Life, fundamental unfairness of
At the age of 5, I was taken out of class and made to wait outside the headmistress's office. While I was there I was told that I had been seen looking into the girls' toilets.

I burst into tears as I stood on a white square on the chequered floor (something we had to do when we'd been naughty, perhaps to highlight our stained souls against the whiteness of tile). A teacher walked up and asked me why I was crying.

"Because I didn't do it!" I said.
"But if you didn't do it, why are you crying?" she replied, stonily.

It was at that moment I realised that the world was fundamentally unfair.
written by Ch*ef Ch*rpa, approved by Log

As part of a punishment, you may be asked to decide the punishment yourself. The teacher will then decide whether you've opted for a harsh enough sentence, and may add humourous tweaks, if he's that sort of teacher.

Tactics for the student varied, opting for an exagerrated sentence would show that you recognised the severity of your sins, but you ran the risk of the teacher agreeing with you.

Alternately, you could try saying "you could make me go home, sir" - or "you could give me three millions pounds so I can go mental on drugs and end up dead", in the hope that such cheeky-chappery will make the teacher say "dooo, I couldn't possibly punish you... you have such spirit", before lovingly chasing you around the classroom.
written by Cr*sh H*pp*, approved by Log

Another classic "clever teacher punishment" is to make you write an essay, detailing why your behaviour was wrong; when you hand it in, they simply screw it up and throw it away.

This was supposedly intended to dishearten and break the spirit of the wrongdoer. In reality, it just let the student know that they didn't really care if you'd learned your lesson, which is as good as saying "do it again, it was brilliant".

Get the best of every world by writing an essay on why Mr Deller is a big tit who insists on being called PC Deller when he's only in the fucking specials, MNNGNG. It's a big gamble that you can only lose, and it's not at all worth it, but... you might as well.
written by Go*ty*Gott*, approved by Log

When I was at junior school, a friend and I stumbled across a patch of playground tarmac that had a bag of crisps enthusiastically stamped into it.

We approached the margins of the stamped crisp zone, and nervously trod on one crisp each.

As soon as we did so, a squad of prefects leapt out of hiding and dragged us off to the headmaster. They told him that we were the culprits of the entire crisp-stamping episode.
We lost a day's playtime. It is because of this that I can empathise with the Guildford Four.

Why they had prefects at a junior school I have no idea. They were abolished by the time I got to the final year, so I never had a chance to wreak proxy revenge on younger pupils.
written by Ma*t Fas*am, approved by Rosy

In Primary school I was once made to wait outside the Headmistress's room for a whole playtime, quaking in my boots about what I could have done wrong, only to have her step out just before the bell rang to tell me she was "glad I hadn't been involved in the violent incident earlier" when my best friend had kicked someone in the head. I've never been more angry with a teacher in my life.

Except maybe for the time I got shouted at for "kissing a boy" despite the fact that the boy in question had kicked me in the ankle, pushed me onto the grass and held me down in order to perpetrate the kiss. That's Catholic schools for you. Treat 8-year-old girls like the hussies they are.
written by Su* K, approved by Matt