A local urban myth peddled by an irresponsible adult about a local old man who used to go mad when someone shouted "squashed liver" through his letterbox. The old man was then capable of speeds up to 70 mph when chasing kids who had shouted squashed liver, who he would then kill. He is still alive today, but due to being over 90 cannot get above 40 mph.

'Ding dong ding dong, your nose is that long.' Sung to the tune of Big Ben striking.
Weak insult, even by five year-old standards, but we laughed at the time.

In junior school a boy called Darren showed me the Vulcan Hand Fanny. When I looked at it, I had no idea what it was supposed to be.

"It's a woman's dick," Darren explained enthusiastically.

Jon Dale was discovered furiously knocking one out over a pencil drawing of an "Elven Cheerleader" in a bedraggled copy of White Dwarf magazine. We never played "Blood Bowl" again.

Mr Boyd was banned from driving a car, after one too many tipsy-tours. This confined him to a scooter, and freed up the whole day for guilt-free drinking from a bottle he kept on his desk. This came to an end on the day that Nick Reid had a drink from his bottle.
Mr Boyd whipped around from the blackboard and yelled "Excuse me, I've already had my breakfast!"
We all sat there in silence, wondering what he was talking about. He then explained with the following: "If you're going to drink in my class, drink from a glass".
So, Nick asked if he could go and get a glass. "NO!" shouted Mr Boyd.
Cue five minutes of stunned silence. Mr Boyd just stood there, obviously livid by this point, and asked "What are you all looking at me for?"
"Because you're the teacher?" came the mousy reply from Joe Boyer. Pat then stormed out, allowing us a replacement teacher for the rest of the year.

Franzi was a cartoon pig in Deutsche Heute textbooks. A few swift swishes of the pen later and suddenly the illustrations showed him in a variety of homosexual/masturbatory acts. Thus he became "Franzi the Gay Pig". Some textbooks just seem to be illustrated in a way that invites scribblings of "ooooh, yeah, fuck my gash" and huge spurting members inserted up farting bumholes.
I wonder, if I went back to my old schools, and asked to see the textbooks, would the same one's I grafittied still be in use? Is it too much to ask? Please Lord...

Another of the mystical acts, such as felching, and squicking. Simply to clear the air, my understanding of a rainbow kiss is that the man gives the lady a mouthpiece when she is subscribing to the monthly rags. After a certain time, he rears up his head and kisses the lady, who doesn't appear to mind that she is being fed her own chewed up placenta. Why this is a rainbow kiss is somewhat confusing. Red, for the blood, obviously. Yellow, for the wee-wee. But green, purple, blue? I should be concerned.

1991, and Matty was staying over at Taylor's house. Taylor's mum and dad had gone out and when they returned, Taylor's parents sent the two fourteen year olds off to bed in a perfectly normal fashion. The following day, when viewed through the inexplicable filter of rumour madness, this gradually:

Became: Taylor's mum and dad came back pissed up and sent the lads packing.
Became: Taylor's dad was drunkenly groping Taylor's mum whilst slurring 'It's OK, love, the lads are going upstairs now'.
Became: Taylor's mum and dad went into the kitchen to have it off, regardless of who was where in the house.
Became: They were so pissed up and randy, they had sex IN THE OVEN while Taylor cried.

Needless to say Matty, who was recounting the story, remained cool and aloof throughout the sordid carry-on.

That chip which appears on every tenth plate, with an end both greeny-blackened and foul-tasting. The discovery of the turd chip leads to this conversation.
A : Want a chip?
B : How unexpectedly kind. Thanks.
A : Here you go.
B : Er, not that one. It's the turd chip.
A : Go on, eat it. Nature made it. It's normal.
B : Well you eat it then.
A : No way, it's got AIDS.
It would then be thrown at a poor boy, and if it hit him, he would be deemed to have eaten it.

Mrs Soloman, a particularly fierce piano playing teacher from the 1980's, now dead. Soloman's pet hate was pupils having their back to her, so the whole class were seated facing towards her in a 'Praise Mecca' style in twos. If you turned her back on her whilst she was talking to you, woe betide. We adapted this to a playground game, which made good for random beatings. If a kid such as Daniel Holmer Tolliday showed you his back, you were well within your right to belt him in the back whilst taking on Soloman's manly growl and saying ' you darest showeth me your hind?'Why we adopted a Medieval vocabulary is another question.