| Report for Mathias Uncertain | |
|---|---|
| Pending stories | 10 |
| Summary | Shows promise |
Just randomly came across (so to speak) the \"Thunder Tits\" item, and it reminded me of a teacher at my primary school called Miss Keeble, who was pleasantly endowed and who made practical use of quality engineering in the underwear department.
It being the 1970s, and what with certain stupid toys being advertised with a convenient jingle, we were inspired to sing \"Keeble\'s wobble but they don\'t fall down\" a bit. OK, a lot.
Were any other readers inspired by a unique combination of teacher\'s name, physical characteristics and contemporary popular song in such a manner?
It being the 1970s, and what with certain stupid toys being advertised with a convenient jingle, we were inspired to sing \"Keeble\'s wobble but they don\'t fall down\" a bit. OK, a lot.
Were any other readers inspired by a unique combination of teacher\'s name, physical characteristics and contemporary popular song in such a manner?
At primary school (really? primary school? christ on a bike, what was he like?) Johnny Bull invented a "game" he called "movie cameras", based on those old-fangled cameras that needed a big black sheet that the cameraman (or photographer) would hide under to be able to see things in the viewfinder. The "game" involved Johnny, somehow or other, persuading one of the girls in the class (names withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) to sit on a wall in the playground with her legs apart, whereupon he would kneel between said legs with his head under her skirt, and then make winding motions with one hand as if he were controlling an old-fangled movie camera. I'm not quite sure what he did with his other hand, on reflection.
An English teacher got us to read a poem (what it was called and who it was by, I don't remember, and nor, seemingly, does Google) that was about an animal (I'm pretty sure it was a cat) being run over by something (I'm pretty sure it was a bus). Us boys enjoyed the exquisite detail of the incident, described in super-slo-mo, culminating in the eyes squishing and comparing this, if I recall correctly, with a grape being crushed between finger and thumb. The girls were absolutely horrified. Bloody girls and their bloody cats. (Oh, sorry if I've traumatised anyone with the hint at being able to "crush a grape" - that is a whole other horror, of course.) If anyone recognises this poem, please say what it is and who it's by - I'd love to read it again. Aloud. To any cat-lovers I know.
The standard retort to this was, of course, \"hanging next to yours\". Which didn\'t really work. Like most well-honed retorts in my sorry experience.
We had a variation on this where you blindfolded someone and said there was naked woman standing in front of them, and then you asked them to put their finger where various parts of her body were. When you got to "fanny" (which I believe was the contemporary term for it), you naturally had someone ready with an open mouth. After a while, we became aware that there was something a little bit gay (and, quite possibly, revolting, given where those fingers were likely to have been) about sucking each others' fingers, and the practice died out. Until one kid filled a sandwich bag with school dinner mince (still warm) and, instead of saying "pussy", said "put your finger where you think her arse is". How we laughed.
Cats' cradles? WTF was all that about?
May I second Matt\'s polite request for the poster to go away in no uncertain terms? At least some of my schooldays were pre-Not, and I would be grateful if the poster would apologise for making me feel old.
Imagine our surprise sitting in class in primary school one day when one of our number - I think it may have been Simon Jaffer - stuck his hand up and asked \"Miss, what\'s rape?\"
Miss was naturally aghast and couldn\'t answer.
Apparently he had thought the word had a dodgy meaning, but a bunch of farmers had been happily talking about it on the radio on his way into school that morning.
I\'d say \"how we laughed\", only we didn\'t, because we didn\'t know what it meant either.
Not until we all went home and asked our parents, that is.
We didn\'t laugh then much either.
Miss was naturally aghast and couldn\'t answer.
Apparently he had thought the word had a dodgy meaning, but a bunch of farmers had been happily talking about it on the radio on his way into school that morning.
I\'d say \"how we laughed\", only we didn\'t, because we didn\'t know what it meant either.
Not until we all went home and asked our parents, that is.
We didn\'t laugh then much either.
This is very similar to slogs/no slogs, so see also \"slogs\"?
In our part of South London (obviously a different part from Mr Alexander), as soon as the noxious whiff of a fart was detected, the detector would start to count in a low voice, and the number that was reached before the guilty party was either identified, or identified him/herself by saying "no slogs stop" would be the number of beatings, or "slogs" received from the counter. An obvious tactic, other than simply saying "no slogs stop" as soon as he/she farted, was for the farter to start the counting themselves, hence avoiding suspicion, although most people saw through this elaborate ruse. Certainly in my case they did, anyway.