At my school, there was a strict - yet crude - system of classification according to how you wore your school tie. A 'Slim Jim' was worn by cool kids. A 'Fat Twat' was sported by the geeky, swotty kids. I remember wearing both styles in a crude bi-polar expression of my personality.
This can only be asked of someone who is wearing a tie and v-neck jumper:

"What does a ship do when it gets to the harbour?"

The answer is, of course, "ties up!", which you shout while swiftly tugging their tie from behind their jumper. Only really results in mild irritation, but it was a popular thing to do.

[log]If you see this one coming, try to pull off a daring reversal by shouting "drops anchor" and taking a really fast shit on their shoe[/log]
This test was carried out by a gang of girls waiting just inside the classroom by the door. The leading girl has a ruler. All males entering will find a ruler being poked into genital area. Then, depending on your posture, they would should “TIGHT” (if you curled up protectively or seemed shy), or “LOOSE” (if you strode through manfully).
Why? The only explanation I can think of would be that striding in manfully implies that you have nothing to be ashamed of – ie a large penis – therefore you would be requiring a loose vagina. In this sense, it’s not a form of feminine intimidation, it’s simply a pragmatic allocation of available vaginas.
Walk around a crowded playground, saying "tik tik tik tik tik" at every child you walk past. When walking by your victim, simply shout "B'NEH!".
You then may have to inform your victim that you have an idiot detector, otherwise they might just assume you are being retarded.
1. Squirt a puddle of lighter fluid on the ground.
2. Light it.
3. Skateboard through it, leaving Back to the Future-style columns of fire streaking along behind you.

Gary Beadle learned the hard way that time travel is best performed outdoors.
Having been knocked down by a double decker bus, John McCracken sported an artificial tin leg. We were most jealous when he got to miss French once because he was down at tech getting it tightened.
One did not, however, mess with John. In fights, he would remove his leg and effectively batter the fuck out of his opponent with it. John was also very good at hopping.
If you want to appear cool before your classmates, one of the last things you should do is bring to art lessons your little lead men to paint various colours. The very last thing you should do is bring in a little lead woman, tell everyone she's "really fit" and "sexily carved", and spend most of the lesson fantasising about having intercourse with her. This means you, Mark Baker, you grubby little freak. If you're going to humiliate yourself by getting a boner in class, it should be over a real person, or at the very least something bigger than a rat's penis.
Legendary corrective fluid with multiple uses beyond splodgily painting over fountain pen errors and, of course, sniffing it. Two favourites:
1) Painting boiled sweets with it to create delightful 'mints', and handing them to younger pupils.
2)Upon hearing the shouted request of "lend me your Tipp Ex", painting the outside of the bottle and obligingly throwing it by the cap to assist your hardworking chum.
Like kiss chase, but the rewards were less disgusting. Simply touch the breast, and go! To a pubescent boy, this is much preferable, unless you're already having real sex and kissing with tongues. Mind, even then, you probably still enjoy touching tits more than kissing.
Balancing the spirit of Christmas and a dislike for Maria, Duncan simply opened his card in front of her, swapped the names round then handed it straight back to her.
An environmentally sound form of rejection - but one which I felt compelled to apologise for, some years later, by sleeping with the cow, who was frankly hanging.


The name of the company I made business cards for in year 8. They claimed to cater for "all your hamster's sexual needs". Run from 10 Downing "dtreet".
A radiator key is a wonderful implement. For one thing, it allows you remove excess air from your radiators and therefore enable them to produce the maximum amount of heat, which has undoubtedly saved many a pensioner from death by hypothermia.

But in the hands of a group of 10 year old schoolboys intent on mischief, a radiator key can do much much more. We found out that we could lock toilet cubicle doors from the outside using this tool. Naturally, we proceeded to do so at every available opportunity. For two whole weeks the scandal went on. How would the powers-that-be respond to the crisis? Eventually, an assembly was called to address the situation.

"People are locking cubicles from the inside and climbing over, rendering them unusable," barked the headmaster, clearly quite annoyed at the ongoing disruption to toilet usage. A select few, of course, knew different.

A few days after the assembly, it all came to a head. We were midway through securing a toilet door yet again in the boys changing rooms, when in burst the headmaster and the sports teacher in what was no doubt a meticulously planned ambush.

In their excitement the sports teacher proclaimed "Ah ha, Headmaster, we've caught the toilet mountaineers in the act!"

We couldn’t help laughing at this ridiculous exclamation from Mr Dresser. Neither could the headmaster. It took some time before order was restored.

Eventually, however, the toilet mountaineers were banged to rights. Fortunately, when they sent a letter home detailing the whole sordid tale, my mum thought it was funny too.

I'm letting this one go because I like it, but if anyone can explain to me exactly how you can lock a toilet door from the outside using a radiator key, please let me know. If it's possible, there's going to be some toilet mountaineering at my workplace, make no mistake. - Matt
If you walk into a toilet cubicle to find a dirty great fucking big crow sitting on the bowl, there are two options you can follow.
You can slowly back away slowly and find another cubicle, or you can shit everywhere and run screaming through the crowded dining hall with your trousers around your ankles. I chose the latter course of action.
1. Grab a roll of toilet paper
2. Put one end in the toilet and throw the roll to your friend in the next cubicle. Get your friend to tear it off and put his end in his toilet.
3. Flush both toilets simultaneously.

The winner is the toilet that pulls the bigger half of the paper down its greedy sluice.

A knock-out tournament can then be organised to discover the "ultimate toilet". Nick Ledwell was incredibly proud that he used the ultimate toilet until it was pointed out that this was the toilet that loved guzzling shit the most, making it the ultimate gay toilet. And so the ultimate toilet became the least-used toilet.

  • Make a loose fist, with the thumb and forefinger hoop at the top.
  • Ask a friend to put their finger into the hoop.
  • Ask if they would be so kind as to wiggle their finger around for a moment.
  • Inform them that they have just cleaned your toilet. With their finger.

Two 'special' kids, one called Tom and one called Robert. Robert was big and dumpy and knew all the bus times, Tom was skinny and smelly and went everywhere with his snorkel pipe parker jacket hood done up, even in summer. Every breaktime two of us were picked to look after their retarded asses to make sure that Tom didn't set the fire extinguisher off...again. Everyone hated being picked to be the spastic sheepdogs, but it became a feature of break that we would back them into a quiet corner of the playground and then make them snog each other with tongues. Robert liked it but Tom hated it and would make a noise he called 'snarling'...a gutteral growl. Strangely we never tired of this innocent fun.
Thomas Locking made a very bad mistake in confiding to me, in nonchalant tones, for all the world as though it was nothing to be deeply ashamed of, that his dad had had a vasectomy. Within the hour, everybody knew about Tom's Dad's jaffaness, and the fact that he could no longer come.
Things became worse for him in more ways than he could ever have imagined when he informed us that, "He CAN come, there just isn't anything IN it!"
Further Catch 22-ery.

"Do you sleep with Tony Hart?"

When the victim (it had to be a he, for obvious reasons) replied in the negative you could smugly answer "what, you haven't got a toe a knee and a heart, cripple?"

Obviously an affirmative answer is too, too dark to even consider.
The phrase which inexplicably made Ian May cry.
I wasn't a hard kid and I played a musical instrument, so I didn't qualify for the top floor of the bus. However from my vantage point on the bottom deck of the bus I was afforded a cracking view of one of the top floor windows, having been kicked out at some speed, narrowly missing the teacher on bus duty.
I learned two amazing facts that day:
  1. You can drop a bus window from the full height of a double decker bus onto concrete and still have it not break.
  2. You can get away with such a wanton act of destruction under the weak guise of "trying to kill a wasp".
If I'd been a bit harder I would have been able to give you the top-floor-of-the-bus-point-of-view of that story which I'm sure is far more sexy and dangerous. As it is, I can instead play the violin to an extremely low standard.
Game named quite obviously after the gayest film of all time. When the top gun craze hit these shores, the playground variant involved running around with arms outstretched to form "wings" and their thumbs sticking out to form deadly guns. To lock on to your quandary, you had to make a series of beeps. Once you were making a constant lock tone, you could fire your missile. The only option left to your enemy would be to apply their air brakes, which they did by turning their thumbs upward. You missiles would then sail harmlessly by. Thus, no-one ever got hit by the missiles, and the game degraded into physical attacks on the first person to rely on "air brakes".
It's hard to know how soon is "too soon", and it's perhaps fair to say that we didn't know, one particularly sombre morning when we were called into assembly to be told of the death of our science teacher in a boating accident. His name was Mr Rowbottom.
I had a mate at school who was so homophobic that the word 'touche' would cause him to shudder in revulsion. In his twisted mind, that was the word gay men used whilst swordfighting with their willies.

Methought the lady didst protest too much.
Our primary school was an old Victorian pile with a disused toilet block out the back. Carved into the door of this was the name 'Kevin Traas'. My friends Scott and Carl realised that this meant the toilet block was haunted, and the name of the spectre was Kevin.
'Looking for Kevin Traas' became a major pastime, in which we would all traipse around the school with a toy Ghostbusters PKE Meter (which Scott insisted on calling an 'Amy Peeker') which had been prised open and an old circuit board inserted to 'make it work'.
Kevin even made an appearance in our English lessons. Scott, Carl and my other friends eschewed the traditional 'what I did at the weekend' for stories in which they entered the old toilet block, found a subterranean tunnel, in which was Kevin Traas, who was by now a blood-soaked ghoul, and fully illustrated as such. They then proceeded to blast the undead Hell out of Kevin with, invariably, a pump action shotgun. Kevin Traas never stood a chance.
Arriving late to the changing rooms, Andrew was asked where he'd been. 'Oh', he said, 'I've just been upstairs getting my tracksuit trousers'. Unfortunately, Aaron misheard him, thinking he'd used the phrase 'tracksuit trumps' as a plummy nickname for the good old British PE kit. Cue much 'ohhh, tracksuit trumps' mockery in cod-upper class voices. Quite unfair, and probably quite confusing for Andrew, who may have thought that a dangerous new game of tracksuit trumps was being invented.