| Report for sam gisoad | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 2 |
| Rejected stories | 5 |
| Deleted stories | 5 |
| Summary | Mean Boy |
In fact it did work, as i found out by accident. I was trying to poke the guy who sat next to me - he's now a lawyer, so i won't say his name - in the leg with the blunt end to get his attention, and he jammed my (very sharp indeed) pencil back into the top of my thigh. It bled. To this day I have a black mark on my right thigh where the pencil left graphite in the epidermis. The moral of the story is you always have to suffer to get a tattoo. And vicious little sods go on to become lawyers.
Jamie Rogers was absurdly proud of his pencil case, possibly because he had ammassed so many of those grey ink-eraser pens. He was really protective of it. I had a friend in China. You could buy stamps on tick form the school shop.
The conclusion was obvious.
It was even funnier the second time.
The conclusion was obvious.
It was even funnier the second time.
The repetitive monotony of this game in no way prevented us from playing it day in, day out, for two solid years.
An early warning system in his face (when stifling anger, he would hold his breath, and go bright purple) allowed you to take cover before the metal-legged chairs went airborne.
Once game ended in the smashing of two BBC Model Bs and a printer. After that, we really had to raise our game.
An early warning system in his face (when stifling anger, he would hold his breath, and go bright purple) allowed you to take cover before the metal-legged chairs went airborne.
Once game ended in the smashing of two BBC Model Bs and a printer. After that, we really had to raise our game.
On a similar note, a six-year-old Mark Tilson penned the less graphic ode 'Black Poo / Bamboo'. Only three words, but they rhymed.
Two decades and two English Lit degrees later, it still has a pleasing cadence and - to my mind - happily rivals the greatest stanzas of Eliot or Auden.
Two decades and two English Lit degrees later, it still has a pleasing cadence and - to my mind - happily rivals the greatest stanzas of Eliot or Auden.
Mr Patterson taught physics and - wait for it - shooting. Having been on the British Olympic shooting team (I think) and having a totally immobile, expressionless face topped off with the cold dead eyes of a murderer he had carefully managed to get himself the nickname 'Killer Pat', which he rather liked. And considering he shared a department with "Fish", "'Wedgie' Robinson" and "Goaty Goat-Goat Goat McGoat III" (who's name I forget but who sported a fucking splendid goatee beard) this was unsurprising. First week of my sixth-form, a girl who had only just joined managed to forget not only the right books, but to have done her prep and his name. Killer stalks over to her, lowers those grey assassin’s orbs directly in front of her frankly terrified face, and growls “do you know what my nickname is?” With the adorable simplicity of the truly stupid she quavered “um…..Mr Potato Head?”
He got a new nickname after that.
He got a new nickname after that.
not, apparently, the correct answer when a work experience teacher asks if there isn't "a little word ending in -y that you should say to her"
1) take one plastic camera film case, sans lid.
2) Cut out two squares from the lip, opposite each other, to form a groove in which a pencil can rest
3) wrap thick rubber band around case.
4) ready made crossbow!
These were lethal. Potentially *actually* lethal - they could certainly go a decent way into pin boards and - presumably - skin. You could do similar nasty things with a comb with the middle tines removed.
Such harmless fun was totally ruined when my friend Tom let fly as a teacher walked into the room. it missed, thankfully, but she went albino white and - I fear - did herself a mischief.
2) Cut out two squares from the lip, opposite each other, to form a groove in which a pencil can rest
3) wrap thick rubber band around case.
4) ready made crossbow!
These were lethal. Potentially *actually* lethal - they could certainly go a decent way into pin boards and - presumably - skin. You could do similar nasty things with a comb with the middle tines removed.
Such harmless fun was totally ruined when my friend Tom let fly as a teacher walked into the room. it missed, thankfully, but she went albino white and - I fear - did herself a mischief.
As i recall, the above was sung to the tune of "This old man..." (of knick-knack paddywhack fame). I know that isnt funny, but I thought you'd like to know.
At my school, like many public schools, Thursday afternoons were spent poncing around in Army kit, and occasionally dressing up in 'combats' and going 'on excercise', which also required Cam cream. For those who are unfamiliar with this wonderful item, it is a long log of brown grease-paint which looks EXACTLY like a turd in a tin and takes hours of scrubbing to remove. In order to foster group cohesion and teamwork, we were rquired to 'cam up' with a 'cam buddy'. Obviously, you could not see the tiger stripes which your helpful mate smeared across your phiz, but I always checked mine with a (second) trusted friend. It was always spot-on, as the painstaking and meticulous nature of Simon Baxter's work was matched only by the regularity with which I would scrawl 'TWAT' across his pale face. Sorry Simon.
Tess of the d'Urbevilles:
"They had proceeded thus gropingly two or three miles further when on a sudden Clare became conscious of some vast erection close in his front, rising sheer from the grass. They had almost struck themselves against it."
Not ONLY does it have 'erection' but they are proceeding 'gropingly'!
If only I had found this funny at school and not two years into an English degree...
"They had proceeded thus gropingly two or three miles further when on a sudden Clare became conscious of some vast erection close in his front, rising sheer from the grass. They had almost struck themselves against it."
Not ONLY does it have 'erection' but they are proceeding 'gropingly'!
If only I had found this funny at school and not two years into an English degree...
Hang on, if you're a bloke, and your favourite song is camp gay anthem "I will survive" by notorious gay icon Gloria Gaynor, isn't it likely that you're a bit, well, gay? Or am I missing the point? I'm missing the point, aren't I?
Sung to the tune of 'Two World Wars..." (or, more properly 'De Camptown Races') when playing any school more pikey than your own.
Snobbery? Medium. Chances of starting a fight that you will lose? High. Seeing a teacher who used to sing it when at the school himself singing along? PRICELESS.
Snobbery? Medium. Chances of starting a fight that you will lose? High. Seeing a teacher who used to sing it when at the school himself singing along? PRICELESS.