| Report for s field | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 11 |
| Rejected stories | 15 |
| Deleted stories | 4 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
Exceptionally large holdalls manufactured by Head were briefly fashionable in the late 1980s and early 1990s. From their "classic" look - a base blue colour with red lettering - the bags became so popular that they started making pink ones for girls and fluorescent ones for wankers.
The inside of a Head bag was so vast that nobody could hope to fill it with legitimate school supplies, but was the perfect size for us to incarcerate any first year pupil who happened to own one of the bags. A twist of a paperclip would lock the zip, and a good kicking would be applied for luck. After lunch it was common to see at least one squirming mound of lurid PVC in the middle of the playground.
The inside of a Head bag was so vast that nobody could hope to fill it with legitimate school supplies, but was the perfect size for us to incarcerate any first year pupil who happened to own one of the bags. A twist of a paperclip would lock the zip, and a good kicking would be applied for luck. After lunch it was common to see at least one squirming mound of lurid PVC in the middle of the playground.
The process where by two or more (older, stronger) pupils up-end a (younger, weaker) male pupil ... take hold of each leg ... and run him, spread legged - crotch first, into the nearest tree. AKA 'posting' at inner-city scumbo schools where no trees are available.
There came a time, at some point in the fourth year, when every pupil was innoculated by the school nurse with the tuberculosis vaccine. This was a very painfull injection that she adminstered towards the top of the left arm, and often resulted in a visible ring shaped pustule, swelling of the skin and many, many tears before bedtime. Needless to say those weak swollen arms were like a red rag to a bull. Within hours the popularity of the game 'deadarm deadarm' (which must be pronounced with the start of the pink panther theme in mind) had reached epidemic proportions. Swift to react, teachers soon declared that anyone caught administering deadarms would face immediate suspension. This, in turn, led to hundreds of shouts proclaiming AAHHH TB whenever a fellow (disliked) pupil was (usually innocently) standing nearby and any teacher was within reasonable earshot.
An unsolveable enigma, a confounding mystery a poo conundrum. Based on a time when an orderly queue of some twenty or so pupils had formed outside our boys’ toilets, eager to steal a glimpse of the wonder within. Somebody or something had somehow managed to deposit a spectacularly healthy looking stool, right at the absolute, trigonometrically-perfect-epicentre of the large tiled floor. This wondrous turd-column was 10 metres away from any wall, appeared to have suffered no impact-collapse from its deposition on the floor and was unaccompanied by wee-wee or any other form of calling cards. The party responsible was never found. After weeks of analysis we failed to identify anyone bright enough to work out the maths involved, or, thoughtful enough to have carried out such a needlessly well-considered act of dirty genius. It was a poo conundrum.
A far more satisfying whispering prank. Firstly, locate a very old male teacher whoose failing hearing necessitates the use of one of those enormous spakka-special hearing aids on each ear. When the lesson commences everybody in the class must answer all questions in a whisper whilst at the same time maintaining the appearance of talking at a normal level. Repeat untill you see the teacher adjust both brick ear-muff hearing aids to maximum input volume. Wait untill the next question and then all shout the answer at the top of your voice (if you don't know the answer to the question, then a shrill high pitched scream will suffice). Now all sit back and laugh heartily at the sight of a man in his late 70s crying in pain due to the assault his ear drums have recieved from thirty spiteful 12 year olds.
Cockney rhyming slang. Any small pastey spod of a kid who instigates the schools first after school BBC computer club. Is also often the appointed library monitor, where, giddy with power, will inevitably grass-up other pupils in his year group for showing hardcore porn videos to 1st years. Above all a mincer, a GAY.
The standard fee 'special girl' Phillipa Stroud charged for a quick shuffty of her front-bottom.
(Note to Log/Phil: I ditched this because I THINK it's a load of bollocks and ripped off from The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole. It might be from something else though. If you know what book/film/thing this person has pretended really happened, do let me know.)
(Note to Log/Phil: I ditched this because I THINK it's a load of bollocks and ripped off from The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole. It might be from something else though. If you know what book/film/thing this person has pretended really happened, do let me know.)
I also recall a wimpy special that was available for public consumption for a short time in Birmingham ... 'The Big Bender in a Bun'. Thankfuly it was served on a real plate and could be consumed with a real knife and fork. Greedily shovelling a whole bender into your face would have been a little... gay.
(Why you chose to put this under Terrance Trent D'Arby is beyond me, but thanks for sharing, Stephan - Log)
(Why you chose to put this under Terrance Trent D'Arby is beyond me, but thanks for sharing, Stephan - Log)
Another linguistic cul-de-sac coup. Kid A "Did you watch spastics say no last night on TV, it was ace!" Kid B "No". Kid A "HA, HA you're a spastic!" I was duped with this one early one playtime. It took me until lunch to figure out why it had happened to me.
A method of protecting your favoured place in a canteen. A pritt-stick, lid off, was hurled to the ceiling directly above your chair. The threat of non-toxic adhesive looming ever above would deter any pretenders to your plastic throne.
Leaving you to sit under it, instead. A mixed blessing.
Leaving you to sit under it, instead. A mixed blessing.
I have heard that the female participant should have a mouth chock-full of jizzum ready for when the male participant offers her his gift. It is said that the ensuing mix of bodily fluids affords a far more appealing 'rainbow' effect.
kid A (when remarking upon some facet relating to kid B's schoolwork) "wow that's ace". kid B "why thank you". kid A (initial letters pronounced with vigour)"Yeah, its A Crap Effort!"
A pacticularly lethal type of boff that offered no audible warning before assaulting the nostrels. A Silent But Deadly
shit-on-a-stick. A variation of the above where a longer stick is inserted into a poo. Rather than purely art for arts sake, this variant of shit stick was usually construced to be used as an intimidating weapon. Brandish your fresh shit stick at arms length and then run towards your enemy / anyone nearby. Be sure to be heard constantly screaming "shit-on-a-stick, shit-on-a-stick!" throughout the whole debalce.
Small multi-couloured puffed sugar rice. On sale at the breaktime tuck shop for 5p a bag. Contained enough E-Numbers to fell a mechanical horse. Guaranteed to induce raging spasms, violent behaviour, and epileptic fits in anyone fortunate enough to try some. And that's before you even get started on the name.
A finger (usualy one's own index finger) that has been inserted into the rear passage. Traditionally one has to sing "A finger a fudge is just enough to give you kids a treat. It's full of chocalatey goodness and Oh so good to eat..." whilst performing the act.
Just a fairly shit – if charming - insult song; sung to the tune from the Pet Shop Boy's hit single 'Go West'.
Pascal, wrestles grizzly bears.
Pascal, in the open air.
Pascal, in his underwear.
Pascal, that's why we don't care.
If we were really so indifferent to Pascal’s habits, however, it’s odd that we spent so much time singing about how much we didn’t care.
Pascal, wrestles grizzly bears.
Pascal, in the open air.
Pascal, in his underwear.
Pascal, that's why we don't care.
If we were really so indifferent to Pascal’s habits, however, it’s odd that we spent so much time singing about how much we didn’t care.
also ginster gyppo. A kid whoose parents neglected to care for, or nourish properly. A ginster gyppo's packedlunch box would never contain carefully handcrafted, lovingly prepared snacks or sarnies.
Something the hard lads at school devoted much time and effort to achieve. By vigorously rubbing the skin on the back of your hand with a two pence piece (tails down was best) you could friction-burn away the top few layers of skin. When repeated enough times this would lead to a much-admired thick brown scab about a cm wide and up to an inch long. One of the more unhinged hard knocks at my school had perfected this art to such a degree that both his lower forearms came to resemble Tony the Tiger's hind legs ... At the time it made no sense either.
Best practice was to follow this up with a triumphal 'posting' for the bruised dissorientated soul that the pile-on was held on top of. Then, if feeling paticualrly spitefull a good old fashioned 'headbagging' might follow. This triple combo became popular in the witch-hunting months at the begining of any new term ... the schoolyard equivalent of being hung, drawn and quartered.
Requires no expalnation.
"Go ape shit", to spazz-out, have a benny, throw a wobbler. Extreme versions include "ape shit crazy on all fours" (Stephen Fry) and "ape shit on toast".
Someone severeley lacking in co-ordination, motor-ability and self-control (an Arch-Deacon). Once identified you must approach, force your tounge into your lower lip (as ever), slap your left wrist with the back of your right hand and shout "duuurrrr... watch breaker".
Bullshitter extrordinaire. Amongst his more outlandish yarns was the time he claimed to have found a top of the range, wheel-less scrambler motorbike in a ditch close to school. After quickly modifying it to take the wheels from his mountain bike he successfully competed in the popular ITV Sunday afternoon show ‘Junior Kickstart’. Wanted to be black - insisted on talking with one of the worse approximations of a Jamaican accent ever heard. Refered to himself as MC Colin B. Everyone else knew him as ‘The Cunt’. The word ‘Bricknell’ soon became a universal derogatory term applied to any kid prone to spak-attacks, or, any story that had a feint sniff of the bullshit about it.
no, no, no the way to summon beelzibub was to stand in front of a mirror in a darkened room on the first night of the month. Whilst holding a candle in front of you, you must spin round three times whilst chanting 'hell mary, hell mary, hell mary'. No one has ever verified if this works or not because everyone gets far too scared to chant the final 'hell mary'.
Hilarious insult directed towards the balloning fat boy at school whose parents had seen fit to “economise” on their school uniform expenditure by intentionally purchasing trousers and blazers that were several sizes too big ... The original Barry Bethall being the ugly middle aged porker that featued on the first Slim-Fast TV adverts - in oversized trousers – with thumb extending waistband - proclaiming to all “I used to be this big!”.
The Midland Bank's least kudos-bequeathing playground fashion accessory, which doubled as (someone else's) curling stone during icy winters.
In hindsight I wish there had been a branch of NatWest closer to home - those shitty pottery pigs they doled out go for a minty bundle nowadays.
In hindsight I wish there had been a branch of NatWest closer to home - those shitty pottery pigs they doled out go for a minty bundle nowadays.
Once every one in the known universe had got hold of a Griffin Savers Bag (I swear I even saw Ethiopians with them the first time Band Aid came round) their popularity started to wane. However, one way to postpone their demise was devised. The designers at Midland Bank had had the foresight to equip the bottom of this inimitable holdall with four friction defying plastic studs: which meant that once a year, when winter came around, it was given a new lease of life as the playground curling stone of choice.
Competitors had to spend all of morning break and most of lunch time developing a neck breaking, dinner lady killing, super fast icy skid run down the steepest part of the playground – only then could the games begin. Scissor, Paper, Stone was used to decide whose holdall would be the “Jack Bag”. After which curlers would take turns to see whose Griffin had the winning formula.
Whoever’s bag got the closest would be crowned “King of the Curlers”. Whoever’s was furthest away would be unceremoniously jumped up and down upon by all competitors until their Heman lunchbox shattered and a faint whiff of Vimto and egg sarnie filled the air.
Somewhat inevitably (as all competitors’ bags looked the same) Griffin Curling proved to be the perfect recipe for arguments, violence and gang warfare of the highest order. Every game would end up in an orgy of bag stamping, flailing arms, tears and shattered dreams. Which lead to a school-wide ban of curling AND skid runs. I never got to be crowned King.
Competitors had to spend all of morning break and most of lunch time developing a neck breaking, dinner lady killing, super fast icy skid run down the steepest part of the playground – only then could the games begin. Scissor, Paper, Stone was used to decide whose holdall would be the “Jack Bag”. After which curlers would take turns to see whose Griffin had the winning formula.
Whoever’s bag got the closest would be crowned “King of the Curlers”. Whoever’s was furthest away would be unceremoniously jumped up and down upon by all competitors until their Heman lunchbox shattered and a faint whiff of Vimto and egg sarnie filled the air.
Somewhat inevitably (as all competitors’ bags looked the same) Griffin Curling proved to be the perfect recipe for arguments, violence and gang warfare of the highest order. Every game would end up in an orgy of bag stamping, flailing arms, tears and shattered dreams. Which lead to a school-wide ban of curling AND skid runs. I never got to be crowned King.
That's not a 'Black Man's Willy'. Any fool knows it's called a 'Wanking Grandad' - thanks to the shrivelled, twisted, barely levitated stump that you are left with.
Thanks to Fila trainers spotting the guy who could help you score a 'teenth in the early 90s was a cinch.