| Report for petrocelli . | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 12 |
| Pending stories | 1 |
| Rejected stories | 14 |
| Deleted stories | 12 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
if so i recommend singing 'barbara ann' by the beach boys every lesson. she'll ignore it at first, maybe even chuckle slightly. 3 years down the line the bitch will crack!
Keith Barnes was his name. a goon of monumental porportions. Keith treaded that ever so fine social line between the hard lads and the partially sighted unit. you see, keith was from one of the rougher estates and his bessy mate was an albino called joel (or as he became known spunky joel - totally different story) So we were on a school trip to france and keith had been pissing everyone off by spitting bits of paper at everyone while we were walking around this french town. A few minutes later Keith foolishly announced that he desperately needed a shit but didn't know how to ask to use someone's toilet in french. We decided it would be funny to feed him some bullshit french which would get him into trouble, but 4 other lads thought it better to pick up some sticks from the local park and beat him on the arse till he shit himself. which he did. in a big way. think mc hammer trousers. keith had a 3 mile run back to the hostel and rather than throw the pants in the bin outside, such is keith's logic, he decided to stick them down the back of the radiator in HIS fucking room!! we received some reliable intelligence 2 years later that said pants were still in position. i didn't see keith much after that until he turned up on the same work experience assignment as me, where he tried to push a full trolley up four flights of stairs rather than use the fully functioning lift. i imagine keith is now at the bottom of a very shitty ladder somewhere desperate to show his potential to anyone who can stand to be in the same postcode as him.
Form time - one lucky student was assigned the chore of collecting the register from the school office. Wayne Rutherford was this boy. wayne hung with the hard kids but was always kissing up to the teacher yet miraculously avoided a single beating. However, Wayne had a different name for the register. The Red Chester. at first we thought it was just a pronunciation thing until on the last day of school we asked him to spell it. He confirmed our suspicions that he was the most stupid kid we had ever met. i didn't hear from him for 2 years until i found out he had passed his fucking driving test before i did, which still cuts deep to this very day.
For a period of about a year Stevie Freeman had the title of hardest lad. Now Stevie was not the young bohemian you'd expect him to be, but rather a total cunt who lived in a caravan and always smelled of chip fat. He effectively ruled the school with an iron fist and a wooden brain. Now stevie was the only person i've ever met who could not spell either his first or last name. Have you ever seen the name steven spelt with 2 'R's. I doubt it. A keen sports fan, stevie regularly enthused about 'that Bryan Giggs' while charming the ladies with such choice lines as 'get your rat out'. Stevie actually showed an unhealthy interest in my cousin for a while until my uncle threatened him with a machete. Now we were in woodwork one day finishing our gcse project (mine was a helicopter whose rotors turned when it was pushed - stevie's was a sharpened stick that he liked to poke people with) and my mate chris (super placid guy, very funny, not thought of as being remotely handy) was working the circular saw when stevie thought it would be funny to hit him over the head with a second stick he was working on (Stevie was nothing if not prolific). What ensued was one of the most memorable and life affirming moments of school. Chris turned round, already stressed by the coursework deadline but now having been pushed over the edge, eyeballed stevie from a distance of about an inch, screamed 'what the fuck do you think you're doing you prick' and proceeded to grab siad stick and raise it to a threatening height. What followed was incredible to watch as the bravado flowed out of stevie like so much dole money out his dads bank account. stevie attempted to rescue himself by claiming it was all a joke and doing that low pitched 'hur hur' laugh, when you knew all he wanted to do was cry. stevie was never quite the same after that, and never bothered chris again. we all knew he was thick as pigshit and laughed at him (in secret), but now there was a flaw in his resolve, and i think everyone was a little less scared. except stubbsy the short skinny blond kid who took a pummeling in rugby the next day. I last saw stevie on the door of a nightclub putting his skills to work. he had got fatter but hadn't really changed. his attitude to the ladies had though. no more vulgarity for stevie, but rather the sensitive approach. 'i'm gonna fuck you later'
The first Gulf War prompted no moral discussion on the ethics of modern warfare. It did provide a sparkling new range of insults. Out went threatening to 'smack' someone and in came the terror-inducing 'I'll scud you in the eye', for example.
The 'exocet' shot was introduced to football, and everybody called Colin was re-christened Colon after Colon Powell.
The 'exocet' shot was introduced to football, and everybody called Colin was re-christened Colon after Colon Powell.
Wrestling proved to be a big hit in my school especially among the fuckwits who hadn't sussed it yet. Most popular move: elbow drop accompanied by a cry of 'da elboooowwww'. A kid named Jonny Lee took it a step further by trying to blind people with 'the claw' whilst strangely celebrating the fact with a form of bastard french - 'I'll knock you to the floor, avec le claw!' And people say there's no room for violence in education.
Ah science weaponry. We must not forget the humble gas tap which, when not connected to the rubber hosing would produce an intense ball of flame that seems only to burn hair and not flesh. Thus many an eyebrow were lost during a double science. Other forms of gas tap fun were filling some goon's metal pencil tin (preferably the mong whose tin had a picture of pens and pencils on the front - lame) with gas and then lighting and holding one of those wooden splints next to it as it's opened. the resulting fireball would guarantee messy pants. And finally, extreme electromagnets. Take one of those shitty blue power packs from physics, a normal iron nail, wrap some wire around it and then pump as much current into it as possible until the nail glows red. With the crafty use of some tongs brand the back of someone's neck and wait for the scream.
Very strange. Our local tramp was known as the Wizard and legend has it that he was a successful lawyer who lost it all and ended up living in the only thing that he had left, his car. However, the myth lacked credence as his car was an astra, and he looked like a sex offender.
Why is it that the truly fucked up kids only come alive in woodwork? In my school, it was Graham Robson, aka Granner. Total lunatic. Rumours of his brother and dad beating him with nunchuks circulated the school, and this evidently affected the child somewhat. There was literally nothing he wouldn't do to himself, but it only happened in woodwork. It began with the news that he could bend one leg over his head and hop around on the other, a truly chilling sight. From there we discovered that he had a penchant for attention. The challenges escalated from 'Granner tell the teacher he's a gaylord' to true shockers such as 'Granner drill a hole through your foot' and 'punch yourself in the nads (it was the mid 90's) as hard as you can.'Both of which were completed with gusto. Granner was fun to watch until he randomly chose your stuff to eat/wipe his arse with. I lost a pencil case that day, and a damn good metal ruler. Last i heard he was a farmer living by himself...with an arsenal of weaponry and a sex dungeon i suspect.
Why is it that the truly fucked up kids only come alive in woodwork? In my school, it was Graham Robson, aka Granner. Total lunatic. Rumours of his brother and dad beating him with nunchuks circulated the school, and this evidently affected the child somewhat. There was literally nothing he wouldn't do to himself, but it only happened in woodwork. It began with the news that he could bend one leg over his head and hop around on the other, a truly chilling sight. From there we discovered that he had a penchant for attention. The challenges escalated from 'Granner tell the teacher he's a gaylord' to true shockers such as 'Granner drill a hole through your foot' and 'punch yourself in the nads (it was the mid 90's) as hard as you can.'Both of which were completed with gusto. Granner was fun to watch until he randomly chose your stuff to eat/wipe his arse with. I lost a pencil case that day, and a damn good metal ruler. Last i heard he was a farmer living by himself...with an arsenal of weaponry and a sex dungeon i suspect.
Or possibly eeessssshhhh! Maybe a durham thing.
Taxing could, however, be countered by the cunning use of a 'super tax' - it was in monopoly, therefore could be used legitimately. Unfortunately with nowhere to go after super tax - mega tax wasn't allowed - many decided that 'you bent twat' and a fight was the next logical conclusion. Which it was. And still is.
'If that bitch gives us any homework today i'll fucking stab her eyes out' - Something i shouldn't have said while Mrs Higgins was following me to class.
quite simply the funniest piece of P.E equipment ever invented. Hours of fun were had by turning the hurdles around whilst a race was in progress, and watching people hit them, expect the hurdle to fall, and then land face first in a mangled pile of wood, metal and bone. This game was further enhanced with the addition of the rubber discus firing squad, who would hurl them at the runners legs, thus inhibiting their hurdling rhythm to the point where severe injury was possible, and also expected.
the fruits of Mrs Carter's folly in allowing us to choose our own names for our sex organs in biology. She used this for a whole lesson until we pushed too far with fluffy pussy fish dish. a great day.
an excellent answer for any unknown question on an exam paper. Especially effective if all the class could be convinced to write this for a question on Mr Harland's geography paper. Would guarantee a screaming diatribe from said teacher including the Judge Dredd-inspired 'I am the curriculum!!!' Not one for over-reaction Mr Harland also threatend to take the entire school to the European Court of Justice after he was hit in the leg by a paper aeroplane.'In the eyes of the law, this is a MISSILE!!!!' and in the eyes of the school, you are a twat.
When asked to read out loud, bear in mind that one of two scenarios will always prevail;
- A child not making mistakes would be jabbed in the ribs with a ruler. This would make his voice break, allowing everyone to call him a girl.
- A word would be seriously mispronounced (for example, the Christopher Frame Orange-Ootang incident). This word would become one's nickname for the foreseeable future.
Not what you want to hear about your English teacher, when she's got a face like a fire-damaged lego brick and a body like The Raggydoll's Sadsack. You'll spend the rest of your English lessons trying desperately not to imagine her naked.
And constantly, constantly, failing.
And constantly, constantly, failing.
Outrageous assertion by Andrew Bradley, in response to our constant barrage of crap questions. Suddenly, we began to wonder if he was as clever as he said he was.
Andrew Bradley became king of the baffling insult as a result of his constant battle of wits with a boy named Chog. Now chog was very tall, wore glasses, looked aryan and ran like he had rickets, but Bradley neglected these more typical areas of instead developing the brutal 'trichloroethane teeth' and 'grinner man'. awesome.
A lie by Andrew Bradley, famously disproved at first band practice when it became evident he could only play songs by Eric fucking Clapton.
Outrageous claim from Paul Walker that the loose cannon Geordie cop played by Jimmy Nail was, in fact, his dad. However, rather than an attempt to command awe and authority, it was simply an excuse to say 'how bastard!' and headbutt someone.
Based on the mispresumption that headbutting people is genetic, and not just a symptom of living in Newcastle.
Based on the mispresumption that headbutting people is genetic, and not just a symptom of living in Newcastle.
Similarly lacking in mental agility was crime-ambitious Peter Wynne who decided to loot our local post office's sweet counter.
Not entirely devoid of logical thought, Peter got there as early as possible, to minimise witnesses, donned his open faced balaclava and thieved as much as he could, before the post mistress had a thrombo.
Peter ran home, mission emphatically accomplished, the perfect crime, perfectly executed.
Until the police collared him at his house about 10 minutes later. Was it a trail of dropped Kola Kubes that grassed poor Peter up? Nothing so unmoronic... it was the perfect set of footprints in that morning's fresh snowfall.
Peter's was betrayed by his own Gola copies. Seriously, though. Gola copies. You might as well Xerox a cat turd.
Not entirely devoid of logical thought, Peter got there as early as possible, to minimise witnesses, donned his open faced balaclava and thieved as much as he could, before the post mistress had a thrombo.
Peter ran home, mission emphatically accomplished, the perfect crime, perfectly executed.
Until the police collared him at his house about 10 minutes later. Was it a trail of dropped Kola Kubes that grassed poor Peter up? Nothing so unmoronic... it was the perfect set of footprints in that morning's fresh snowfall.
Peter's was betrayed by his own Gola copies. Seriously, though. Gola copies. You might as well Xerox a cat turd.
the gay tray was undoubtedly the most feared inanimate object in school. emblazened in green with the helpful label, it became a daily ordeal to try and avoid it as otherwise whatever you had to eat that lunchtime would become the staple diet of a gay, and said food would work its homo magic in your belly turning you into a total bummer.
Ill-advised and all-too-camp exclamation by Mr Brown, obviously not content with having such an ordinary name. It became brilly burgers for at least 5 years.
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 épouse ne rase pas ses aisselles."
"Le boucher qui travail a La Rochelle, il touche les enfants, parce que son épouse ne rase pas ses aisselles."
Truly terrifying navvie who was kept in the boiler room. Would frequently threaten to 'rip your fuckin head off' if disturbed, and famously responded to the deputy head's request to lower the heating temperature by audibly muttering 'cunt' and reluctantly agreeing. Occasionally in charge of the tuck shop, Billy had not kept his eye on inflation and could easily be persuaded to sell you a tub of 1000 mojos for 12p.
There was a Barry at our school, who incredibly wasn't a geek, fat, or stupid. Unfortunately his surname was Tease. So, boys howled 'Ooooh Barry is a Tease' in the gayest way imaginable. Actually, even gayer than that.
So he might as well have been a geek, fat, or stupid for all the bullying he got.
So he might as well have been a geek, fat, or stupid for all the bullying he got.
What followed was the most wonderfully-timed fart by, otherwise spoddy, Ross Laidler in assembly. Had me in tears, and also proved to be one of the most pungent in school history causing a first year girl to be sick into her hands.
First, the VCR will be poked suspiciously by teacher, like the apes with the obelisk in 2001. Teacher will quickly become disheartened by his/her complete lack of common sense and resort to more technical methods such as lightly tapping the top of the equipment and switching it off then on again. In a moment of complete despair, teacher will foolishly ask for help from student who will make it work, but also fuck with the tracking so much that the epileptic kid will have bitten through his tongue by the end of the programme.
Particularly effective if coupled with Geordie word for 'man', 'gadgey'.
laughing nasally in the face of customs laws, our French exchange students managed to import large quantities of booze, fags and weed. In awe we 'let' them shag all our fit girls. All hopes of the favour being returned were dashed when we arrived in France to be greeted by a herd of fat moustachioed munters. But that's La Rochelle for you...
'Miss what the fuck's that?' asked typically courteous Kevin Ball. 'It's a radio Kevin' she replied, making me suspect that Kevin was not cut out for advanced electronics class.
FAGGUNT - the highly efficient combination of the words 'fat' and 'cunt' in a way that rendered you immune to detention
Apt moniker for rich bitch Susan who acted 'common' by fucking anyone who smoked, drove a souped up Nova or was over the age of 30. Did herself no favours by walking like she had rickets.
'Seriously mum, fucking take it back...OK I'll wear one if you do...' said Simon foolishly as his mum dug out another £3.50 and headed to Durham market.
Just be thankful that you had a spectrum or C64 and didn't have a dad who thought it would be funny to buy you an atari 65xe with no games. My only chance to get games was to visit the pikey who appeared on the Quayside market once every six months, presumably between sentences. Also be thankful that you didn't have a stupid bitch of a sister who swapped it for her mates' Vic 20.
Well there is the Femmen Vag shower curtain. Presumably made from beef...