| Report for Sus K | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 4 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 4 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 4 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
What you did was, you sneaked up behind someone and, with one hand over your mouth, held the other over the person's head and counted silently to yourself. If and when the person noticed, they had to cover their own mouth, whereupon you would shout "[Victim's name] has [whatever number you had managed to count to, or alternatively a completely made up number] boyfriends!"
There was a variation where you held two crooked fingers over your mouth, and your victim had to do the same, and woe betide them if they got it mixed up... Woe betide indeed.
There was a variation where you held two crooked fingers over your mouth, and your victim had to do the same, and woe betide them if they got it mixed up... Woe betide indeed.
My primary school's old assistant head told us at assembly once:
"If someone makes fun of you for not having the latest fashionable gear or a brand new bike or something, just tell them you can't afford it - that'll shut them up."
Even aged about 7, we knew that was a really fucking bad idea.
"If someone makes fun of you for not having the latest fashionable gear or a brand new bike or something, just tell them you can't afford it - that'll shut them up."
Even aged about 7, we knew that was a really fucking bad idea.
In 5th year Geography I knocked my pencil case onto the floor at the end of the lesson. I bent to pick it up and experienced a very definite *slapping* sensation across my buttocks. I stood up and slowly turned around. Amazingly, there was Mr Nicholas holding a ruler. The pupils left in the classroom were staring in shocked silence. The teacher laughed nervously and said "Sorry Susanna, but some targets are too good to resist."
Nice save sir. Nice.
Peter Sutcliffe writes: Oh bum! If only I'd thought of that, rather than my frankly piss-poor 'God told me to do it' defence!
Nice save sir. Nice.
Peter Sutcliffe writes: Oh bum! If only I'd thought of that, rather than my frankly piss-poor 'God told me to do it' defence!
In Primary school I was once made to wait outside the Headmistress's room for a whole playtime, quaking in my boots about what I could have done wrong, only to have her step out just before the bell rang to tell me she was "glad I hadn't been involved in the violent incident earlier" when my best friend had kicked someone in the head. I've never been more angry with a teacher in my life.
Except maybe for the time I got shouted at for "kissing a boy" despite the fact that the boy in question had kicked me in the ankle, pushed me onto the grass and held me down in order to perpetrate the kiss. That's Catholic schools for you. Treat 8-year-old girls like the hussies they are.
Except maybe for the time I got shouted at for "kissing a boy" despite the fact that the boy in question had kicked me in the ankle, pushed me onto the grass and held me down in order to perpetrate the kiss. That's Catholic schools for you. Treat 8-year-old girls like the hussies they are.