Shouted and accompanied by a flexing of a little finger. Denotes the possession of a unimpressive member. An abbreviation of Maggot, which little willies look like.

Variations include, maggee, Mr. Magoo, magga magga magga and magwaaaaah, shouted in a Zippy from Rainbow style voice.

The only reversal is, sadly, lacking in finesse. Simply shout back "No you're the MAG! I'm a MONSTER!" Meaning, obviously, that your penis is huge, and very hairy indeed.
Game played on school trips in dormitories. Consisted of combat between by boys who had to remain at all times on the floor wrapped up in duvets. Were it a cartoon scene, the word "squirm" would appear three times in each frame.

Maggots had no winners - play was its own reward.
An animated wizard, who had special e-mazing powers. Voiced by Derek Griffiths, he would sing;
Fat becomes fate with me!
Rat becomes rate with me!
and of course
Shit becomes shite with me!
I'm magic magic E...

After comically noting that shit becomes shite with him, children would rack their brains, without success, to think of another rude word ending in a removeable "e".
The Magic Potion would be made from a hlaf-empty yoghurt pot, plus added ingredients such as barbeque crisps, bread crusts, apple pips and anything else to hand. The challenge was to make it as big and filthy a mix as possible, and for it to be stirred clockwise with the dinner-lady's pen, otherwise it wouldn't work.
The hapless yogurt owner would then have to eat this mess. If sucessful and was able to keep the mix down for more than ten minutes they were crowned "the Great Sage" for the lunchtime. If they lost the contents of lunch within the ten minutes, they were made to eat grass, because that's what cats do when they have a dodgy stomach.
"What's underneath the Magic Table?" I asked, out of the blue, one lunchtime.

Naturally curious, I bent my head to investigate the source of the witchcraft and wizardry, which proved to be Jane McKeating's eight year old, hairless genitals.
Even if you are wearing trousers and underwear, if you press your fingers hard enough up your buttock cleft and worm them around, a small amount of anus smell will be transferred to your fingers. The process by which this happens is entirely magical. On a really warm day, I managed to get the smell through underpants, trousers, and jumper.
(never, never break friends/if you do/you'll catch the flu/and that will be the end of you.)

So we all know this one, but interestingly enough, the popular comedian Adam Bloom genuinely believes he invented this rhyme, in a playground in Richmond in 1977. No one else knew it before he invented it, and he will accept no argument to the contrary.
James Fidget (real name) had a false roof to his mouth that clipped on in some arcane way. It didn't clean itself very well, so in between his roast dinner and his custard-drenched pudding he would remove the plastic thingummy and clean it manually. The trick here was to distract him in increasingly surreal ways so he forgot to replace it, and then - when he had eaten a fair whack of the custard - make him laugh hysterically. You haven't lived until you've seen custard flood out of a schoolboy's nose.
Gerald Malarkey was devoid of any kind of morality or humanity. Once he was disturbed from slamming a small kids head in a door by a particularly stupid PE teacher. This prompted the line "What's all this Malarky....", at which point he lost momentum, realising how his sentence must end. "....errm.... Malarky..." And we all laughed,except for the guy with his head in the door,who wept.
A male who has yet to grow pubic hair. Or - and this is the tricky bit - anyone who does not know what a mallet is.
Pleasingly close to diarrhoea. Mamma Mia / I've got diarrhoea / Plip-Plop / Can you hear my shit drop? is a fine example of this similarity in action.
Man with Jack-in-the-box, The, noun phrase.
Best known example of a freestyle epic narration (a form of oral storytelling in which profoundly eccentric characters have endless serial adventures in a world that is in various unforeseeable ways hostile to their existence).
A story featuring a man cursed with the possession - which he could never put down - of a large jack-in-the-box whose 'jack' could spring to a height of twenty metres; an optimistic young girl; a monk who had mastered a meditative technique in which one relocated one's own centre of gravity to a point some way in front of oneself (this made walking impossible; he could only fall from place to place), and other minor figures. This trio encounters many trials as they negotiate, for example, perilous roof gardens made of papier mache and corridors which contrary to the laws of perspective, physically narrow to a single point.
The story was developed by the boys who didn't play touch football.
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.
Inverted reproach for lack of courtesy in yourself. Drop the please from any request, and if the subject complies, you may shout "MANNERS!" at the top of your voice, teachers permitting.
Strangely uninsulting insult for boys with big heads. Almost Shakespearean.
A smack on the back of the head. It's spam backwards, you see. Very clever. And therefore not thuggish.
Having cornered the marble market in his first year, in his second year Marcus Mellor rapidly established himself as the pornography kingpin of our school.
He dealt his grubby wares from a large, tatty, black briefcase held together with masking tape, and always filled to bursting point with an seemingly unlimited quantity of top-shelf magazines.
His empire came to an abrupt and spectacular end. Running to a lesson, his briefcase burst open, spilling Clubs, Razzles, Fiestas and Mayfairs in a slithering tide down the stairs. Despite his desperate entreaties, they were hoovered up within seconds by a huge crowd of unbelieving boys. I still can't watch aid convoys arrive in famine-stricken towns without being reminded of the event.
Soiling yourself in a moment of unforeseen and explosive diarrhoea. You will not live this down. Your name, if it begins with m and has two syllables, will be used to replace "magic" in the song "magic moments".
marla was never going to find it easy. she was the first black kid at our primary school in the 1970s. we treated her with the usual respect accorded to people of different ethnic and cultural blackgrounds: we would run round shouting "blacky sambo" and claimed that she smelled of poo. which was perhaps a bit harsh for a skinny girl of an already nervous disposition. but what the heck, there were more of us.

marla's bottom was the name given to the "chocolate" pudding that appeared in the school canteen once a week. this brown sugar-laden gunk came on a cardboard base with shaving foam on top. it was marginally better than damson pudding, which was on the same base, was translucent purple and had plastic film in (purporting to be damson skin).

but the canteen wasn't the only place we saw marla's bottom. one break time the whole school gathered round in the top playground while someone (he'll remain nameless - i think he's a bank manager now) de-bagged marla and displayed her bottoms, front and back, to the assembled throng. marla didn't come back to school after that.

personally, i blame the sugar in the dessert.
Here is an old joke that I cannot fathom to this day. Please help me fathom it.
An Englishman, Scotsman and Irishman enter a haunted house which contains a single slice of Marmite-slathered bread. As the Englishman hungrily reaches for the snack, a terrifying voice booms, "I told you once, I told you twice: do not eat that Marmite slice!" The Scotsman, too, is frightened away from the slice; but the foolhardy Irishman consumes it, whereupon the voice sniggers, "I told you once, I told you twice: I wiped my bum on that Marmite slice."
Of course it is funny that the Irish ate a poo, but the joke is not satisfying, in millions of ways.
1. Whose was the mysterious voice? Why did a voice poo on the bread? And - crucially - how did three sane men mistake the poo for Marmite?
1,000,000. For the first two cycles of the joke, he hadn't told us twice, and for the very first, he hadn't even told us once. Changing the words from "told" to "warn" doesn't suddenly reset the counter. Or does it? Frankly I'm drunk.
What this joke proves, conclusively, is that Irishes eating a poo is funnier than common sense.
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.
Do not admit to learning any martial art, unless you are quite prepared, and physically able, to follow it up. The smallest kid in our year, sick of being the victim, screamed "I've learned tae-kwon do" as his ritualised and half-hearted bullying session began.

To astonished looks from his assailants, he proceeded to strike a number of ridiculous Bruce Lee style poses, while going an unhealthy shade of red. His mastery of the ancient Korean martial art was such that the first punch laid him out. Then, everyone beat him up. Only suddenly, it wasn't quite so half-hearted.

(Thanks to Benzaemon Benzaemon for pointing out that Tae Kwon Do is Korean, not Japanese. Heaven forfend that there should EVER be an error of fact in this - the most thoroughly researched dictionary of bullshit on the internet)
If Mary Poppins had been released in 1934 instead of 30 years later, the unofficial anthem of the SS would surely have been;
Let's go fry a kike
Let's set them all alight
Let's go fry a kike
And send them roaring
Up to the atmosphere
Until the race is clear
Oh let's go fry a kike

This does nothing for the claims that Walt Disney held anti-semitic views. It doesn't really do me any favours, either.
The slow kid was often asked to do something which he believed would make him popular. The most enjoyable requests were for him to fill his underpants up with mashed potato or baked beans and go and show the teachers.
A dinner queue offer best riposted with "no, it's just the way my trousers hang".
Also applicable to offers of boiled sprouts, grated carrot, hot plums etc