| Report for Tyrannosaurus Flex | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 7 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 10 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 5 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
A traditional torture introduced by an occasional brutal Japanese exchange student. Literally translates as 'electric massage' and consists of flooring one's victim holding his ankles and pumping hard with your foot against his crotch, much like a "pro" wrestling move. We were in awe of this technique when it was first introduced and named it "the baby", due to its similarities with the pain endured during childbirth. If boys could have babies through their cocks, presumably.
Victim is floored, arms out-stretched. Someone kneels on the elbow joint and the arm is pumped up and down. Often initiated with the question "Would you like leaded or unleaded?". Requesting "unleaded" possibly led to a less ferocious pumping but probably relied more on the benevolence of the initiator.
And I suppose if the kid started crying, you could all go "thar she blows!" and dance around clicking your heels and whooping, as though you’d struck oil like in them films. That sounds fun. Susan.
And I suppose if the kid started crying, you could all go "thar she blows!" and dance around clicking your heels and whooping, as though you’d struck oil like in them films. That sounds fun. Susan.
Having cricket shoes that looked like they had been handed down from your Victorian ancestors guaranteed you the nickname of bearded cricket legend WG Grace. If your name was Clive that is. An "accurate" replica of Grace's signature was then stencilled permanently on to both shoes and a new chant created of 'glasses, teeth and beard', continued indefinitely. The glasses and teeth bit were from Clive's own milk bottle and ivory features, the beard WG Grace's.
The name given to those high-topped American trucker caps with mesh at the back. Became all the rage for a while. Name derives from the fact that all Mongs wear these caps. All the time. (As indeed do cancer patients).
The classic "Damn seagulls" mong cap, replete with hilarious fake bird poo, would be worn for mong-acting sessions, moaning "Damn seagulls" in a retarded voice and swiping at imaginary seagulls.
The classic "Damn seagulls" mong cap, replete with hilarious fake bird poo, would be worn for mong-acting sessions, moaning "Damn seagulls" in a retarded voice and swiping at imaginary seagulls.
Rupert Baynham spent an entire month when he should have been studying for A-Levels making an Evil Edna costume for the school Halloween party. The costume was not for himself however, but for the mildly retarded girl Helena who he tortured at any given opportunity. The genius of the design (and hence the man hours required) lay in the "hidden compartments" later to be filled with Camembert cheese (only the finest would suffice). The cheese was left to "mature" on school radiators and the costume was gratefully received by the girl thinking it a peace offering from Rupert. One extra feature were ropes inside, ostensibly to "help keep the costume on" but in reality to bind Helena fast inside the costume, preventing escape and causing hideous rope burn. Time well spent.
Yet another joyful urban myth that left children agog, the Mars Bar Party was briefly the talk of every town.
This Roman-esque orgy of an event involved lots of women willing to pop Mars Bars (lower rent Taxi or 5-4-3-2-1 parties were relatively scarce) inside themselves, to be eaten by the lucky boys in attendance. If there were enough women, some boys might even get two Mars Bars - yum!
A well-developed fantasy given our age; very few of us had sticky dreams by this stage. The one function this urban myth briefly served was to cause any girl seen eating a Mars Bar to be instantly labelled an orgy-crazed cock-demon, in so many words.
This Roman-esque orgy of an event involved lots of women willing to pop Mars Bars (lower rent Taxi or 5-4-3-2-1 parties were relatively scarce) inside themselves, to be eaten by the lucky boys in attendance. If there were enough women, some boys might even get two Mars Bars - yum!
A well-developed fantasy given our age; very few of us had sticky dreams by this stage. The one function this urban myth briefly served was to cause any girl seen eating a Mars Bar to be instantly labelled an orgy-crazed cock-demon, in so many words.
During a terrible spate of robberies plaguing the school, we were assembled by House Master Brian Shakeshaft for a briefing on the latest crime. We were told that the police had been informed and that the culprit would be found.
The crime? Stealing a plate of cupcakes and leaving nothing but some crumbs and a note reading 'Ha ha! I stole your cupcakes!'
Mr Shakeshaft's solution? Amateur sleuthing.
We were called individually to his study to write out a cleverly concocted phrase that would allow him to trace the perpetrator through his guilty handwriting.
The phrase chosen? 'Dear watertank has a life of about fifteen years.'
The whole episode was so mind-boggling that we hardly even believe ourselves when we recollect it. I can only conclude that the cupcakes were what tipped the scales after years of real brutality and substance abuse cases. Presumably police assistance was no longer required after Brian's detective work, as we heard no more on the matter.
The crime? Stealing a plate of cupcakes and leaving nothing but some crumbs and a note reading 'Ha ha! I stole your cupcakes!'
Mr Shakeshaft's solution? Amateur sleuthing.
We were called individually to his study to write out a cleverly concocted phrase that would allow him to trace the perpetrator through his guilty handwriting.
The phrase chosen? 'Dear watertank has a life of about fifteen years.'
The whole episode was so mind-boggling that we hardly even believe ourselves when we recollect it. I can only conclude that the cupcakes were what tipped the scales after years of real brutality and substance abuse cases. Presumably police assistance was no longer required after Brian's detective work, as we heard no more on the matter.