| Report for Rik MacKichan-Burke | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 1 |
| Rejected stories | 2 |
| Deleted stories | 2 |
| Summary | Mean Boy |
has this one been done already? Rings a bell.
yeah, it's in the book, under "hello sailor", as I recall. Are you going to call me?
The person being told this will invariably check the sole of their shoe by lifting it backwards off the ground and looking over their shoulder at it.
Leaving you to impugne their sexuality with a falsetto chorus of "oooooh, hello sailor".
Note: this works better if the victim isn't a sailor.
Housemasters: when trying to draw attention to the recent upsurgence in graffiti by reading a random selection out loud, chose your source material carefully.
A fun-for-all-the-family game. Participants fuel up on as much liquid as possible, and when the need becomes physically excruciating, use their urine to write as many letters of the alphabet along the street as they can.
The UK record is currently held by the same-sex doubles pairing of me and my mate Sam, who made it right from A to Z, and then back through to M again.
Care has to be taken in cold weather - parental questions such as "Why does it say SAM in frozen letters on the road at the end of our drive?" are generally best avoided.
The UK record is currently held by the same-sex doubles pairing of me and my mate Sam, who made it right from A to Z, and then back through to M again.
Care has to be taken in cold weather - parental questions such as "Why does it say SAM in frozen letters on the road at the end of our drive?" are generally best avoided.
Housemaster to the adjoining house to the one I attended was Fr Leo, a monk of positively leviathan proportions. Food was his passion, his love and his life.
When he didn't turn up to supper one saturday evening, it was assumed that he must have gone away for the weekend, and a foodfight duly began. Starting with chips and pieces of bread, things swiftly escalated to the point where, as Fr Leo actually walked in, whole roast chickens were being slung joyfully around the room. Everything went silent at the rage building in his face; he took one step into the room, trod on some chips and fell backwards through the door, onto his arse.
Laughter reigned supreme, right up to the moment he hauled himself to his feet, reappeared through the door and announced that the entire house would be doing a daily pre-breakfast 6 mile run for the next fortnight.
When he didn't turn up to supper one saturday evening, it was assumed that he must have gone away for the weekend, and a foodfight duly began. Starting with chips and pieces of bread, things swiftly escalated to the point where, as Fr Leo actually walked in, whole roast chickens were being slung joyfully around the room. Everything went silent at the rage building in his face; he took one step into the room, trod on some chips and fell backwards through the door, onto his arse.
Laughter reigned supreme, right up to the moment he hauled himself to his feet, reappeared through the door and announced that the entire house would be doing a daily pre-breakfast 6 mile run for the next fortnight.
Many parsimonious mothers make their children items of clothing - the baggy jumper of comedy folklore. Clim's mum went one further and made him a pair of shoes. This wasn't quite as mental as it sounds, as she worked in a shoe factory, but the soles that she took from there were several sizes too big for Clim's feet. Accordingly, all around the uppers was a good inch of sole, and Clim Clofwell's dodgems were born.
Needless to say, Clim hated the shoes with a passion, but they proved to be absolutely indestructible. He left them out in the garden for 2 weeks whilst away on holiday; they went mouldy, but still would not die.
Clim ended up as the victim of a strange man under a bridge in Leicester who looked on whilst Clim was forced to strip, and then put on an enormous pair of white Y-fronts. I'm not sure what part his home-made shoes played in this sordid episode.
Needless to say, Clim hated the shoes with a passion, but they proved to be absolutely indestructible. He left them out in the garden for 2 weeks whilst away on holiday; they went mouldy, but still would not die.
Clim ended up as the victim of a strange man under a bridge in Leicester who looked on whilst Clim was forced to strip, and then put on an enormous pair of white Y-fronts. I'm not sure what part his home-made shoes played in this sordid episode.