Jamie - nicely written, but I fear we have too many fart/school lunch gags as it is. What do you think?

Nice idea but egg sandwiches and Vimto aren't really that funny anyway. I can't comment yet on the volume of fart/school lunch gags yet as I'm currently working my way through every entry in the dictionary to find out exactly that sort of thing

Extensive and rigorous experimentation carried out by an erstwhile primary schoolmate of mine on a succession of school trips, resulted in the conclusion that an egg sandwich and Vimto combo was the ultimate in producing farts which could have beaten a mustard gas-filled WW I trench for sheer toxicity.

Short for Gary-Baldi. An insult directed at anyone who either through hard evidence or simple malicious rumour was judged to be devoid of pubes. Accompanied by tight mouthed squeaking noises like those you would get if you rubbed a spotless plate.

Gary Brooks was a short, ruddy-faced kid who was in my class at primary school. He also lived on a particularly shitty council estate. It was widely accepted that Gary stank, therefore in turn it was presumed (naturally) that he had fleas. 'Trios' were the packed-lunch snack of choice at the time and to our unflagging amusement the jingle could be easily adapted to - 'Flea-o, fleeeea-o...i hate flea-o and i hate him now'. For added effect we would hold our noses whilst singing.

One day Gary got his dick out in the queue for assembly because we bet him that he did'nt have one.

The last time i heard about Gary was when a boy from his secondary school told me that he would 'put blutack on the end of a pencil and shuv it up his bum during maths'.

The sport of kings. Or was it pigs? I don't recall.
Anyway, the object of this reassuringly pointless game was to sit in a circle on the floor and twirl a piece of cutlery around. Whomsoever it stopped at had to drink a pint of water. And so on until eventually someone would go on a whitey and empty the aqueous contents of their stomach into the nearby bin to rapturous cries of "Gary Gusher". I
f this sounds unfunny to you, let me ask you this: ever seen a pre-teen throw up 8 imperial pints of water in one massive gastric contraction? Think again - it redefines hysterical.

>sigh<

Expectorating large volumes of fluid is so much more rewarding than regurgitating mere food. Or is it just me?

Scrawled into the desk at which I sat my Italian GCSE, worn and faded with time but still legible, was the legend 'Gary Lineker makes my tits erect'. I have never been able to fully appreciate why this might have been.

On school camp in the third year (Conwy, Wales 1988) it was discovered that Gary Ferguson was the only lad in the year who did not yet possess a healthy compliment of pubic hair. Later adjusted to accommodate Simon Barrow, who was also a bit sparse, to Barry-baldy.

We had several science labs equipped with long wooden benches which sported gas taps to which Bunsen burners could be attached. Inevitably, once the teachers back was turned the gas taps were turned full on and ignited resulting in satisfying jets of flame reaching several feet. Alternatively, a length of rubber hose could be attached and the other end placed in the swotty kids blazer pocket. Once full of gas the pocket bomb was ignited resulting in a spectacular fire ball.

All harmless high spirits.

Delivering inflammable gas to classrooms; surely an ill-thought out addition to the already turbulent situation in schools. Syd the Flid turned them all on, trying to create the perfect air-fuel mix, and stood flicking the light switches in homage to the "Nooooo!" British Gas adverts.

Played on the school bus, as soon as you spotted a van belonging to British Gas you would shout at the top of you voice GAS VAN and then evry one would start to beat each other up, this would last until we got board or the driver threw us of the bus.

Mick

Every time a Gas Van (or BT Van) is spotted, the quickest child would shout "Gas Van" and punch a mate as hard as he could on the arm. If nobody else saw the van, a reversal beating ensued. Verification is required, to avoid children just punching each other for no reason. Which would just be stupid.

Gavin Jones' Dad was a handicapped. His eyes didn't work and he had to be led everywhere by Guide Dog. Some of the more gossipy 3rd years had already started rumours about Gavin's dad's relationship with his four-legged friend, when, one Parents Evening, those rumours were given a massive boost of credibility.
Being next to each other in the register meant Gavin and I had adjacent time slots that fateful evening. Nervous with anticipation about my forthcoming report I'd headed off to the toilet. Pissing roughly in the direction of the urinal was Gavin's dad. Sitting faithfully by his side, lapping gently at the golden stream and the contents of the ceramic bowl was his dog. Gavin's Dad's dog was drinking his piss.
Looking back at the incident now, I think I'm fully justified in my telling everyone I could that not only did Gavin's Dad's dog drink Gavin's Dad's piss, he was actually sucking him off in the toilets.
I was justified, wasn't I? The filthy, dog-bothering pervert.

Gay just means stupid - there never seemed to be any real implication that you were actually gay if someone called you gay. Pete Beal's Banana Bowl was another matter.
Teacher : What is the capital of France?
Elaine : Is it Calais sir?
Darren : Sir, Elaine's being gay!

After having discovered your site today and wasted most of it reading entries (on company time) I can only conclude British kids are suspiciously preoccupied with gayness. Little closet faggots, all of you, eh?
In my country (Sweden) we were never called "gay" just for being athletically challenged, interested in arts or books, or generally not fitting in. They beat us up, don't get me wrong - they just didn't call us gay while they did it.
(Two things, anonymous gay Swede; the fact we talk about it means that we're not scared of gayness. It's you lot, the Swedes, who are gay-scared, and that means you're super-gay. Arguing with the logic of this only makes you gayer, so just shut up, bend over and take one from big butch Denmark.
Secondly, the reason this website has a lot of gay references in it is that I'm a gay, and I'm pushing my agenda with a view to attracting burly doormen. Are you a burly doorman? If so, please get in touch. I'm Log, and I'll do anything for Dairylea.)

Nicky was a hulking child of Eastern European lineage who had the physical structure of a 38-year-old dock worker and a thirst for violence that simply could not be quenched. His entire secondary school career was spent in the position of the undisputed tough of our year - a tenure that was peppered heavily with savage beatings and a management style that could be characterised as an iron fist inside a steel glove.
Like all repressed peoples living under a totalitarian regime, a creative outlet for dissent will always be found. Our's was through the underground communications network of scribbles in the back of Auf Deutsch textbooks. 'Nicky is a gay ape' being the most profound entry into the history of people's resistance.
Like all tyrants, Nicky too ended up on the ash-heap of history as shortly after leaving school he promptly stabbed someone. Say what you like about Stalin being hard, but I'm pretty sure he never killed anybody.

Anyone who grows up in a crap town miles from the city will know the excitement of discovering, on a Saturday excursion into Bristol, that some pubs are gay pubs. Pubs for real gay people, to be gay in. We were agog. In the end, we dared Joe to run in, and run out again. Just to see what happened, like. I think we thought it would be something like running into a crowded chicken shed, and Joe would come flying out followed by a burst of feathers, glitter, and a gaggle of irate, clucking homosexual men. This didn't happen. Sadly.

Common currency as an insult from the ages of 11-16. Sometimes lengthened to Gay Barry Bender.

flush...glub...flush...glub...

you cunt i'll beat the shit out of you

Mnemonic that our music teacher encouraged us to learn for the notes on the lines in the bass clef (GBDFA).

You would ask the nerdy kid if he watched gay boys say no on tv the night before, The kid would normally say no. And then he would have the piss taken out of him for the next couple of days.

Simple game played in about 1997 at secondary schools. Walk up to anyone, point at the floor, and say "You dropped your gay card." If they don't know the game or aren't paying attention, they will look at the floor, ostensibly searching for their gay card. You can then laugh at them for admitting that they're gay.

This was a favourite of mine back in my school days.
When walking behind/standing near or anytime appropriate really the you would say to the victim, while tapping them on the arm and pointing to the floor, "You've dropped your gay card". When the victim looks down you can laugh at them.
It's still funny.

As in "dropped your gay card", a phrase quickly shouted at an unsuspecting individual. If they turn around and look on the floor, it proves that they are a card carrying GAY. Which, as everyone knows is the second worst type of gay.

During the first year of high school, it was common to hear people saying "you've dropped your gay card", a variation on "your flies are undone" which was in its way connected to 700 twelve-year-olds having to carry library cards for the first time. There were other variations, but "Les[bian] card" is the only one that comes to mind

There was a fad at my school af asking people "Do you have a gay card?"
The obvious, and seemingly foolproof answer of saying "no" was met with much laughter and pointing and accusition of being gay.
This I could not understand.
Other answers of "I don't have a gay card" or "I'm not gay" were also met with the same response.

I never got why.



Mabye it was the long hair...

The act of taunting a staunchly christian child with the following exchange

"Do you love god?"
"yes"
"uuuuurrr you love a man your gay!,do you love Jesus?"
"yes"
"uuuuurrrr you love a man your gay!"

as a sidenote the main recipient of this taunt is now a local drug dealer