord" was far too tempting a euphemism for oral sex to be kept to oneself.

Monumentally stupid game, annoyingly however I lost the rules. It involved asking older kids to beat you up until they did, though.

In Ilkeston, Derbyshire, there are over 200 words for being caught with your dick in your hand. Simple holding, wanking, threatening behaviour, time of day, proximity to farmlife, all these factors affect the final word. There is a word for "holding your cock at dusk within spurting distance of a rooster".

The box in games, full of spare clothes. This is used by three sets of people; fat or feeble kids who wilfully forget their kit to avoid games, trevors who can't afford their own kit, and normal children who simply forgot it was games. These are perhaps the most unfortunate group; because the gippo box is never laundered, the poor normal child will be forced to run around in fat kid's ball sweat and poor kid's fleas.

I'll tell you - they said "boys are so stupid, let's be lesbians and have some attempt at a reciprocal, loving relationship while they all fuck each other senseless like bad pigs".

Actually, the girls were indulging in experimental lesbian fantasy, as this frame from "The Adventures of Gwendoline" by John Willie illustrates.

If Dunnies (see Green Flash) are the Aldi of trainers, Gola are the Lidl. Slightly better, simply because they sell cheap red bull with "nearly Taurine" chemical "Taurin" in it. Other than that, unacceptable. Trainers.

The first speech simulation on a computer I ever heard, and I was amazed that beeps and tones could be bent into human voice. The game was Ghostbusters, although I can't remember whether it was on the Spectrum or the C64. A cacky sub-MIDI-synth style rendition of Ray Parker Jr's hit piped through your TV, and you got to join in by pressing the space bar (oh, hang on - Space Bar - must have been a C64) to make the computer say "Ghostbusters!" at the relevant moments. Only thing is, it sounded much more like "Granny Busters" than Ghostbusters. Which is going some, plucking a syllable from nowhere like that. Still. I tried to make Granny Busters catch on, but no-one listened to me. Sad little shit.

A word I was rewarded for knowing when I was nine. The thing is, I didn't really know what it meant. I just said "ooh, grimace" as an insult based on the McDonald's character. When the teacher asked me what 'grimace' meant, I sort of pulled a face, trying to imitate Grimace. This was right. My reward was to go to the front of the queue to get back into class, which in retrospect wasn't that hot a deal.

The number rises if the haircut is particularly severe, or ridiculous. The most I have heard is Haircut 1000, which is somewhat reserved considering that children say 'gazillions' and 'babwillions' to mean anything more than 50.

The city in which puddingbowl lane is the high street. Based on the mid-80s advert on Anglia TV for Carpet City. A squeaky voiced squirrel-man-creature would ask "Mexico City? London City? New York City?" and the booming-voiced continuity dude would assert "No! It's Carpet City!"
Hang on a minute, wasn't this the other way around. Wasn't the continuity bloke lost, and the squirrel-man calmed him with the reassuring notion that he was, in fact, in Carpet City? The continuity man then went on to discuss the prices of carpets, which is odd to say that three seconds ago he didn't even know where he was. I don't think he was ever lost at all.

Oh, yes, thank you. Geordie Boy submitted this one, and it made me remember that I was actually bullied, before I had a "spurt" which sent me to 6 foot at 13. I really thought I'd been popular all my life, and irresistably loveable, when in fact, for a substantial part of my life, I was just an obnoxious jumped-up shit. James Pates was my bully's name! He punched me in the face, and I was too stupid or stubborn to realise I was walking around with blood pouring out of my nose! The year after, I kneed him in the bollocks and then spent the next month convinced I was going to go to prison!

This unesteemed sixth form college was attended by myself, and the mass murdering Doctor Harold Shipman (and a few others whose names I forget). He was sensationally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of women patients over a period of many years - I am not.

In the science lab, there are plenty of artefacts to put into the fattest boys bag. (This isn't anti-fat, but common sense. People who weigh 29 stone are less likely to notice a few bunsen burners in their bag) If done in the last period, there is every chance he will take them home with him. Hopefully, we will empty his bag in front of his mum. When she sees all the cut up and gutless frogs, she will assume that he stopped at a pond on the way home, and feasted on the wildlife.

Oh Come Let Us Adore Him = Oh Come Let Us Ignore Him
Christ The Lord becomes Christ, I'm Bored
Gracious Spirit, Holy Ghost becomes Gracious Spirit, Beans on Toast
Peace is flowing like a river...flowing out of you and me... becomes... well, I think you can guess this one...
We are climbing Jesus' ladder becomes = for ladder, read penis
I close my eyes, drew back the curtains becomes = why not draw back your foreskin?
All dicks bright and beautiful, all creatures grunt and smell
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree, said with a different emphasis, becomes a startled exclamation of surprise.
Service to the loving, honour to the dead becomes bollocks to the Head
Our Father, Who Art In Heaven, Harold By Thy Name
'Blessed are those that come in the House of the Lord', swap House for Mouth
God rest you jerry mental men
do re mi so fa la ti do = dirty asshole farty old soul
Cross over the road my friend,
ask the lord his cock to bend,
hi-is penis knows no end,
cross over the road.
and for the catholics...
benedicta tu becomes benny's dick tattoo
clarior usta rogo becomes clarior usta bollocks (?) and you have to say usta as though you are climaxing. Naturally.

Also try "I'm telling, you're dwelling in an indefinite state of fear"

Double bluff possible; reply "icy ink". The other person may (a 1:25 chance) say "no, iced ink", allowing you full reversal privileges.

A German song, featured in the Deutsch Heute book. Translated literally...

I am hungry, hungry, hungry,
I am hungry, hungry, hungry,
I am hungry, hungry, hungry,
I am thirsty.

Where is the food, food, food
Where is the food, food, food
Where is the food, food, food
Where is the sausage?

Hard to believe any race stereotyping themselves so effectively.

One of the possible results of pushing a small and hitherto powerless child too far. The results can be positive, or catastrophic; the best case scenario is that the bully will step back, filled with a newfound respect. He will then proceed to befriend or ignore the victim. The worst case scenario is that the bully will simply beat the child up. The shock of the runt sticking up for himself will subside quickly when he is rolling around on the floor, clutching his sorry little bollocks.

The idea of inverted nipples is commonplace, although I'm not sure if anyone has ever seen any. Surely it would involve little holes. And they would have to suck in milk. And this never, never happens.

I suggest that Dave should have Porked Michelle's Anal Tract Carefully, given her low standards of hygeine. God, that was Radio 4 smug, that was.

Classic, but is this an urban myth, like the "Please let my son off games because he has a broken ear. Signed, my mum" letter? Answers on a postman.

King Charles Spaniels that look like they are ready to explode with even the gentlest application of a woodwork vice.

The name that a girl could unlock if she was anywhere between "shapely" and "hot whopper", and showed an ill-advised glimmer of sexual interest in anything

This game involves running around "shooting" each other with "guns". Of course, having no uniforms or other way of distinguishing between the two sides you had to ask "Jap or Brit?" before shooting. Luckily, real wars are more organised, with different sides wearing easily distinguishable colours, except for spies, who wear black.

Combination of the bundle (a.k.a. pile on, all pile on, bundlefly project) and the jewfinder general technique of rolling a penny along the floor. The picker up of the penny is the jew - and everyone jumps on them. A harsher version is where the penny is thrown at the potential Jew, and they are covered in boys if it hits them.

A game in which you and a friend take adjacent elevators to the top floor of a building, agreeing that when you get there you will jump out and shout "jingo bingo!" without even looking. It is a race, but there are never any hard feelings; somehow the shouting of "jingo bingo!" reduces the competitive edge. Plus, if it is a draw you both get to jump out of lifts shouting "jingo bingo" together, which is a rare pleasure. If you win the race but do not shout "jingo bingo!" then you lose - you should shout it loud enough for your opponent to hear you in their lift.

Early-mid 1980's figure of tragedy and fun. See here.

The year - between 1987 and 1989. Still reeling from the revelations of Cerebral Palsy (see Joey Deacon), John's Not Mad gave us Tourette's Syndrome.
It followed the life of a boy who simply couldn't stop swearing, thanks to a disease. As it was educational, none of the swearing was censored. His mother dropped a plant pot and spilled some soil - John came out with "mum, you cunt". The supermarket scenes were also a gutter treat.
At this time, state-sanctioned crudity was rare, and we loved it.
John was locked into the cupboard by his teacher because he wouldn't stop swearing. This is even funnier - imagine an OFSTED inspection with a cupboard that is wobbling and swearing!
Inspector : What is in that cupboard?
Teacher : It is a wobbling swearing cupboard, like the wobbling swearing plant out of The Adventure Game.
Inspector : Very good. Take it out and burn it.
Teacher : But... but...
Inspector : But nothing - burn it now! Here are the matches, burn it now in front of me!
Teacher : OK. I suppose.
The day after John's Not Mad was the filthiest day of playground talk I can ever recall. It is still surprising that so many children actually watched a documentary... To hear scenes, click here.

Nickname given to boys who had brain tumours. Whether true or not, to us the tumour was removed with a big metal skewer by a doctor who fished around in your brain until he got it. Hence, brain tumour patients were human kebabs, and were so dubbed.

An unlikely Jewish misinterpretation of the hit song "Kinky Boots".

Joke that you can use to ridicule Jehova's Witnesses. "Knock knock / Who's There? / It's your mum and dad....". See also Christmas.

A book in our religious education class was written by David Konstant, and John Cumming. It was written by Christians, and it was called "Beginnings". We were never made to read the book, but I have the grim feeling that it may have been disappointing. If you don't believe me, look here.

"La sac magique", from Tots TV, is presumably something to say whilst delivering your wrath unto a colleagues testicles.

There's also a line from Bill Hicks' Revelations video about a "Hairy sack of magic" which made Tots TV more unintentionally hilarious. -Susan.

Does anyone have any lab assistant stories? Ours were really retarded, but never got up to anything genuinely evil. Lab Assistant stories are welcome, so long as they aren't just "our lab assistant used to be really stupid and shuffled around with test tube racks and never said anything." Did anyone ever get into that special lab assistant room? Did they ever touch you? There? In that special place that daddy told you was where Socky The Hand Puppet had dinner? Do you remember Socky's strange, asymmetrical eyes, and looking for the place where he hid until daddy brought him out?

I heard this on the bus today, and a child said it, so I think it counts. Two boys were talking to each other, and the younger one said "I had a ladybird on my hand. I stroked it, and it trumped on me." I laughed out loud, and their father looked disapprovingly at me. I felt like I was in assembly.

A form of perversion based on the insertion of a lego flagpole up - of course - the arse. If girls ever did this sort of thing, then maybe there'd be something interesting stuck up the front bumhole, but no. Girls either didn't do this sort of stuff, or don't talk about it, or don't visit my website. Aha - probably the latter. I've only just thought of that.

This will also lose its edge when the idiots get hold of it, saying it too slowly and ruining what was originally a good joke. Like when the same idiots suddenly start liking bands that used to be cool, before the idiots read one fucking copy of the NME and before you know it the video was on the fucking Twix Chart Show. Idiots.

Living In A Box's eponymous hit. A useful song for when words like gypo and fleabag lose their effect. Can be used in conjunction with "Uptown Slag, she's been living in a paper bag," by Billy Joel.

The unwelcome erection in the changing rooms. Said in a high-pitched squeal with emphasis on the "lob". An erection was treated with the same level of confusion, fear, and disgust as if a lobster had, indeed, walked into the changing rooms with a towel wrapped around its waist, and started whistling.

I like it when that happens. People finding each other. I feel like Cilla Black, I really do.

The elements of a lunchbox are all subject to a scoring system that any child can appraise in seconds. As adults, we may need help with a table.
5Deep filled, fresh, with two or more meats on wholegrain thick sliced bread.Rippled or otherwise textured luxury snack.Proper Chocolate Bar. Mars, Twix.Can Coke or equivalent
4Real, unprocessed meats on Mighty White.Monster Munch or other highly flavoured crisp.Mid-range chocolate. Penguin.Carton Ribena
3Standard cheese or processed ham on standard white bread.Ready Salted WalkersBudget chocolate. Ace, Taxi, Blue Riband.Pouch Capri Sun
2Elements of sweatiness. Sandwich droops when held by the edge.10p Red Mill snack - Tangy Toms.Fun Size Chocolate. Interpretable as an insult.Tupperware Beaker Robinson's Cordial
1One Kraft Single between two unbuttered slices of a 7p loaf.NoneTwo squares taken from a 500g bar of Dairy Milk. Fruit.Tap Water

Your score, coupled with your social standing, will determing your treatment. For instance, a score of 12 is recommended for victims; any noticeable variance from the absolute average will result in unwelcome attention. For popular children, the higher the score the better. In a geek-friendly environment, fruit may actually be considered acceptable. To be honest, it's a more complicated issue than this arena allows for, and to be even more honest I'm totally bored with the subject. Bye bye.

Even if you are wearing trousers and underwear, if you press your fingers hard enough up your buttock cleft and worm them around, a small amount of anus smell will be transferred to your fingers. The process by which this happens is entirely magical. On a really warm day, I managed to get the smell through underpants, trousers, and jumper.

A couple of people have written to me concerning stinkpalm, but I haven't seen Mallrats yet, so I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about.

Myself and two freaks used to sing this inspired "non-scanning" version of the theme tune. "Mighty Mouse is on the way. Here he comes to make your day even greener." After which we would make massive bringing-up-snot noises. We were nine.

(high pavement, 1990-1992) An unusual figure of fun. The mockery was based around the fact that he was getting driving lessons from his mum's boyfriend, but had to pay for them himself. More than that, when we asked him how many lessons he had taken, the number was nearly 100. To us, this was a clear indication that Murray's mother was using her son as a source of income to keep her in sex and drugs. This fuelled a fantasy world based around their abuse of Murray, in which he was made to stand outside their bedroom door while they had sex, because he was hungry and all the food was in there with them. Occasionally they would slip him out a sandwich, but never enough to stop the hunger. The culmination of this mockery was the "Aspects of Murray" collection, which was cut up bits of paper with doodles which made every facet of his life plainly sad and revolting. He never saw the Aspects of Himself - we made sure of that. We may have been pointlessly malicious, but we didn't want to destroy the poor bastard. Well, not until he searches for his own name on the internet, maybe.

A playful, yet painful, pinch and twist motion on the nipple. aka tit-nip.

For some reason, this is a very funny thing to say when you and your friends are on acid, and logic slips vaguely back into place for a moment. This isn't a playground thing, it's just something I wanted to share. If it encourages children to take acid, all the better. Anybody got any spare acid?

A thick and glutinous ejaculation, which is slightly yellow in colour, and alcoholic. Coined after an English lesson demonstration of how to make Egg-Nog, which was all very exciting because we had booze in the classroom. We were allowed to have tiny sips and pretend to be drunk.

A non-alcoholic attack where you punch your victim from both sides, in either kidney.

Another variant is the slightly more sophisticated "Can I just interrupt you there?" and when they say "Yes" you say "Thanks", and walk off. This is slightly irritating, however, to people who heard Saturday Night Fry on Radio 4 in 1988, formed a strong bond with the programme, only to hear other people you had lent the tape to saying lines from it and passing it off as their own. I went up to them, and said "your behaviour is like a bad underpant - transparent and unclean."

Prefix to an insult. Should be said in the voice of Henry's Cat. Replaces unmanageable sentences with an effective build-up, and reduces the chances of an interruption or retort. Long form : Well at least I don't live in a skip. Abbreviates to : Ooww, Trevor...

Run to the wall and back: I can't be arsed. Run to the wall and back.

Basketball : Any self regulating sport doesn't really need a teacher watching it - sit in the staff room and let the little bastards sort it out themselves. Maintain a professionalism by occasionally nipping in, blowing a whistle, and shouting a random surname.

Inform your target that new medical research has found a genetic link between the size of your hands, and the probability that you will develop cancer in later life. The details of the research are obviously very complicated, but it boils down to a simple rule of thumb; if your hand is bigger than your face, then you're very likely to develop cancer. The immediate instinct is for your victim to immediately check by placing their hand over their face, allowing you to slap their palm hard into their face. This is actually very painful, and runs the risk of hitting the secret Kung-Fu instant death spot, which shoots the nose backwards into the brain.

Two things - other amusing "all-rhyming names" are Big Horny Beaver (Sigourney Weaver) and Prick Fuck Balls (Mick Hucknall, from Pimply Head). Also, this is presumably the new 5th Year, and not the one that meant you were 15, when I were a lad

How could one person manage to be so feeble, yet so resilient? Patrick Seers is a paradox. The school's most prominent geek, he was the person that the regular geeks used as a cushion to reduce their own noise on the bully radar.

It was as heartbreaking as it was unstoppable. Patrick Seers. Bullied 8 hours a day, five days a week, for 5 years. Patrick Seers. Even the usual sympathetic types kind of gave in after two minutes of civil conversation, coming away with the sense that he did, somehow, deserve it. He played the euphonium.

He has also survived to become someone that exists, seems successful, and has - from limited Facebook snooping - developed a good circle of friends.

Just goes to show. It really does get better. And not just for the gay ones. For Patrick Seers.

Urban Myth. Young man, overcome with stress, puts a pencil up either nostril during an exam and brings his head down on the desk. The pencils go into his brain, killing him instantly.

The rumour that everyone in the room gets compensated for their mental trauma by getting a free A* means that most people have the vague, unspoken idea that witnessing a suicide would be fucking brilliant.

Obscure allusion to homosexuality. The idea is that you go to Albert Square market to buy bananas from Pete Beal, and put them in a bowl. Instead of eating them, however, you put them up your arse.

Was it? Blimey.

Thank you, you can go back to being a solicitor now, Paul. Must you have the career and rob me of my credibility on the internet? This is the only place I exist, you merciless swine!

"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.

We did this on grass, but I couldn't agree more about the homo-eroticism. I used to throw myself quite heartily into these melees, usually just after Chris Hackett.

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)

This survives in a different form amongst adults. When you're in a skaggy student nightclub, you can deter the "I'm so poor I steal beer and there's no such thing as theft actually, if anything you stole that beer from society in the first place and I'm just reclaiming it" wankers by leaving untended pint pots of your piss around the place, and waiting, hoping, praying, that some cunt will steal it. I'm sorry - I just turned into Punt and Dennis.

Any point on the human body which, when jabbed by the fingers of someone who has attended two Kung Fu classes, will cause collapse, haemorrhaging, and eventual death. This would be the typical itinerary of such a course; Dr Bodycount's Dark Dojo "Dead Men Don't Punch Back" Three Week Black Belt Course In Human Murder Week 1 : Introductions : Stances : Stretching Week 2 : Instant Death Spot : Refreshments Week 3 : Roundhouse kicks : Swords : Graduation

cor - which internet do you manage?

Anybody else have a comparative career development? Did you take the Cascade Form and actually become a blacksmith? And if the program actually recommends blacksmithery, did anyone get advised to become a Knight's Squire, or a Sales Assistant at the local Apothecary?

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.

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.

3-2-1 spoonerism that I cannot believe didn't occur to me when it may have been topical. Or funny.

Note similarity between rescue squadron and plot for Impossible Mission 2.

Also in this category are flat and unwavering denials of a blatant truth, such as the colour of your hair, or whether you have buttoned up your shirt one button off.

A speech synthesis programme on the Commodore 64 that provides me to this day with my comical "robot malfunction" voice. Oh, you should hear me. I'm such a one.

Also, using a Ouija Board in an attic (spirits being fond of attics), which would always spell out three quarters of a swear word before someone asked who was pushing it.

The distinction between the French words "saucisson" and "saucissez", acording to the Tricolore books, is that one was a "continental" sausage. I have not heard this expression since I was eleven, and any requests for continental sausage in the Co-Op have met with a stony indifference. It did however, form the basis of a bilingual song; "continental sausage / continental sausage / continental sausage / je suis!"

Post-spastical name for people who were spastics before The Spastics Society changed their name in a bid to stop people calling spastics spastics. We didn't lose a word for spastic, we gained one. And it was scoper.

Largely non-malicious game of obstruction and irritation. When someone is trying to get through a crowded seating area, and the seated people set about obstructing them as annoyingly as possible with their legs. This may not sound particularly harsh or amusing, but is surprisingly difficult to escape if the legs maintain a downward pressure. The combination of "walking through treacle" and "double gravity" can often lend a pleasing edge of panic to the victim's face. Endless repetition, as is so often the case, may result in tears. (cf doccer kill)

Before repetition lent the cliché some meaning, I thought the advert for Dempsey and Makepeace, which contained the line "she's as cool as a cucumber" was surrealist nonsense. Thinking I'd learned a new funny phrase, I took it into my active vocabulary without question. So when I nodded intelligently in primary school and noted that Miss Kaveska was as cool as a cucumber, thinking it was a joke, I must have sounded a right little turd. Ah well.

I saw a pleasant version of shit sticks at a bus stop in Burnage. A shit had either been lain, or moved, onto the bus stop seat, and a half-smoked cigarette had been stubbed slightly off-centre. Having a hangover, I burst out laughing the second I saw the 'piece'. No-one else at the bus stop seemed to get it, though.

A summer game. When the grass has grown, choose an area of ground for your Sidney Home. Gather some friends (or people who like spitting), and get them to hack up a load of greenies onto the plot. Cover this with ripped up grass, and repeat. Once you are happy with your home, and have enough friends to feel safe, throw someone weak onto the Sidney Home. Usually Patrick Sears.

A sidney home with more than five floors.

"Smell my cheese", the bully would invite. Cheese famously smelling delicious, you would eagerly bend over to the waiting fist, anxious to see if there is a tiny cube of fragrant cheese concealed within. As you get closer, you become suspicious. There's no cheese here... and then, the bully would punch you in the nose. A pleasing variant of this is when the bully adds "Smell my cheese, would you?" and walks off huffily, as though you've offended him mightily. You are the victim of another imaginary foodstuff. See also "You just drank my wee".

Also a good trick for getting a pint of real ale changed; simply offer your pint to the barman to smell, having placed your finger up your arse. Offer him to smell the beer with your finger under his nose... a change of beer and a profuse apology. Resist the temptation to complete the snaf-tache.

Is to spazmo as cuboid is to cube. That is to say, some of the sides are of different lengths, but... every face is a rectangle... only with spazmos.

I'd forgotten this - it's true, so true. He never shared his two litre bottle of coke. If you asked him for some, he'd clutch it to his chest, and whine "I neeed it!"

See also dead heat in a zeppelin race, two ferrets fighting in a sack, two bald men. But not in this list.

Incredibly spurious nickname for a boy who has received a sponge bath from a girl. The nickname itself makes enough sense, but for the love of mercy, what are twelve year olds doing giving each other sponge baths? They should be at least sucking each other off.

A male born with no kind of genitals whatsoever. Possibly, we decided, based on the resemblence of the bare groin to the smooth, featureless... shiny... back of a spoon. Just another thought; this may be based on the sexless but affectionate practice of spooning; presumably, anyone choosing to simply hug their partner in bed must be some kind of cockless neuter.

Children who excelled at sport. The derision with which this name was delivered justified the sloth of hundreds of fat kids, like myself, who had just got a Commodore 64 and didn't really want to be running around.

Also a bubble forming in a trough full of spunk, because ill-mannered children are blowing into it through straws.

A farting Catch 22.
1. A high pitched squeaky fart is the product of an arse which is substantially blocked up with cum. Real men do deep, rumbling farts, so free from spunk are the caverns of their anus.
2. A "squeaker" is the sign of a tight, virginal arsehole, unprodded by Big Ron. Meaty biffers were direct evidence that your arse had seen action, and was ragged around the edges.

The surname Stevenson is shortened to Stevo, re-lengthened to Steve Ovett, Garfield's vet is called Liz, short for Lizard, the aliens were lizards in V, VD, D-Day, Day of the Dead. Therefore, Stevo, you're dead. So there.

Named after the bad letter in Diddy David Hamilton's game show "All Clued Up", this is the name given to a boy who has been circumcised. It may or may not be followed by an emulation of the electric timpani sound effect that the quiz show used. Important note : the insultee does not have to be circumcised for the insult to work. All they have to be is embarrassed. A more basic circumcision insult is BT. As in "I've been cut off".

A very stupid and irresponsible thing to leave lying around a primary school, especially one in which the eminently bulliable Patrick Sears is a pupil. A remnant from the Sports Day, and the humourous "throw sponges at a teacher" stall, the stocks were left ... in the playground. This frightening oversight led to much pain on the part of Patrick Sears. We didn't have sponges to hand, unfortunately, but we improvised admirably with pebbles. "They've got Patrick in the stocks!" was the excited cry, and I may be wrong, but the teachers were very slow to react.

Put a coin on the ground. When someone goes to pick it up, stamp on their hand. Valuable coins are more attractive bait, but if it's a copper, you can perform a jew-stomper combo. Then, at least, you are taking the moral high ground, protecting us all from a league of jews who are trying to take over the world by picking up one and two pence pieces.

Variation of tig (also tag, dobby), where the person who's been tigged (also tagged, dobbed) has to stand still, and can only be freed by having someone crawl through their legs. The only reason anyone would risk their own mobility by attempting this is (a) if they are your friend, (b) if they are desperately unpopular and think maybe that you will thank them for it later, or (c) if the bristle of thigh and calf against shoulder is something of a thrill to them.

Verbal trap. Asking a victim if he wanted something, you would then deny him with a rhyme. eg: Do you want a sweet? Yes Suck my feet! Do you want some jelly? Yes Suck my belly! Do you want a hat? Not really Suck my cat! Do you want a punch? No Eat my lunch! O.K. Oh.

Twat, somewhat less convincingly, can be used to mean a pregnant goldfish. An insult that is in common use in Egypt, along with "may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits".

The moment a classroom is first exposed to The Macc Lads is hugely edifying. It's a real South Park "Asses Of Fire" moment, when the bar just seems ever so slightly raised.

"She's like a tub of lard / she makes my willy hard"

Sweaty Betty propounds the Rubenesque aesthetic, flying bravely in the face of the modern preoccupation with weight loss. Sadly, this embracing attitude didn't extend to the gay community, in the song "Now He's A Puff".

"He's going to spread AIDS all over the world / Kill the bastard"

Their most recent song of 2006 - 21 years after the seminal "Beer & Sex & Chips n Gravy" explains how different parts of the Macc Lads' bodies are English.

"Ta ra ra bum di ay,
my knickers flew away,
They came back yesterday,
Ta ra ra bum di ay."
This unusual narrative casts aside the traditional form of beginning, middle, end, by leaving out the middle section that can be so boring to people with low attention spans. The knickers are gone - the knickers are back. However, the repetition of the first line in the last reminds us that it is a constant cycle, and no sooner have one person's knickers returned, than another pair have flown away.

Without entering into the class divide, anyone running across a field screaming Tally Ho! is begging for beating round are way. Then again, I did sing "Great minds think alike, do they not, my friend?" without getting beaten up, so perhaps Comps were more tolerant than I remember.

Every school has these, so a brief rundown of Arnold Hill; Mr Heeley, made to cry after relentless taunts about his sexuality. As you can imagine, this didn't help the situation at all. Mr Manicom, who returned to work full of life after a kidney operation, to find that children had become no kinder or more understanding, and died weeks later. Mrs Greaves was a balding woman, which was curious enough to be commented upon, again and again (although we were too young to think of "chemo-sabe" as a cunning nickname - that came later).

If you see some geniune badness, and you are very young or naive, then your mouth will drop open, your eyes widen, and the only word you will be able to summon is a breathless "tell-ing". Then you will run in a random direction until you hit something.

You will need : sunlight, watch. The object: to reflect sunlight from your watch onto the testicles of the unsuspecting teacher. If he is wearing clothes, aim at the crotch of his trousers. Divert your beam away from the teacher once he has begun to suspect that the entire class is laughing at his nob. Conceivably, if everyone in the class did the same thing, you could set the teachers testicles on fire. In larger classes, you could sear through the testicles as a laser.

I only know what whetstone, kindling, and trestle tables are because of Erik The Viking. And the fastest thing I can type - to this day - is say to thorin "carry me", thanks to The Hobbit.

The yanking of, and sometimes swinging from, a fellow student's tie until the knot is irreversibly wee. This is known as a "small tie", and only becomes a "the bells, the bells" if you say so, in Quasimodo's voice. The only reported defence is a remedial measure rather than preventative, and involves a safety pie in the back of the tie that can be used as a lever to uncomplicate the knot.

for the child who is intensely competitive but too fat to play sport, there is the Transform-a-Snack race. Packets cost 10p a bag, and up to three bags could be used in any one race. The game is played while walking rapidly, and an adjudicator is required to apply improvised penalties should a crisp fall on the floor. Conceivably, more than three bags could be used, but after three bags of rapidly eaten Transform-A-Snacks, the roof of your mouth is painfully tattered, and it becomes a test of endurance rather than speed.

Trevor is the standard name by which tramps are known. Replace the X with the surname of the person you are insulting for a highly personalised Trevor insult. For example, if you are insulting Chris Holmes; "Ooww, Trevor Holmes, can't afford no food, lives in a skip, Trevor Holmes." This could conceivably be sung to the tune of Particle Man, by They Might Be Giants.

One step up from the wood block. Conceivably just as boring, the only fun that could be had from the triangle was by watching the clumsier members of the class set the instrument spinning with a clumsy strike on the side. Trying to stop it with their "beater", they would end up making a loud out-of-sync ting.

The school tricycle? Riding the tricycle, a playtime reward? Are you making this up, A.?

This echoes a young belief in Nottingham, that a twat was either (i) a pregnant goldfish or (ii) a very silly twit.

Based on the popular Punt/Dennis nostalgia confection, the Screwball, which was a cone of ice cream with a ball of chewing gum in the nib. Lucky children sometimes found two balls of chewing gum, less fortunate children had their nuts twisted on the floor.

Slightly imaginative name for wedgies, or chadding. A cross between Uncle Fester and Vesta packet meals. Uncle Vesta went on to host a series of Gory Stories. We never wrote the Gory Stories, but we did enjoy saying "Uncle Vesta's Gory Stories" in low voices.

A film studied during our GCSE English Literature course, which contained an inexplicable 10 second sex scene. None of us knew how it added to the plot or imagery of the film, although we were all eager to reference it in our essays. "No one was very good at maths because sir kept having sex scenes," for example.

5318008 : Boobies
55378008 : Boobless
7100553 : Esso Oil
71077345 : Shell Oil
37183045 : Shoe Bile
45084518 : Bish Bosh

This story was told to me by Jim, a friend at my first year at university. I was sceptical at the story, and became more sceptical with every new depth. Then Jim showed me the video they had made of the Vogue Master, and I had no choice but to believe. Any inaccuracies can be blamed on the passage of ten years since I watched the video. Stockport. 1990. Madonna had rocketed the Vogue phenomenon from black gay disco into drunken slapperland. One young man, not the most popular boy in his year, became entranced with the hypnotic fluid roboticism of the dance, and confided in one of his more sympathetic colleagues. "Jim. I'm not a good looking bloke. There's only one way I'm going to get the girls, and that's by learning to vogue." Receiving nothing but encouragement from Jim, our man spent night after night practising in a basement. He emerged, months later, with a radiant confidence that was only let down by his utter inability to vogue. And still, he received nothing but encouragement from his friends, who told him they were so impressed that they wanted to make a video of him. The video contained classic moments; Vogue Master cupping his head in his hands and demanding "What You Lookin' At?", a manager describing his plans for this one man miracle, interviews with adoring female fans, and best of all, a Teen Wolf moment of the Vogue Master dancing on the roof of a white van, driving in very slow circles around the college car park. Copies of the video sold very well. I just wish I had a copy of the video to show you all. I also wish I'd kept in touch with Jim; a man who was wasted on Town Planning. Apparently the Vogue Master came to his senses in 1991, and no longer likes to talk about this period of his life.

A handkerchief set aside for exclusive wanking use. Also "spunky wankerchief" - a freshly used wankerchief. A hanky used after a single badly-planned wank, and then returned to normal handkerchief duties, is not a wankerchief.

Makes You Blind
If you wank into your own eyes and do not rinse, wanking can make you go blind. This is bad, as you need your eyes to wank if you're going to get the spunk out in under 30 seconds. "Thinky Wanks" take longer and are not worth it.

Makes Your Balls Shrink
I was told, and believed, that wanking used up bits of your balls, and therefore every wank would make your balls shrink a little. When they finally disappeared, you would be unable to support life, and would die. Rather than making me relish each wank, this made me frantically wank at every opportunity, using the same logic that convinces fat people that eating things quickly reduces the body's ability to absorb the calories.

Flawed response to any insult. The planned exchange runs thusly:
Kid A: You're a gay.
Kid B: What you say is what you are.
Kid A: Touché! I am confounded.

One problem is the literal interpretation... leading to this improbable exchange:

Kid A: You're a gay.
Kid B: What you say is what you are.
Kid A: What, I'm a you're a gay?

The more fundamental problem is that you're allowing the other person to say "Oh, in that case, fantastic sexy stud man train driver". Imperfect and to be avoided.

Well worn fart-blame transferral method, first documented in print in an episode of Johnny Fartpants around 1990.
The established order is;
"Whoever smelt it dealt it"
"Whoever denied it supplied it"
"Whoever made the rhyme committed the crime."
Despite some of the best minds in the world working day and night on the matter, no further possibilities have been found. These failures show the difficulties facing innovators; "Whoever tried to tell made the smell" (inelegant) "Whoever passed the buck gassed the truck" (only effective on trucks) "Whoever went to the trouble to needlessly place the blame, probably is responsible for the fart that started the game" (a little long)

The instinctive cry of the RE teacher locked in a cupboard.

An ancient and well-regarded discipline of Kung Fu. As a close range system of combat, spinning and high kicks do not feature heavily. As such, a shit way of impressing your friends, even disregarding the partially accurate story that it was invented by a one-armed nun.

The only drawback to this plan is that it assumes an innate desire to stick scissors in plug sockets. Most children probably don't waste much time thinking "I wish that socket wasn't so full of electricity, then I could stick these scissors in it."

The philanthropic children who check the perimeter of the gravel playground for worms who have become stranded, and are in dire peril of being trodden on. Worms are picked up and delivered promptly back to sweet diggable grass. Particularly dedicated worm patrollers may kiss the worms. This makes the worms happier.

I wish, just for a day, that I could recapture the mindset that thinks that seeing a girl's knickers is ruder than seeing the actual beanhole. I think this would make me happy.

Pornography holds a strange place in my memory. The fact that I had no sexual interest in women dampened my desire to see red hot dutch lesbian action not one iota. The reaction to pornography, at least amongst my friends, was frantic disgust. Even the most mundane sexual act was greeted by my friends with an excited "euiur - is it in there? that must really smell," whereas I just felt a disheartening foreboding that one day I'd be doing this myself. More sinisterly, one day I would want to do this. My sex drive never developed to the hysterical toys and chemicals stage. In fact, most nights I can barely be bothered to lie there while someone else does all the work.

Another defence, assuming that you are allowed to defend yourself without being swarmed by Yampy Bats, would be to hit the hand on the head, causing them to bite through the skin between thumb and forefinger. This evolutionary flaw probably explains the lack of Yampy Bats in adult life.

Your hand is a fridge. Encourage a friend to open the fridge, and browse the many tiny and invisible bottles of milk. Gently goad them into removing one of the bottles of milk, and drinking it. When they do, look knowing and snigger, eventually telling them that they chose the bottle that you'd weed into. When I did this, the "joker" would put their hand over their face in absolute horror at the prospect, or perhaps because they had just said "wee". This leads me to believe we were quite young. Be careful, though - if they haven't mimed a swallow, they could spit your invisible wee back into your face.

A lie that is maintained for however long it is interesting; ie, until the victim has cried themself unconscious.

I enjoyed "your mum" insults for a goodly while, and even made a quiz in which all the answers were "your mum" related. For instance, What furry animal communicates with a tiny dance? Your mum. What Is The Fastest Land Mammal? Your mum on a bike. How did Marc Bolan die? Your mum farted into his mouth. How much is a guinea and a florin worth? Two gob jobs off your mum. Et, cet, era.

Look at that. We start and end with zocchihedrons. How circular life - and the zocchihedron - is.

Graphics : 8 colours, including cyan and magenta. These two colours, part of the CMYK professional printing colour model, were presumably included to promote the use of the machine as a serious desktop publishing workhorse. Could not deal with more than two colours in any 8x8 "character" area of screen.
Sounds : sounds were made using the BEEP command, specifying pitch and duration. Basically a monophonic mobile phone. Best use of this method remains Manic Miner's rendition of "In The Hall Of The Mountain King".
Magazine : Crash
Main rival, and why it was shit : The Commodore 64. How people argued that the Spectrum was better - and they did - was beyond me. Both computers were shit; the Spectrum was shitter.

Adidas bags can be doctored so that the logo is an acrostic for;
all day I dream about sex
after dinner I do a shit
a dirty indian did a shit
arse dicking is dangerous after supper
For double deedas, try;
a dirty indian did a shit and did it down a sewer

Exclamation of surprise or delight. Also duetted with Elton John on the number one hit "Don't Go Breaking My Arse".

A medical complaint where the nose becomes soggy and spreads sideways across the face. Used to insult anyone with larger than average nostrils.
The inventor had meant the insult to be a clever reference to the computer game company "Psygnosis". The fact that no-one realised this meant the insult caught on, and he wasn't delivered a beating for being a "spod".

Terence is a gay name. The River Trent runs through Nottingham. Derby is a neighbouring county to Nottingham, where the locals fuck trees, cows and sisters. Terence Trent D'Arby is therefore quite a potent insult, meaning the you live in a river, are gay, and fuck trees, cows and your sister.

Taking the everyday "spazmo" as its base, the "mohican" aspect arises simply because it’s one of the few funny words that begin with “mo”. Fleacon combines the grotbags element of fleas with the heavyweight of spazmos, Joey Deacon himself.
In retrospect, quite a likeable insult.

The process of having to say "gee burt" or "neeyow, ernie" to work out which Sesame Street character was which. Thought process; "I’m saying Gee Burt, so I must be Ernie… it’s the cuter orange one who says Gee Burt, so Ernie’s the banana one. No – hang on – Burt’s the banana."
Settled once and for all with the memory jogging alliteration of Bert the Banana, Ernie the Orange.

Quite simply the coolest thing anyone could ever have. Apart from mag wheels. And the memorised code for infinite lives and level selection on Manic Miner.

To allow the liquid from a can or bottle to re-enter the vessel, complete with some of your own saliva. The soft drink equivalent of bumkissing a spliff. Backwashing led to the often repeated statistic that the last 10% of any can of coke is 50% saliva. Plainly bollocks, as not everyone is a scabby backwashing bronno.

When someone discovers this book, and manages to get past the relatively slow beginning, delight can be had from reading the filthiest passages (in particular, the famous rodent/vagina incident) to the more shy children. They will generally leave the room by the time he's sliced off the nipples and fucked the decapitated skull.
(Editor's note : Avoid the chapters which go into an in-depth appraisal of the careers of Whitney Houston and Genesis. They will generally not shock.)

From New Zealand. Mock any embarrassing situation with the word “shaaaaaaame”, following by a stroking of the chin between thumb and forefinger.
Regional variations; “Shamola!”, where you rub the forefingers of either hand together, and oddly enough, in Wellington, of saying “TAAAAAAAAY!” and pulling a lower eyelid down.
(Shame in England can be accompanied by licking the finger and holding it to the shamed person's face. The heat of their embarrassment will cause the spit to "sizzle". Well, it won't, of course - that's why you have to shout "sizzle".

The name for a child so fat and ungainly that when he falls over, a quick-witted bully has the presence of mind to shout "timber", then pretend that the ground shook.
Technically an insult, should you carry the name into adulthood, you'll be surprised how many people assume you have a gigantic cock. Thanks, that bully!

Yelled by a victim immediately after a strike to the testicles.
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!

A joystick-waggler game for the Atari ST, created by the Hot Spunk Crew.
Each level began with a sample from Jack Nicholson as The Joker, saying “Gentlemen – let’s broaden our minds”, after which you would immediately thrash your joystick from left to right. This action would animate one of a series of very short films, which included a bean-flicking incident and some hot three-way pixels.
Although obviously a humourous game, it was quite frustrating for people actually wanting to pleasure themselves, what with having your hands otherwise occupied. You could convince a friend to waggle the joystick for you; but if you’re that close you might as well just toss each other off anyway.
Additional features include colour cycling for those who want to watch green fingers slide into a deathly grey vagina.

This test was carried out by a gang of girls waiting just inside the classroom by the door. The leading girl has a ruler. All males entering will find a ruler being poked into genital area. Then, depending on your posture, they would should “TIGHT” (if you curled up protectively or seemed shy), or “LOOSE” (if you strode through manfully).
Why? The only explanation I can think of would be that striding in manfully implies that you have nothing to be ashamed of – ie a large penis – therefore you would be requiring a loose vagina. In this sense, it’s not a form of feminine intimidation, it’s simply a pragmatic allocation of available vaginas.

Telling can also be used as an effective bullying device. Tell someone younger, smaller or nerdier than yourself that you are 'telling on them', despite the fact that they have done nothing wrong, and they will royally cack their pants and begin the word "but" around twenty times before hiding.
This technique also forms the foundation for a defense to a straight-forward "telling". Simply scream "telling" just as loudly, and start a race to the nearest teacher. Of course, if you make it to the teacher you'll have to make something up pretty quickly, or admit that you were both running around screaming "telling", which may reduce credibility in future games of "telling".

Any two big-teethed individuals who are stupid enough to hang around together, or even be seen together at any point. Named after the mildly popular Disney cartoon series.
A useful message therefore for people who are different. Try not to find someone who is different in the same way as yourself. Try to get a gang with a fat one, a clever one, a spotty one. Then ride around on mini-scooters and solve mysteries.

Classic urban fable, told with very little variation, although in this version the boy is listening to Beethoven's Fifth. Basically,
  • Boy decides to have immersive wank, using headphones and closing his eyes.
  • Boy masturbates to stringy completion.
  • Upon opening his eyes, a steaming cup of tea is next to his bed.
  • Boy deduces that mother has watched him wank.

A worse case scenario would be if the child opened his eyes on the vinegar strokes, saw his mother standing there, and having passed the point of no return, ejaculated onto his knee while they both stared at each other. A grubby little punctuation mark, sliding onto the linen.


After the sexual state of mind had left "girls are revolting poo I don't like handstands", and just before it had reached "wow I am up to my balls in girl" - in that brief period where you were hypnotised by girls doing handstands - then the number on the bottom of a Duralex drinking glass equated to the number of girls you had slept with.
89 was considered respectable. Only having slept with 34 girls at the age of 14 was a sign of severe frigidity, impotence, and (inevitably) gayness.
Girls, never keen to appear the slag, used these numbers to say how many boyfriends they had. Or how many roses their one true love had given them. But never how many dicks they could take simultaneously.
This is what makes men and women are different, and it is why one of them leaves toilet seats up, although I can't remember which. But it's annoying!

The end of a black man's cock.

Matt, please don't give up. An alternate and more sensible working of this process would split the eleven in the last stage of the process to two individual ones. This would give you 7,1,1 - which brings you to a final love score of 82%. This is obviously the method to be preferred.
This explains why you loved Kylie despite your low score, and gives you a very real chance of getting your dick wet should you ever meet.

Finally, because I am the most anal person in the world when it comes to intriguing maths things - and love - the only results I've found that will yield the maximum 99% (also demonstrating that love can never be a certainty) are 01202, 03006, 12021, 20210, 31105, 32007, 50113, 51015, 60030, 60106, 80016, and of course, 90009.

Although the creature was never officially given a name, he could also be used as an Emu-esque attack pet. Drawing two eyes on him, and a dinky little tongue on the inside, he'd fondly nuzzle on the neck of your victim. Until a foul mood unexpectedly befell him, when his face would horrifically open sideways, seperating his eyes and revealing a set of vicious teeth. Then you would punch your victim with a paper fist, shouting "No, Duncan, NO! Leave him alone!"

Here is a guide for anyone wanting to tell their friends they fancy Luke Goss, or attack someone.

  1. Take a sheet of A4. Take the bottom left corner and fold it at 45 degrees so that the bottom side runs exactly along the right side. Cut off the redundant strip off paper that runs along the top. Fold across the other way to create an "X" in folds. The "X" should intersect at the centre of the square.
  2. Fold all four corners "A" in so that the points meet at the centre.
  3. Turn the sheet over. Fold all four corners "B" into the centre, as before.
  4. Fold over line C then unfold line C again (this will make the final stage easier), then fold over line D.
  5. You should now notice four slots, or flaps in one side. Put a thumb and finger of each hand into these slots, or flaps. Pinch together, and with some jiggling the creature should fall into shape.
  6. Decorate as appropriate.

A combination of a squat thrust and a star jump that contains the word burp, which is a funny word because belching is funny.

History : the remarkably preserved remains of Tollund Man did not initiate the holocaust.
English Literature : Shylock did not greet his friends with a hearty "Seig Heil".
Maths : x rarely equals Hitler.
Wayne Radford, I salute your efforts to address the impact of Hitler in modern society, but I genuinely feel your grades may have suffered because of it.

Dr Poo's primary mode of travelling through space and time.

The act of rubbing your cheeks at someone, then gobbing in their face. For added authenticity, immediately fart on their leg then fall asleep. Tch! Men!

Phil, I love you dearly for trying, but you're talking out of your arse. Style over substance is the classic bleat of the loser. I use it today to defend my Gamecube, and I know I'm lying.
The theme music to C64 classics Monty Mole : Impossamole, Metrocross and Bounder alone are sufficient cause to ditch your rubber keyboards. And I don't care if the first spaceships actually had less processing power than a ZX Spectrum - that's as effective a defence as Atari ST owners bleating about their built-in MIDI ports, and saying that KLF used one once.
Just as I never became a famous musician, I doubt many Spectrum owners ever became fucking astronauts.

Magic: The Gathering. No one would understand the rules for a couple of years, but the pictures were pretty and the 'flavour text' was often funny. Mostly, people would make their own cards up out of paper, usually something like Overlord Jeff that would destroy the other player instantly. Unless they had a piece of paper with Archdeacon Barney Rubble of the Yard written on it, which easily beat Overlord Jeff.

A fat useless bastard. More common nationally than you might expect, this word contains the two Atkinson / Elton letters of comedy, "f" and "b". This explains why the words "baffle" and "boffin" are so popular, and why "Baby Bumfluff" is the most popular children's cartoon of the 1970s.

After coming out as gay to some people, they will sometimes feel the urge, as part of a bonding process and demonstration of acceptance, to confide something back in you. This often consists of "I've thought about it myself", or "I've got a gay mate / brother / hat". One of my flatmates, however, came back with the revelation that he'd slept with his brother, which initially didn't bother me, until he elaborated that they'd done it recently, that his brother was around eight years older than him, that he'd enjoyed it, and that there nothing stopping him from doing it again. I still didn't really mind, as my laissez-faire morality saw that they weren't going to breed monsters, so they're not harming anyone. So, I kept quiet until my flatmate insisted that we should meet each other. Why that would have been appropriate, I cannot guess. Perhaps his brother had been complaining about how he never gets to shag anyone except the family, and fancied a change.
Well, fuck me if he didn't look like Bob Carolgees. My tolerance collapsed - it was all too much for me. Even my slack, slack morality couldn't tolerate shagging Bob Carolgees. I told everyone I knew, and felt immediately better for it. A secret shared is a secret halved - by the time I'd finished, the individual portions of secret were microscopic.
But no less sweet. It's not every day you get to betray a confidence so humiliating.

Based on a Department of Health advert in New Zealand, where a mentally handicapped child sits on a swing, rubbing his eye, and suffering from Rubella. Thereby, any evidence of one element (stupidity, rubbing eye, having rubella) would be met with the other two. For instance, if someone gets a basic question wrong (what is one times one), you rub your eye and shout rubella at them.
Conversely, if someone rubs their eye with their forefinger, it is a sign that they are stupid, and have rubella. If someone actually had rubella, presumably they'd be rubbing their eye and being retarded like in the advert, so we never bothered with that one.

A simple ruse. Suggest a competition to see who can hit the other person the softest. Allow the victim to go first. After he has lightly tapped you on the shoulder, you let him have it with a perfect dead-arm, before informing him that he has won.
Warning. This trick is EMINENTLY REVERSIBLE. It is probably wise to ask if your friend has ever played "softest punch" before. Remember - they get the first punch.

A very rich, and very homosexual man who lives in a palace made of rubies and slaps his face in surprise at the misadventures of his subjects. (See also sultan sheik)

The right-hand man of the Sultan of Browneye. Sultan Sheik was by no means a rich man, but had a warm heart. He was the stabiliser wheels to the wild, careening Grifter that the Sultan of Browneye rode to Capersville, Arizona every week. Was married and heterosexual, but tolerated his frequent punchline buggerings with a "well, what can you do?" shrug.

If you can organise it, it's well worth getting everyone in the class to put on a pair of sunglasses while the teacher is looking at the blackboard. Top hats and red contact lenses is even better. You could also give the teacher a tour of the world, if you have plenty of room under your desks. A string of onions and a beret one time, a three cornered hat and a bockwurst the time after. I would challenge any teacher to get genuinely angry at that.

The Wallington Variation:
'Cos Uncle Ross is having a toss
And Uncle Frank is having a wank
And Auntie Flo is having a go
With Gran-dad!
It's worth noting that it's nearly always the Auntie who gets it on with Grandad in these scenarios. Other possibilities include Uncle Jim having a rim, Auntie Irene flicking her bean, and of course Diana Rigg having a frig.

Also amusingly stands for Arse Injected Death Sentence. Combined with Gay standing for Got AIDS Yet?, I'm surprised the term GAIDSY was never embraced by the homosexual community like "queer" and "faggot" have been.

I'm submitting this because I keep trying to jinx people, and they either don't know what I'm talking about, or stubbornly refuse to stop talking until I say their full name.
So, this is the deal, right? If we say the same thing at the same time, I get to say jinx. And that means you can't talk until I say your name. If you do talk, I get to punch your arm. OK? So don't look all hurt and angry when I punch you. You broke a jinx, you deserve it.
Consider this posting a formal notice, served to the world.

And another thing, if I ask you a really easy question, then say the answer at the same time, then shout JINX at you, don't say "well why did you ask me if you know the answer, and why did you just shout jinx?"
Because if you DO say that, you'll be talking whilst jinxed, and by GOD, I will punch you. (In the arm.)

I'm more inclined to think that this is a reference to the gay phenomenon of glory holes, where gay man stick their willies through holes in toilet walls and another man hops on in whatever fashion he fancies. Sometimes there are drawings around glory holes that make it look like your willy is an anteater's nose. This isn't very erotic for the man who is sucking it off, so he might put his bum on it instead.
This is how I understand glory holes, by Log.

Let me run with this one, Slab Ghost. A while ago I was curious about whether this was an urban myth, myself. It had all the hallmarks; I'd never met anyone who'd played it, but everyone seemed to know someone who had. So I asked 1866 men how close they had got to this near-legendary game. Here are the results.

Poll graphic taken from OUTintheUK

This is a comment on the entry by ian henderson. i think you should take it off your site. it is not funny, but offensive, sneering and discriminatory.

Thank you.

Sorry, no. Hugs and kisses, from Log.

From the same school as are you looking at me or chewing a brick?, the punchline to which - either way you lose your teeth - I didn't know when I was young, so I assumed it was something to do with the face you pulled when you were staring at the person. But, if you looked at someone and pulled a face like you were chewing a brick, that would probably mean that the other person was really ugly, so it made no sense that that other person would draw attention to your disgusted reaction to him.
I understand now, but this was a real worry to me at the time.

Please don't take this entry as an invitation to tell us about any adult bumshits you done or done see. So, if you found a poo while working for the Guardian (nice story, thanks), or simply crimped off a monster this morning and wanted to share (thanks, * Penski), they probably won't make it in.
Take it to the Forum.

A sensetive - if somewhat addling to a child - way of describing someone with a terminal illness.

Should a member of the FAP meet a member of the FBI (Federal Breast Inspectorate), then a long-term and mutually beneficial relationship might well result.

This baffles me. You could choose any three word insult, and say - are you a HRL? Then say - ha ha, you're a hairy rectum licker! Or, what, you're not a highly regarded lover?, depending on their answer.
There aren't three letters you couldn't do it to. XQZ - Xenophobic Queer Zoophile or Xtrasexy Quad-Speed Zazzmerchant?
So why was there so much focus on PLP? Is there a proper meaning for it? And while I'm at it, that second entry makes no sense, because you're changing the answer to a NO response, when it's only when they answer YES that the person's height becomes material.
This whole entry is shrouded in befuddlement from start to finish. Except for piece of lavatory paper, which is bummy.
(Update from Richard Edwards - I'm almost positive it's because there was a series of text books called PLP. It stood for the Primary Learning Package, or something. I don't know, I just know there was a drawing of a frog on the cover. Thanks, Richard.)

No-one hasn't gone through the entire Ikea catalogue, searching for even the vaguest rudeness. It takes a little dedication, but then, you find gold;

So you throw back your head and laugh - those Swedish! But that's not enough - you're on a roll, now you've had the Fartyg. So you spent two more determined hours, and eventually... you find something! And it's good! God, it's good!

Ha ha! A bummer rang for you. Yes. He was Swedish! Crazy Swedish bummers have been ringing you all day!
But then comes a long, dry patch, during which you doctor the VIPS pastry brush to look like NIPS. By now, your head is utterly full of these meaningless Swedishnesses. You're desperate for an excuse to see something, anything recognisable...

Ha ha! Stupid Swedish cow, with you smelly Udder BO. Rinse your udders, you filthy smelly cow! You laugh to yourself, but you know you're scraping the bottom of the barrel. Appalled at yourself, that you've spent the best part of a day idly leafing through an Ikea catalogue with no intention of even buying anything, you throw the book away.
That night, you dream in Swedish. And you dream of a range of glassware.

When you wake up, you won't know whether it was a dream or not. You'll go to that discarded catalogue, you will wipe the old food from the cover, and you'll spend the rest of the day trying to make Vika Manne sound rude in your head.

To be unfashionable. "Fila trainers went out with the dinosaurs." When applied to people, such as in the phrase, "Kim Wilde went out with the dinosaurs," this can create a strange image of Kim Wilde briefly dating a Stegosaurus. This was my first interpretation of the phrase, and led to confusion when it was applied to trainers, coats, and television programmes.
Either I'd got it wrong, or dinosaurs would fuck anything.

Or, more specifically, her name, his name, where they met, what he said, what she said, and what happened - the 'consequences'.
Here are two example games which pay homage to the hilarious differences between boys and girls. Like a proper stand-up comedian!
girl's gameboy's game
his namebradhitler
her namekatiemrs. hitler
where they metin a meadowup your bum
what he said"i think you're special""give us a biscuit"
what she said"i am riding a pony""who farted?"
consequences"they giggled behind their palms and secretly promised never to leave each other""they turned into zombies and bit each other's faces off and went to a fancy dress party as each other"

Put your fingers to the corners of your eyes and pull as directed whilst singing;
"My mum's Chinese" (pull both fingers up)
"My dad's Japanese" (pull both fingers down)
"Look what happened to me!" (pull one finger up and one finger down).
If this visual gag wasn't hilarious enough, imagine a pubescant girl singing "Chinese, Japanese, Mummy please, what are these?" whilst gesturing to her new, pert bahongas!
Boys can gesture to their dirty knees instead, but that's not as funny as TITS.

Should you have a penguin wrapper with the same colour as someone else at your table, correct etiquette dictates that you hold the still wrapped biscuits aloft, with an air of impenetrable brotherhood and superiority.
But watch out - yellow wrappers are gay, and the synergy of two gay wrappers meant that combining their energies would make you triple gay. And two people being triple gay is six times gay, from just two gay wrappers. That sort of spontaneous gay creation could cause a sex-rift, and summon a lesbian made from electricity.

The rudest thing you can say in french without using your imagination. Translated, it means "go fuck yourself", and is the closest that French has to offer to the great British "fuck".
Simply by learning a few more basic words - including dog, mother, suck, tetraplegic, vodka and full anal - you can do much better.

From now on, any submissions of inadvertant innuendo in classical literature to i will brush my muff or holmes ejaculated will require internet link-based proof. Anyone writing in to say I think there's a bit in A Christmas Carol where Tom Bosley says 'hubba bubba bumlegs' will not be considered. They will not be considered, you hear me?

This involves walking up to a girl (one you've never met before) in front of your mates then you proceed to hold her shoulder and tell her she is the most repulsive person you've ever seen. After this, you hold on for as long as you can. The rougher she is, the harder it is, and the more enjoyable the ride.
Kudos comes from both the duration of the ride and the harshness of the insult.
(As adults, a sexier version of this game arises, in which you say someone else's name in bed while you're inside the sex hole. After that, see how long you can stay inside. However, it's worth remembering that having your cock in a non-consenting sex hole is tantalisingly close to rape)

If you can't be arsed to even stand and blow a whistle every now and then, why not assign the two most annoying and unpopular kids to referee a basketball match? It'll give them a little taste of power, bless, and will result in them getting pulped in the changing rooms by the losing team.
One team wins, one team gets to hit someone, and one bullied boy gets the whiff of authority that will drive him in adult life to start a corporation that menaces old ladies out of their homes so he can build a car park. Until that old woman works out how to reach the A-Team, at which point he'll cop a cabbage in the chops.
Everyone's a winner!

Role-playing shorthand for rolling three six-sided dice, generating a number between 3 and 18. You use this to generate your "stats" when your character is being created. On no accounts use this term in the real world. People outside your circle of escapist victim friends will not be understanding. Also, never point out that one dice is a die, actually. There's enough bullying without formally asking to be punched.

1. Brand of orange. The advert's slogan was "small ones are more juicy - naturally" accompanied by jug-heavy Mungo Jerry hit "In The Summertime". Therefore,

2. Thing to say to someone with small but perfectly acceptable breasts.

3. Also can be said post-sex to a man whose small penis has just saturated your duvet, surprising you both. "Why, Mr Patterson! Small ones are more juicy!"

"Naturally," replies Mr Patterson,laughing.

Not everyone who works with, or takes an interest in children is a paedophile.
The man from the Werther's Original advert is not a paedophile. Older male children's TV presenters were not paedophiles. PE Teachers who made you take showers were not necessarily paedophiles.
Labelling such people as paedophiles is not only lazy, obvious and weak, it also denigrates the comic potential of the real paedophiles, like Gary Glitter, and your dad.

Childish riposte to a positive statement about anything at all.
"I really like Brush Strokes."
"Well why don't you marry it then?"
"Would you like a crisp?"
"Yes please."
"Well why don't you marry it then?"
The only possible retort to this is "perhaps I will".

Poem given in response to the question "what's the time?"
Half past nine!
Hang your knickers on the line!
When they're dry,
Bring them in!
Put them in the biscuit tin!
Eat a biscuit!
Eat a cake!
Eat your knickers by mistake!

May be met with "no, really. What's the time?" This means they want to hear the poem again.

Very well known game, in which combatants link fingers and attempt to get the other person to say 'mercy' by damaging the other person's wrists as painfully as possible. More fun if you use the other person's hands to hit themselves mid-bout, BUT watch out for the one in 2,000 children whose wrists bend back painlessly to meet their arms.
These children can never lose at mercy, and even if they're too weak to get a mercy out of you, there's no dignity to be had from trying to hurt someone who is smiling in that sickening way that shit people have when they're doing the one thing they're good at.
Additionally, if you let go, that constitutes a 'mercy', so you're stuck - effectively holding hands - with this leering feebler, until he gets bored. And he won't get bored, because he's doing the one thing he's good at.
Just be careful, is all.

I just found out what it's all about. "Catch a nigger by the toe" was a way of finding out whether the nigger you were confronted with was - in fact - not a nigger at all, but the devil.
The devil's cloven hooves, you see, would feel no pain at the squeezing of a toe. However, your nigger would squeal, and say "ooh, me toe!", whilst hopping on one foot.
So it's not racist at all, you see - because if the nigger isn't the devil, you let him go, with a cheery "sorry about the toe, old bean, but you can't be too careful with you niggers".

Witty response to come back with when labelled a 'bitch' at school:
'A bitch is a dog, a dog barks, bark is part of a tree, a tree is part of nature, nature is beautiful, so thanks for the compliment.'
Can be altered slightly for other insults too; 'a twat is a fanny, sweet fanny adams, adam and eve were in Genesis, so was Phil Collins, so actually you're calling me Phil Collins, so thanks for the compliment.'
And if it's any consolation, a fucking cunt must be an attractive cunt, otherwise it wouldn't be fucking.

Here is a quick lesson in the many different ways you can fuck the sister of a friend, in the style of those hilarious emails which give show you the flexibility of the word "fuck". You know... "what do you mean, a fucking iceberg?" Those. They're funny.
J'encule ta soeur.
"I fuck your sister", or "I am fucking your sister". It should be obvious from the circumstances which one you mean.
J'ai enculé ta soeur.
"I fucked your sister." Bog-standard.
Je vais enculer ta soeur.
"I am going to fuck your sister." Best said whilst putting your hat on and leaving the room with a monkey wrench in your hand.
Je dois enculer ta soeur.
"I must fuck your sister." Say this after banging your head in a "that reminds me, I'm so forgetful" sort of way.
J'enculais ta soeur, mais elle a mal au vagin.
I would fuck your sister, but she has a poorly vagina.
You could always do the pluperfect, I suppose, but I really can't be bothered. And according to Altavista, enculer means to fuck in the ass. So that's a nice bonus for everyone concerned.

My name is Tony Lord. I'm gay. Help.
If they ever develop a way to determine sexuality in the womb, I'm not suggesting that everyone should have the option to terminate their bent baby, just people with the surname Lord. It's not fair on the child.
Oh, and Norton - although that might be locking the stable door after the horse has bolted.

Ooh... ahh,
I lost my bra,
I left my knickers in my boyfriend's car.
This weighty verse differs from the infantile whimsy of ta-ra-ra-bum-di-ay, in that it contains a powerful moral element.
In ta-ra-ra-bum-di-ay, the loss of the knickers was spontaneous, and not the result of moral turpitude. As a result, the knickers were returned by the gracious Fates.
Here, however, the knickers are lost as the direct result of pre-marital sex. Notice that the loss of a bra - a powerful symbol of female sexuality - compounds the devastation. Neither garment is (at least, explicitly) returned, leaving us to assume that they were either found by a slack-jawed vicar, who - mistaking their function - used them as hanging baskets in his garden.
Also note that only the woman is punished. That is because women are temptresses, and all sex and betrayal in the world is a result of their vile chicanery and desire for ever-more children, as documented in Ace of Bass's hit single "All That She Wants Is Another Baby".

That chip which appears on every tenth plate, with an end both greeny-blackened and foul-tasting. The discovery of the turd chip leads to this conversation.
A : Want a chip?
B : How unexpectedly kind. Thanks.
A : Here you go.
B : Er, not that one. It's the turd chip.
A : Go on, eat it. Nature made it. It's normal.
B : Well you eat it then.
A : No way, it's got AIDS.
It would then be thrown at a poor boy, and if it hit him, he would be deemed to have eaten it.

Well, it seems that you can't believe that someone called Gayvid Dadd got off so lightly...
"Sums up the Welsh, that. You get a manna-from- heaven name like 'Gayvid Dadd', and the best you sheep-shagging lackwits can come up with is 'sounds a bit like God'". (sane man)
Bit racist, Sane Man, but a point fairly made. Matt Fasham takes the baton...
"With a name like Gayvid Dadd, I'm amazed that anyone bothered to take the piss out of the fact that his name sounded a bit like 'jod' or 'god'. That name is already so pregnant with potential humour that it has burst right out of its maternity dress like a huge beached whale crashing through a tarpaulin. Unless, of course, Gayvid wasn't his real name. Maybe it was David, and had already been corrupted. Hadn't thought of that. Even so." (Matt Fasham)
I thought I'd check for Gayvid Dadd on the internet, and the only result outside of this website is this photo, titled "Gayvid Dadd Is Possessed by Satan".

So there you go. We have a Gayvid Dadd (or a David Gadd, which seems depressingly likely), whose only bullying - it would seem - was to be called "God".
Are YOU a Gayvid Dadd? The LotP team would like to talk to you. Please get in touch immediately.

Lunchtime entertainment based as loosely as possible on the classic 80s arcade game Arkanoid.
Arkanoid was a posh version of Breakout, and involved moving a bat around to bounce a ball against some blocks.
Arkanoid didn't involve our class headcase chasing us around school trying to whack us around our shorts-trousered legs with a large ruler. This was known, unlike the game Arkanoid, which this doesn't resemble at all, as "crisping".
You were briefly immune from crisping when you stood on a desk. Arkanoid had no such safety zone. However, to maintain this safety, you had to jump from desk to desk, like in Donkey Kong. Not Arkanoid.

Tango Advertising Boardroom, 1993
Exec A : What's Tango like?
Exec B : Dunno. Orangey.
Exec C : It's more than just Orangey, my friend. It's got zizz, it's got zazz. The bubbles suck up your tongue like the kisses of goldfish.
Exec B : Oh, stop it. You always get carried away like this.
Exec C : It's an experience, a lifestyle. It's a path, a method. A liquid universe with CO2 planets constantly being created and destroyed. It's a cosm.
Exec A : I'll get some coffee.
Exec B : No, stay. Please.
Exec C : It attacks you. It gets onto all fours behind you while its friend pushes you over it. It bites you during a kiss. It slaps its hands over your ears.
Exec B : Ha. We used to do that at school. It was funny.
Exec A : Didn't it hurt?
Exec B : Dunno. Never had it done to me. Did it to the fat kid, though. Ha. Fat kids. Haha.
Exec C : So that's it. We get a fat bloke, and he slaps this guy over the ears. The guy is drinking Tango.
Exec B : Haha. Fat bloke. Let's paint him orange. Then he'd look like an orange, all fat and orange.
Exec C : You're on fire, Jeremy.
The advert was banned, when parents complained that their children had been sent deaf by thousands of copy-cat ear-slappings around the country. Tango's attempts to distance themselves from this "dangerous" behaviour were damaged by the fact that the children were shouting "YOU'VE BEEN TANGO'D" as they did it.
See the revised version of the advert at Absolutely Andy. It's some way down the page, so search for "Tango".

The piano, if left on castors, can serve many purposes. At its simplest, it can crush people against the wall, causing anything between a winding and organ damage. Or use it to barricade the music room door, for a session of uninterrupted violence.
Get it out into the corridor, and you can use it to smash open lockers, and batter down the doors of locked store rooms, allowing you to gather pots of glue, paint and detergent.
Get it outside... then you can sit on top of it, and roll into an adventure written by Roald Dahl. You might need the stuff you robbed from the store rooms to thwart the wicked headmaster.

Other words rhyming with Pony, apart from "boney", are baloney, Police Academy's Mahoney, Island (Coney), most pastas, and homey. I just wrote this.
My little Pony,
Just like Mahoney,
She's got a homey,
Makes helicopter noises that are phony.
And that's the best My Little Pony rhyme ever. SUBJECT CLOSED.

Often, boys will believe that girls only have one hole - a universal hole for everything. A hole from which drops piss that stinks a bit like poo. And poo that has the golden glisten of piss and babies.
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.

Sometimes, you see a bit of youthful good-natured vandalism, and you think Jesus, you outstanding retards, you've just missed the opportunity of your lives..

From the CBBC's interview with Kym Marsh, who is "about to be a huge solo star"; proof of the need for a nostalgia licence, to stop idiots using it...
CBBC : Did you have a nickname at school?
Kym : I had lots but the main one I think was Trio, that my brother used to call me Trio because there used to be a biscuit years ago named Trio and there was a girl on the advert named Susie who had the biggest mouth and my brother used to call me Trio because he said I had a big mouth, I was very loud. I can't imagine why he thought that.

Once you have someone in a bin, they're fairly helpless, so you can stage scenes around them.


Thomas : Good afternoon, Jacqueline. I trust no-one knows you came.
Jacqueline : Of course not. I value my position within the household, such as it is.
Thomas : You should know better than to... oh, is that the new flavour Monster Munch?
Jacqueline : You noticed. To be honest I am a little let down; I fear the flavour has gathered at the bottom of the bag, leaving the crisps themselves flavourless and cloying.
Thomas : Then there is only one thing for it!
Jacqueline : Whatever do you mean?
Thomas : You must spit a mouthful of the offending crisps into this bin!
Jacqueline : But Thomas!
Thomas : But nothing! Spit the crisps into the bin!
Jacqueline : But there is a boy in the bin, Thomas.
Thomas : Yes, that's Steve. We binned him.
[Jacqueline gobs her crisps onto Steve. Thomas takes a handful and does the same]
Both : A hahahahah!

This diagram, taken from the Silver Service manual, illustrates three of the most essential elements of waitressing.
1. Give the customer their food immediately upon their arrival.
2. While they are eating their food, show them the menu.
3. Everything is ten pounds.

The joyless track elements of the Track & Field set. Ranging from a short and relatively painless 100m to the soul-crushing infinity of the 1500m, the emphasis on different pacing techniques did little to hide the fact that you were just running in a world where technology had long made running inefficient and unnecessary.
At 100m, the idea was to simply sprint the whole distance. For some this proved to be a matter of bounding heroically - for others of heavier gait, some ethereal custard would drag at our legs. Frustrating when you try your hardest and come last, so you have to feign an effortless defeat. Which is difficult when you can taste blood in your neck.
200m : Also a sprint event; so twice as many children end up red faced at the end. If the fat kid actually did sprint this one, instead of galumphing along in the oblivious lumber of the stubbornly unfit, he was prone to vomiting.
400m : The four hundred metres was the shortest track event to involve a measure of pacing yourself. The fact that you didn't have to sprint with your fingers splayed out like cocktail sticks stuck into a potato was amply counterbalanced by the fact you were running twice as fucking far.
800m : On a course that is a 300m circle, as was ours, this distance allows for the humiliation of "lapping". Watching the sport billies sail past and honking their disdain was irritating enough, but they would also sit down at the finish line and slow applaud the late arrivals.
1500m : Certainly the most annoying race from the mathematical point of view, falling pointlessly short of the 1600m that would have made a perfect geometric progression. After five laps of the 300m circle, it was more than a division between fast, slow and comical. Some would be lapped once, some lapped twice or more. Those getting lapped only once would secretly look down on those getting lapped more often; although they couldn't openly ridicule them, as Sport Billies are very territorial about bullying. The 1500m event would essentially boil down to the entire group watching the extremely unfit and obese kid do the last two laps on his own. A genuine Slim Fast moment.

If girls become wary of you when you tell them that there is a spider in their hair, you can convince them that no, really - there really is a spider in their hair this time - by saying "no, really - there really is a spider in your hair this time".
If more persuasion is required;
Level 1 : There is a spider in your hair.
Level 2 : No really - there really is a spider in your hair this time.
Level 3 : Oh God, there's a really big spider in your hair. Everyone, come and look at the really big spider!
Level 4 : It... it looks like it's laying eggs...
Level 5 : Look, I know I've been saying this a lot recently, and at the back of my mind, I realised a time would come when one day, you really might have a spider in your hair. I think I was hiding from that possibility, hoping it would never come, because I knew you wouldn't believe me when I told you. But honestly, this time, there is a massive spider in your hair, and from the markings I think it's poisonous. I don't expect you to believe me, I guess I've dug my own grave in that respect, but please - please seek help regarding the oversized spider that's running amok in your lovely hair. You must tell me your hairdresser, by the way.

You know when you sharpen a pencil, right? And you're excited, because you're going to draw a picture of your family outside your house, and you've learned how to draw bricks and what're probably seagulls.
But when you apply pencil to paper, the nib of your brilliant new sharp pencil gives, and flakes out to one side.
Pulling out the nubbin of graphite, you start to sharpen the pencil again. But now, you have about an eighth of an inch of futile non-sharpening, in which there is no "lead", just a broken collar of wood. While you do this, the mental image of your family outside your house is fading, like the photo of Marty McFly in Back to the Future.
After seconds seeming like minutes, you will have sharpened the pencil again, and paid no heed to the clicking sound that didn't feel like a natural part of the pencil-sharpening process. This recklessness will come back to haunt you, sooner than you think.
With your tongue hooked over your top lip, you start to draw the outline of your father's head. After a quarter of the circle is completed, your fingertips sense something awry, and it feels like a premonition when the pencil lead snaps once again.
That feeling of foresight leads to an overwhelmingly frustrating sense of I could have done something to stop it. This, heaped on top of the injustice of a twice-snapping pencil, can bring tears of impotence to the child who just wants to draw his mummy and daddy holding hands.
The explanation given by mothers and scientists in this situation is that "it's probably snapped in the middle".

The human variety of lead poisoning (popular amongst swans) can most easily be caught from the graphite in pencils. Once you have caught lead poisoning (chemical symbol Pb) from graphite (an allotrope of Carbon, C), you can trace your imminent demise by looking at your veins, which will turn black.
When this black, poisoned blood reaches your heart, you will die. The only way to slow this process down, so that you can run home and tell your parents that you're sorry that the last thing you said to them this morning was "I hate school, and I hate YOU", is by pressing one finger over the poisoned vein, which will temporarily 'pause' your circulatory system.
Once you have made your peace with the world, let go, and accept the inevitable.

Guess what?
A bag of snot.
Guess why?
Snot pie.
Far from being simple rhyming snot nonsense, this translates as;
A : What's that you've got there? It smells delicious.
B : It's a bag of snot, actually.
A : Oh. Suddenly it doesn't smell so delicious. Why are you carrying a bag of snot around?
B : It's the main ingredient of snot pie.
A : Oh! That suddenly sounds delicious again.
B : Yes, strange how your perceptions change with context, isn't it?

Heh. I just thought of this one in the pub last night, so file under red todgers for "celebrity spoonerisms you think of 20 years too late, and have since been referenced lightly on the b3ta boards when you google them".
Remember that DJ? The presenter of zany children's gameshow Funhouse, and the hairier 50% of "Haven't Stopped Dancing Yet" legends Pat 'n' Mick?
I give you Shat Parp.

A girl's retort to any insult. It works on the same theory as "what you say is what you are", or "I know you are, you said you are, so what am I?".

Bully : Elaine, you scabby thighed fat bitch!
Elaine : A bit like you, really.

This is an imperfect reflection. The bully could quite logically reply:

What, just a bit like me? Do you mean I'm scabby-thighed but not fat? Or that I'm scabby-thighed AND fat, but just not as much as you? Either way, you just admitted that you are a scabby-thighed fat bitch, and I'm telling the headmaster.


Emma was here
Now I'm gone
Left my name
To turn you on
"Headmaster, a group of children are gathered at the science block wall. They appear to be getting cheapies."
"What is it, Mr Huntley? Has the porn fairy been on the rounds?"
"No, sir. A girl called Emma has left her name on the wall."
"My God! That'll turn everyone on! She'll have every cock primed and ready to spunk!"
"I'll fetch the barbiturates."
"It might be too late for that - bring the hankies too."

You're boss! That means I think you're great. So we would snap our fingers to Aztec Camera's Somewhere in my Heart on the radio, and agree that 'that song was boss', too. And Bruce Springsteen - how boss was the Boss?
Let me stop you there. Recent surveys have shown that Bruce Springsteen was, in fact, a Bent Over Sheep Shagger. Moreover, he's the bent-over sheep shagger, having pipped everyone else to the number one spot in a gruelling week-long animal shagathon.
He prefers the bent-over position, because he likes to feel the freshly shorn wool against his tummy, and this also allows another sheep to mount him, as he plays lucky Pierre in a raunchy ovine three-way.
Be careful when accepting this compliment, especially when it's preceded by "a", "the", or "my".

Futuristic suffix, essential in games involving robots or Daleks.
Usage: put on a metallic voice and declare "I. AM. ALANATRON. EX. TER. MIN. ATE." A warning to people whose names rhymed with Tron, though. "I. AM. JOHN. TRON." makes you sound like a bit of a gaybot, marks you out as a target for ex. sperm. in. ation.
Tron making regular objects sound futuristic and robotic, it's arguable that William's arcade game Robotron 2024 was gilding the lily a touch.

Blue Bounty Bars are objects of desire and great envy - they are amongst the most exotic of all the chocolate bars, thanks to the palm tree on the wrapper. Only Turkish Delight was swankier; so swanky, in fact, that the advert used a real scimitar to open the packet. On the very rare occasion that a Turkish Delight saw the light of day, your friends would often try to emulate this swankiest of unwrappings with a karate chop.
Anyway, the thing is, Red Bounties were gay. And even your classmates taking it off you and throwing it away wouldn't stop you being gay, so they'd have to beat you up to stop you making them gay too.

A variation of the offer of chewing gum, deftly switched with an invitation to chew your bum is available to those who have sweets.
A : Want a sweet?
B : Of course I do! I'm a kid. That's what kids do! We want sweets!
A : Suck my feet!
B : Feet! That kinda came from nowhere. I thought you were going to give me sweets.
Here are the only five other sweet / body rhymes...
Want a Mars? Kiss my arse!
Want a Snickers? Piss your knickers!
Kola Kubes? Snag my pubes!
Reece's Pieces? Suck my faeces!
Butterkist? Anal fist!
Can you think of more? If so, write them down and post them to your mother, see if SHE thinks your potty mouth is funny.

John Hoggart used to march around the football field saying "NOTHING STANDS IN MY WAY" in a robot voice.

Using all the lessons you've learned from this website about human behaviour, can you guess what happened?

That's right! He was abducted, tortured to insanity, given bionic implants and made to fight polar bears. After ten years of battling the Arctic beasts, his implants were obsolete, and he was dumped on a glacier and left to sail away. This icy island sailed into mediterranean waters, and John Hoggart's still-sentient corpse was sailed around on an inflatable banana to ward off pirates. He was buried vertically, and two snakes now use his skull as a home. They are very much in love, and every morning they pop their head out of an eye socket each, and do a kiss.

Oh, you know I'm doing a fib, don't you? I'll come clean; people just stood in his way.