Log says...is this funny with my addition of a tips pages walkthrough?

Phil says...no it's not

Log says...fuck you I'm approving it anyway

A text-only adventure. I always got stuck on the bit where you had to cross the river in the bathtub with polygonal holes in it.

Well, anonymous user, we can help you there! In the true spirit of Crystal Tips and Alistair, here is the solution to that tricky bathtub teaser! To plug its holes, USE TETRAHEDRON, USE CUBE, USE ICOSAHEDRON, USE OCTAHEDRON, USE DODECAHEDRON. To make yourself light enough, DROP BOTTLE, DROP PHIAL. Then LOOK BATH to traverse the flow. Does anyone else have any problems with 1980's text-only adventures? Have you tried asking Gandalf to carry you?
"Ma ma ma ma ma la bamba
Spaghetti, meatballs,
And a great big banana..."
Spaghetti, of course, refers to pubic hair; meatballs to testicles and 'great big banana' to an implausibly long and curvy penis. Generally accompanied by a bizarre dance, in which said genital features were outlined with the hands.
A comic strip and casette based story in some pre-GCSE textbooks. Also something that should be shouted at someone whilst throwing grass at them/shoving bundles of grass down their jumpers.
Hull notwithstanding, quite possibly the shittest place on Earth. Widely documented in the Tricolore series - Chantal habite a La Rochelle - La Rochelle was a fishing village. Not only it a transparent shithole, it was populated by what appeared to be sex criminals and very hairy women.
"Le boucher qui travail a La Rochelle, il touche les enfants, parce que son Úpouse ne rase pas ses aisselles."
Does anyone have any lab assistant stories? Ours were really retarded, but never got up to anything genuinely evil. Lab Assistant stories are welcome, so long as they aren't just "our lab assistant used to be really stupid and shuffled around with test tube racks and never said anything." Did anyone ever get into that special lab assistant room? Did they ever touch you? There? In that special place that daddy told you was where Socky The Hand Puppet had dinner? Do you remember Socky's strange, asymmetrical eyes, and looking for the place where he hid until daddy brought him out?
Bending a ladybird book in the middle, and using it as a steering wheel whilst "driving" along the lines of the netball pitch. Most importantly, laughing at the kids doing it when they turn the "wheel" going into a bend, and don't straighten up again afterwards, and thereby should be walking round in a circle. The idiots.
I heard this on the bus today, and a child said it, so I think it counts. Two boys were talking to each other, and the younger one said "I had a ladybird on my hand. I stroked it, and it trumped on me." I laughed out loud, and their father looked disapprovingly at me. I felt like I was in assembly.
"We play the Lambeth way,
Not like you but a bit more gay
And when we have a bit of fun
Oh, boy."

When we gathered around the piano to sing this Broadway hit in primary school, we were specifically warned not to titter at the line containing 'gay'. I wasn't listening, and was therefore surprised to be the only one giggling.

The teacher snapped at me - which was quite unfair, considering that I saw nothing intrinsically funny about the word 'gay' and was only laughing to curry favour with more popular classmates.

Anyway, the song was written by Noel Gay. Draw your own conclusions.
The monster that we had to be during a session of Live Role-Playing.
This involved us waiting for an hour in a damp cave for the bold party of adventurers, being restricted to a naff sideways movement, and having five lads with wooden swords twat you long after your Hit Points had technically disappeared.
Another reason to hate role-playing scum.
The evil glare a teacher would give you after some minor wrongdoing. The more brave the recipient the worse the burn, causing some pupils to fall off their chair screaming "my eyes, I can't see" or suchlike. Pupils can give the teacher laser eyes in return by holding pencils, pens and rulers next to their eyes directed at the teacher until he asks you to "stop being so bloody stupid and put those things down, Christ!"
A very simple game, that we played in French Classes, the last person to sit down after entering the classroom wins. Despite the simplicity, it's quite amusing the lengths we would go to so as not to sit down.
The film 'The Sting' had a great impact on us. If someone arrived 5 minutes late to class, they would fling the door open and announce "Sorry I'm late guys, I was taking a crap" in a terrible American accent.

Note: You can only get away with this in Steve Pack's geography class.
I have been fortunate enough to have had two Latin teachers at secondary school. Both were quite, quite mad, and via extrapolation I have concluded that being clinically insane is a prerequisite for teaching schoolboys the classics.

For my first year I had a fairly old but otherwise physically normal man possessing a fixation on dogs, the British TV show Animal Hospital and classical comedies. He looked startlingly like a non-murderous version of Doctor Shipman.

The other teacher is a wild cross between William Hague, Kelsey Grammer and Steve Ballmer with startling taste in clothes and shirts which compulsively expose his navel. Is easily sucked into prurient discussions, sometimes initiating them himself through use of personal cliches, the most common of which is "As the actress said to the bishop.", frequently appended to any vaguely unusual statement. We keep count of the number of times he says this per lesson. He was once witnessed reading a copy of the Daily Sport and, when wound up, says the word "arse" repeatedly without hesitation.
Particular to second-rate comprehensive schools with delusions of grandeur. We 'shared' a Latin teacher with a grammar school (why she decided to put herself through this ordeal is a mystery to me). Much humour derived from feigning sympathy with her obvious jewish roots. This culminated with one boy's assertion that his father died in a concentration camp, with the teacher's initial empathy then undermined with the revelation that he 'fell off the watchtower'. Suspension and much hilarity ensued. Roman history elements of syllabus also enlivened by repeatedly mispronouncing 'hypocaust' as 'holocaust'.
Laughter is inappropriate both when you are told that your Geography teacher is dead, and also when some rich bitch comes into class in tears because her smack-head aunt had become a cabbage and had her life support turned off. Inappropriate, but irresistible.
The human variety of lead poisoning (popular amongst swans) can most easily be caught from the graphite in pencils. Once you have caught lead poisoning (chemical symbol Pb) from graphite (an allotrope of Carbon, C), you can trace your imminent demise by looking at your veins, which will turn black.
When this black, poisoned blood reaches your heart, you will die. The only way to slow this process down, so that you can run home and tell your parents that you're sorry that the last thing you said to them this morning was "I hate school, and I hate YOU", is by pressing one finger over the poisoned vein, which will temporarily 'pause' your circulatory system.
Once you have made your peace with the world, let go, and accept the inevitable.
You risked this if you put a pencil in your mouth, even for just a split second. If you were stupid enough to even give the end of your pencil a little kiss, everyone would scream "what is wrong with you?" and "do you want to die or something?"

Some people would be so concerned about your well-being that they would punch you. Later, someone pointed out that the pencils were made out of graphite, and not lead. This didn't stop the panic, because graphite poisoning was about ten times worse, you fucking idiot with your crazy deathwish.

[log]If you do succumb to lead poisoning, your blood will turn black in your veins. This is only lethal when the black blood reaches your heart, giving you minutes to run around screaming "I can see it in my arm, I'm going to die".[/log]
Autumn. A junior school in Essex. Three boys in the year above geekily elected not to spend their break times committing unprovoked acts of violence like the rest of us, but instead devoted their energies to collecting all the leaves in the playground, tidying them into a pile in the corner, thereby making a better, leaf-free world for all of us. Cunts.
Of course you could wait until they had a really, really big pile and then try running full pelt into it, kicking leaves everywhere while shouting "A HA HA HA HA HA! WANKERS!".
However, more sophisticated fun awaited us when one day a small shit was spied in the middle of the playground. Fox? Cat? No matter. No-one spoke. We all knew what had to happen.
A leaf was procured and dropped carefully on the shit, obscuring it. "Kristen! Kristen! a leaf for your pile!", a child called to Kristen Barnes. He came over. He picked up the leaf, and the shit with it.
"What?" he said, as our laughs rose and combined in one wall of white noise at his stupid, vacant face, his hand smeared with shit, and his slightly drooling, gaping mouth.
Never the brightest candle on the cake, Gibson only reached legendary status when he climbed an electricity pylon. He was catapulted 50 feet from the pylon, and his IQ was safely relegated to Sunday Stegosaurus League. Our joy was enhanced; not only did it prove his immortality, he came back to us new and improved. He was 'leccy Gibbo.
A form of perversion based on the insertion of a lego flagpole up - of course - the arse. If girls ever did this sort of thing, then maybe there'd be something interesting stuck up the front bumhole, but no. Girls either didn't do this sort of stuff, or don't talk about it, or don't visit my website. Aha - probably the latter. I've only just thought of that.
An unwilling Jack Russell terrier can be coerced into licking ones scrotum by the simple application of lemon curd to ones parts.
A flawless system of truancy detection.
Missing a class would involve its teacher writing your name and details of your crime on a yellow piece of paper.
(Lemon Slips sounded infinitely more menacing than yellow paper, though - both effete and mysterious, you can imagine the shudders running down a gentleman's spine.)
These lemon slips were sent to the school secretary, and they were then inserted in the register each morning.
Registers were then left completely unguarded in every form room for a 15 minute period ahead of registration, every day.
There was very little reported truancy at my school.
A man who would tempt boys with Dime Bars, then grab them around the neck and rub his knuckles into their head. Girls, however, he would grope and try to pull their jumpers up. Which was nice. A load of 5th years let his tyres down once, and he chased them with a baseball bat.
Leo was two years older than me and liked to take amyl nitrate so as to make anal sex easier. After one such session, he managed rather skilfully to curl an enormous turd around the seat of one of the toilets. This was a very traditional boarding school and since I was in the bottom year, as a "fag" I was called upon to remove the offending poo. I was able to do so successfully by using a silver trowel that the Queen Mum had used to lay the foundation stone to one of our school buildings. Eight years later my brother was at the same school and told me about the apocryphal "Legend of Leo's Log" little knowing that (a) it was a true story and that (b) I had been the one who'd had to clean up the foul mess.

Log says...Possibly this is made up. I don't care. A silver trowel! My sides are bursting with class outrage! Like an episode of Citizen Smith! Sadly this submission came anonymously but whoever you are, we salute you and your shitty past. You're head of ICI now aren't you?

Some people (specifically Ceri Govan) may be so amused to find out that sometimes leprosy causes sufferers noses to drop off, that they laugh out loud for a full 15 minutes and are sent to sit on their own at the back of the room for the rest of the year.