S'allrighht refers to the UberCool Kids in comp around '94 who thought that wearing baggy combats and wooly hats balanced on thier heads made them look like the long lost brothers of East 17. S'allrighht was always said whilst barely opening the mouth and doing a funny handshake. Smelly kids were not "Alrigghht"

Saying derives from the East17 Song, "Its Alright"

Silent But Deadly, a popular type of fart. Whilst in retrospect volume was never inversely proportional to the actual stench produced, it was generally accepted that the silent ones were the worst, as our elaborate pantomimes after inhalation would attest. Common remarks in the immediate aftermath almost always included, "He who smelt it, dealt it" (q.v.)
Steven Jackson developed quite a penchant for getting good lungfuls of the expelled air, and giving a considered and expert opinion on the quality. We always listened to his judgement.
(The reason this has popped up again seven years on is that the involved party has asked for his friend's name to be changed. We don't think anyone should be passed up for promotion based on their deep, fruity inhalation of other men's farts. But unfortunately we do not live in an ideal world.)

The 'Schools Christian Assembly Team' who toured Derby, and possibly elsewhere, in the late 80s.

On the night before his death, according to the Christian scriptures, Jesus consecrated bread, wine and chocolate and gave them to his disciples, saying "this is my body", "this is my blood" and "this is my poo-poo". He commanded his followers to repeat this rite in his memory, and the Poocharist traditionally involves consecration of bread, wine and Walnut Whips by the clergy and their consumption by worshippers.

In Roman Catholicism the Poocharist is a cackrament, and the bread, wine and chocolate are thought to become the actual body, blood and ploppies of Jesus through transubstantiation.

A persistent legend had it that Southampton Institute of Higher Education (S.I.H.E.) was originally going to be called the Southampton Higher Institute of Technology until someone pointed out the acronym.

When asked in a History lesson to get into groups and create a political party, the Social Hypocritical Integrated Testicle Society or (S.H.I.T.S) was born. All members were given Buddhist names associated wih their christian names. Colin became Coljadbunjad, Ronnie became Ronjadbunjad, I became Mikadganjad and Andy became Guptaminjud just because it had the word minge in it. Each member would greet other members "Greetings Brother Gupta". Eventually, the brotherhood became the Wonderful Association because people would keep asking if we were SHITS. Now they would have to ask if we were Wonderful.
Popularity of our party grew in History, and other parties members tryed (and failed) to deflect to our party.
Everyone was given membership cards to prove their validity.
Eventually, when history came to an end, so did the S.H.I.T.S/Wonderful Association.
Even now, 20yrs later, how we laugh when we see each other in a pub and we'll shout " Greetings Brother Ronjad" and everyone else wonders what the fuck we're on about.
Anyway, time to get back into the straight jacket. It's time for pudding!!!!!

At our school, whenever there was a general election in the real world, we mirrored it with a school general election. This was back in the late 70's so the political scene was very different- we used to have real socialists and the National Front.
I wasn't the candidate for, but I did make the badges for (oh god- I still physically cringe when I remember)S.K.A.N. - School Kids Against Nazis.
Our intentions were pure, but our execution was disgusting in its worthiness- old Genesis badges with a S.K.A.N. logo stuck over them- this was the Anti-Nazi-League's arrow sticking out of a dayglo target with a Swastika in the middle.
We didn't win the election.

Giving someone a nickname because his or her name sounds strikingly similar to an unsavory character from a movie then only calling him or her by that name for the next eight years.

interj. An expression of pride. It's usage should be confined solely to the moment following a particularly satisfying belch or fart. Many practitioners failed to appreciate that 'Sabs' should only be uttered following an exceptionally noteworthy 'windy epsiode'. Sadly it's usage now seems to have died out & was confined to the playgrounds of N.Sussex during the late 70's/early 80's in any case.

Particularly vulgar and amusing variant on flashing by Greg, who would expose just his scrotum in public.
Sometimes this would be just casually doing normal stuff like, say, buying sweets at the shop with his scrotum hanging out of his flies as if he hadn't noticed, and sometimes it would be a full on run-up-to-the-granny-pull-the-old-sack-out-whilst-shouting-sack-attack-and-running-away-again routine. Endlessly hilarious and linked to several legendary tales.

The event of being hit in your love spuds with particular accuracy and malice. Much like playing knuckles, the attacker will use a downward strike with his knuckles to knock your testes, leaving you with that horrible calm before the torrent of pain that leaves you seeing an almost blinding white light and sense of nausea while lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, occassionally giving the attacker the added opportunity to then shout "Pile on!" and have 50 people decide to jump on you to compound your agony and humiliation all the more.

Adam Smith. A big-lipped pain-in-the-arse type kid from our year took great pleasure in the first year calling everyone 'Sackless' (ie no scrotum sac). This eventually backfired to the point where everyone in school who knew him (including the teachers) referred to him as 'Sackless'. To this day (19 years later) he is still known locally by his unenviable school nick-name. Serves the annoying twat right.

Such as giving the child with the terrible lisp the line "And the thepherdth watched over their flockth of theep by night." in the infants nativity play.

Oh, and letting the kids go onstage in white angel outfits while wearing their regulation navy school knickers.

What one calls out when they have just made a silent but particularly heinous fart that those around them haven't smelled yet. If "Safety" is not called out immediately after committing the deed, your nearby classmates are entitled to repeatedly punch you in the shoulders until you stop trying to secretly gas them to death, you unapologetic cunt.

At my school when you had farted you had to put your thumb on your forehead and say safety. That began the safety-chain, and the last person to say safety did the fart. Everyone could then give the 'farter' a free punch - supposedly on the arm, but usually in the nads. Firm, but fair.

A game involving a sharp pencil and extrasensory perception. Named, for some reason, after German worksheets of the same name.
Player A wields the pencil and thinks of a number between 1 and 10. Player B guesses the number. If B guesses correctly, the roles are reversed. If he guesses wrongly, A stabs him in the thigh with the pencil with a shout of "Sag Mal!" for being so fatuous as to suggest a wrong number. Over time you become spookily good at it. Or you end up with very sore thighs.

Endlessly infuriating game, as demonstrated here by James and Jim, our handy mascots.

James: Hello.
Jim: ... Said James.
James: What?
Jim: ... Exclaimed James.
James: Stop doing that!
Jim: ... Ordered James.
James: Listen, you fucker, it's bad enough that you've got basically the same name as me, without turning this whole conversation into a fucking novel.
Jim: ... Ejaculated James, forcefully.
James: I'm going to go and kill your parents now.
Jim: ... Said James. Wait, what?

Raymond Blewett's boast that he could dance the Sailors'Hornpipe was presumably intended to attract admiration and respect. What it attracted was many, many boys and girls who would force him again and again to perform the ridiculous maritime farce throughout all breaks and dinnertimes for weeks afterwards while they surrounded and baited the unfortunate sea-cadet.
It became such a common sight to see the silly cunt Hornpiping away in the playground that non-participants in the goading would spare him little more than a passing glance.
Weekends brought no respite, he would be seen in the shopping centre or the park, tears of embarassment streaming down his face, hornpiping for all he was worth while his tormentors showered him with food containers and spit.
He became so conditioned to it that any aggressive shout in his direction would set him off.
Things were brought to a head after one traumatic breaktime when the Gripper Jenkins gang forced him to do it with his knob out - a variation that the original composer may or may not have contemplated - it began well enough but further elaborations caused the boys tether to snap and he screamed 'I can't do the Hornpipe and wank at the same time!' before charging at his tormentors, windmill fashion and screaming like a Kamikaze pilot.
His rage blinded him to the fact that a teacher was on patrol and the screaming expletives - and the fact he still had his knob out - earned him a visit to the school counsellor who advised him to leave the sea cadets and try and meet a nice girl.

Bob McBride

Improbable cash-in board game, linking ITV's top presenters with the true story of how the Spanish Armada foundered on the rocks around the coasts of Britain. Suprisingly, Mr Roberts deemed it of sufficient historical value that myself and Andre (its co-creators) were asked to play it on school open night in front of the bewildered parents of prospective pupils.

In my comprehensive in sunny St. Albans our only entertainment was making up ridiculous and erroneous rumours about lesser classmates. One memorable one was the Richard Lucas was caught on the school field trip to Belgium inserting a slad bagette up his anus.

Sally was a very ugly girl with a big nose, and we used to jump at the chance to insult her. After arthur stroked her back and said it had been hairy, we jumped at the chance, and rather meanly ruined her life. At first, unimaginatively, we just shouted the word hairy at her, but this led on to "Have you seen that film, When HAIRY met Sally" and "Why are you coughing Sally? Hairball?" As trivial as this may seem, when repeated constantly for 5 years it built up. What made it even better was that when arthur had stroked her back, he had, as we so eloquently put it, "cum himself." This meant that she was hairy AND covered in semen. I felt guilty, but not much because she was unpleasant. And she was asking for it when she made a hair root cell in biology.

A friend of mine,Gareth, thought it pertinent to change the word 'Salsa' on the music room board to 'Satan'. Our music teacher then proceeded without looking at the board to give us a lesson at salsa whilst pointing at various upside down crosses, pentagrams and devil horns.
I was kicked from that GCSE coincidentally

Skipping rhyme, responsible for teaching me what stout was. I was five then, and I never looked back. *hic*

Our Home Economics teacher, Miss Munroe, would get the class to chant "salts and sugars are not nutritious" before the start of every lesson.
After school one evening, Miss Munroe was spied by Martin Jenkins gobbling off our sports teacher in the car-park of the local pub.
When she intoned her mantra in class the following day, Martin's reply of "what about the ones in Mr. Johnson's spunk, miss?" was enough to see her scream and run crying from the room. She didn't return to school.
A shame really, as we wanted to know if she'd gone against her own teachings by swallowing.

A speech synthesis programme on the Commodore 64 that provides me to this day with my comical "robot malfunction" voice. Oh, you should hear me. I'm such a one.

Sam arrived at our schoool in a hurry. If set a task by a teacher, he went about it with ruthless efficiency. He was never seen dragging his heels on the way to lessons, and finished high in the sprint rankings on sportsday.

He finally dropped his guard on a trip to the lake district, and fell behind the main party. This allowed Mr. Snowden the immortal line,

"Don't dilly Dally Smith!"