Texas Instruments = poor man's Casio = objects of derision for the brainy
For use in lower set maths classes only.
(They also specialised in brightly-coloured over-chunky protractor, compasses and set square packs, for ham-fisted thickos.)
For use in lower set maths classes only.
(They also specialised in brightly-coloured over-chunky protractor, compasses and set square packs, for ham-fisted thickos.)
has anyone else noticed that this entry has appeared before but on a different month, thus highlighting the fact that all the entries on this site are from the people who put it together.
monumental twats.
Just to prove that we don't do this all on our own, anonymous user, I'm going to include your completely off-topic insult. That'll show YOU.
Sometimes I wish we did concoct the stories ourselves; it'd reduce the amount of time I have to spend wading through shit like yours.
Other readers! If you feel the need to insinuate that we make this all up, at least have the courage to pen your name alongside your insults. And try to use the shift key, too.
monumental twats.
Just to prove that we don't do this all on our own, anonymous user, I'm going to include your completely off-topic insult. That'll show YOU.
Sometimes I wish we did concoct the stories ourselves; it'd reduce the amount of time I have to spend wading through shit like yours.
Other readers! If you feel the need to insinuate that we make this all up, at least have the courage to pen your name alongside your insults. And try to use the shift key, too.
Take a Philips school atlas and find where you live on it. Show your friends what you’re about to do. Bring your thumb down on your home town, and you should hear all your mates screaming with terror as a 50 mile wide thumb descends upon them and crushes them like red mites. Try gobbing on the map and hear them choke and drown. Best of all, turn round and fart all over the East Midlands.
One of the possible results of pushing a small and hitherto powerless child too far. The results can be positive, or catastrophic; the best case scenario is that the bully will step back, filled with a newfound respect. He will then proceed to befriend or ignore the victim. The worst case scenario is that the bully will simply beat the child up. The shock of the runt sticking up for himself will subside quickly when he is rolling around on the floor, clutching his sorry little bollocks.
Dinner ladies. Use of this name increases in direct proportion to the number of speeches made by the headmaster about how we should respect dinner ladies.
A game loosely based on the Hale & Pace characters of the same name. I can't remember the character names now, but two boys would be the two management guys, and one other (usually me) was "Crusty" or something.
So, the guys would be trying to run a nightclub and any other kids in the area would be made to be the nightclub acts. I'm not sure exactly what was supposed to happen then, because it usually degenerated into a fight around that point.
So, the guys would be trying to run a nightclub and any other kids in the area would be made to be the nightclub acts. I'm not sure exactly what was supposed to happen then, because it usually degenerated into a fight around that point.
"Am." A Lincolnshire variation on 'arrrrrrrr' and 'ummmmmmmm.'
A Children's TV show in which grown ups would sit in a chair and read from a storybook, as cameras occasionally panned slowly across a drawing as a substitute for "action".
This show, dedicated to fantastical storytelling, became a synonym for bullshit. When a story (usually an account of sexual athleticism from the hairy boy) is obviously biglies, you can shout "Jackanory!", or more subtly checking your watch and saying "Oh, is it 4.15 already?"
This show, dedicated to fantastical storytelling, became a synonym for bullshit. When a story (usually an account of sexual athleticism from the hairy boy) is obviously biglies, you can shout "Jackanory!", or more subtly checking your watch and saying "Oh, is it 4.15 already?"
During the height of the inexplicable Blockbusters mania of the eighties, it became a common "dare" in the class of a teacher - first name Robert - to ask "Can I have a 'P' please, Bob?" when you needed to go to the bogs. Sometimes you'd even get away with this. Unlike the perennial antagonist, Marty Halford, who once got a bit too excited, and asked "Bob, can I have a wank?".
As part of a civil recovery scheme for the vast number of inky cocks drawn in our Tricolore text books, we were each given a bottle of Tipp-Ex and told to obscure the offending members.
The result? A vast number of inky cocks with a vast amount of spunk coming out the end.
The result? A vast number of inky cocks with a vast amount of spunk coming out the end.