Ask this question; "Do you look at the bog roll after you've had a dump?" Yes, the quizzee is a "scummy dinnerstabber" or a "dirty gaylord" or even worse, a "knobjocky", who enjoyed nothing more than looking at shit. No, then how the hell do they know their arse is clean, the filthy fucker? Escape through excess "yes, and I lick it off for supper" (not to be tried if you aren't all that popular), or by lying "no, we're so rich that we get butlers to come and look at our toilet roll for us". Or, by simply avoiding the question altogether, and running away.

The mythical practice of sticking a victim's head down a toliet and flushing. Essentially a story of what happens in big school passed down by older siblings. As with all urban myths, it always happened to a friend of a friend. Or Americans. It happens all the time in America.

Rats used in biology dissection lessons came (dead) from a scientific supplies store in sealed plastic bags, hence the name "boil in the bag rats".
Rat's penises are remarkably similar to a grain of white rice. As this lesson was just before lunch it seemed the natural thing to do was to remove the organ and flick it into the rice salad in the canteen.

What sort of teacher would advertise an art competition with posters that could so easily be "improved"? (It was Mr Taylor.)

Take care never to mention that the word bollocks "trips lightly off the tongue." It is unlikely you will be able to swear this way again for the rest of your school career, perhaps your whole life.

A popular chant in the UK during the Falklands Conflict, the last war which everyone seemed to think was OK, because the only casualty was Simon Weston’s face. The chant is accompanied by stamping of feet and banging on the walls, a sign of clear impatience that the Argentinians weren’t being bombed enough.

Humorous alteration of sole Japanese schoolkid Eitaro Komakini's surname, to reflect events in Hiroshima in 1945.
Undeniably racist but justified given his tendency to refer to himself as 'Rad Komaz'and the fact that he thought Five Star were 'really wicked'.

A quaint game played in the primary 5 swimming pool changing rooms.
Greg would put both legs through his swimming goggles and then pull them up to his waist, where they nestled just above his winky. This would miraculously make the face of a wizened old man (wearing goggles, of course) who had a long nose (about the length of a 9 year old's winky) and a wrinkly chin. Greg would then dance around the changing room as the rest of the class would sing a rousing chorus of
Boh-oh-ong-go JIM!
And his peppery penGUIN!".
I have to confess to being at a loss as where a peppery penguin came into the equation.

Rumors that Greg made one of the girls kiss bongo jim on the nose are unconfirmed. Ooh la la!

Legend has it that a pupil at our school long before I was there had once left a nice steaming 'chocolate log' on the bonnet of a teacher's car after receiving a detention. During my stint there were many overheard threats of 'giving that bastard a bonnet log' after a bollocking. To my knowledge though no threat was ever upheld. Pity.

(I wish Log had had this in his backlog rather than me. Now I have a mental picture of him in a nice easter hat with chicks all over it and daisies woven in his beard. Thanks. Susan.)

An invisible dog who lives in a long school corridor. Being prone to getting stepped on, Bonzo requires thirty to forty keepers, who will defend the wretched hound by kicking everyone who walks through the corridor with a cry of "mind the dog!"

Imaginary kidnappers who kidnap children in order to show them their boobs. The Boob Lady game was a popular one. We played it a lot.

At the start of physics, we "advised" the class spazmo Matt to spend the lesson in the cupboard, in case the "boogieman" came after him. Half way into the lesson he improvised, and burst out punching the air shouting "Come on Boogieman, I'll take you on". He got put in detention.

Perhaps the closest schools have ever got to convincing children that anything school-related is cool. After a number of predictive mistakes, the word "book" has temporarily replaced "cool". Anything met with appreciation - for a short time, I suspect - is now completely "book".
The temptation to include a Metro-style feature of "predictive text ambiguities I have noticed" is so strong, that it can only be a terrible idea. So I won't. Log "I damaged your ex"

A measurement of radioactivity emanating from a child's massive forehead. Named after a child with a big bottom lip, whose forehead was so massive that it would emit literally shitloads of boolams, requiring us to take the precautionary measure of slapping him across the face with a ruler.

Wholly innocent fun. No one gets hurt. One friend lies on his back, legs hunched up. Another friend sits on his feet, one buttock per foot. Friend catapults sitting friend to the best of his ability, saying "boost". Flying friend replies "morale!" upon landing. This isn't funny at all, is it? But it makes me smile so, Mr Sir!

What to say when someone is wearing a hooded item of clothing and the hood is rapidly and forcefully pulled down over their head, the victims sworn duty after that was to find himself a victim of his own, thus it was spread, quite like AIDS actually....

You're boss! That means I think you're great. So we would snap our fingers to Aztec Camera's Somewhere in my Heart on the radio, and agree that 'that song was boss', too. And Bruce Springsteen - how boss was the Boss?
Let me stop you there. Recent surveys have shown that Bruce Springsteen was, in fact, a Bent Over Sheep Shagger. Moreover, he's the bent-over sheep shagger, having pipped everyone else to the number one spot in a gruelling week-long animal shagathon.
He prefers the bent-over position, because he likes to feel the freshly shorn wool against his tummy, and this also allows another sheep to mount him, as he plays lucky Pierre in a raunchy ovine three-way.
Be careful when accepting this compliment, especially when it's preceded by "a", "the", or "my".

Not sure about the spelling as this phrase has probably never been written down, and I've certainly no idea of the etymology. However, you attain a Boss Fugel when a turd touches the bottom of the bowl while it's still coming out of your bum hole.

German for ambassador. Also the letter "G" is pronounced "gay" in German. Harry Enfield wasn't just pandering to popular Nazi stereotypes. The evidence is everywhere.

When I was seven, an English kid joined my class midway through the school year. His name was Guy. A nice kid who looked like an albino bush baby. I am an American person, and as such I am circumsized, as were the other boys in my class. Why Americans mutilate their cods, I have no idea, but we do.
One day during recess, all the boys in class went for a squirt behind the trees. Guy took his uncircumized weenus out and someone screamed, "He's got a bottle dick!" So we beat him. Sorry, Guy.
Readers: Was there an American boy in your class with a 'mutilated cod'? Did he walk around, thinking that there was absolutely nothing wrong with having a 'circumsized weenus', even though he wasn't Jewish - nor did he have some kind of life-threatening medical condition which made him piss upwards into his kidneys, hence the need for his parents to cut half of his knob off and keep it in a jar for keepsake?
What did you call him? Perhaps it was "Crayola cock" or something. For example.

After a P.E. teacher mispronounced Boucher (Bow-chuh) in a poncesome French Bou-Shay stylee, poor Boucher received constant stick for his vicarious pretention. He even corrected the teacher; that didn't stop up us putting our fingers to our noses and saying "My name's Bou-Shay, I am the Prince of Wales."

The only thing you can convincingly change the letters of Huxley to, should you know a boy called Huxley who compulsively writes his own name on everything. You can then insist on calling him Boxlex for the remainder of his life. Alternatively, steal the pencils, change the names, and then say "these aren't your pencils, they appear to belong to a boy called Boxlex. Since there are no Boxlex's here, I think I shall use them." Then, you can chew them for half an hour and give them back. I didn't actually do this, but I wish I had.

Joey Deacon, the Alpha. John's Not Mad, the Omega.
But there was a third person to whom we turned during the 80's to take the piss out of, through fear and dread. Thanks to Desmond Wilcox's 'The Visit' programme, we were introduced to the third member of this holy trinity in 1980:
David Lopez a.k.a. 'The Boy David'.
It was important that it was pointed out in the title that he WAS a boy; when first discovered by a holidaying plastic surgeon, he had no more than a big hole in his face with two eyes on top. To eat, he sucked lollipops between his tongue and the base of his brain - a process which could be mimicked by slapping food into a friend's face and shouting "NNNNNGGGGGGG... DAVID LOPEZ!!"
Here is a picture of David Lopez today, after more than 100 operations. On the right, note the moderately attractive woman taking the piss.

What you did was, you sneaked up behind someone and, with one hand over your mouth, held the other over the person's head and counted silently to yourself. If and when the person noticed, they had to cover their own mouth, whereupon you would shout "[Victim's name] has [whatever number you had managed to count to, or alternatively a completely made up number] boyfriends!"

There was a variation where you held two crooked fingers over your mouth, and your victim had to do the same, and woe betide them if they got it mixed up... Woe betide indeed.

Great trick if your most hated teacher is called Mr Boyle, who is a fat, sweaty, balding german teacher with no sense of humour, like ours was. Set up a kettle in your room (oh, it has to be a boarding school). Upon seeing Mr. Boyle approaching, switch the kettle on, and lean out of the window, yelling 'Boyle, you bastard!' Then duck out of the way before the fat fucker could see you. When Boyle came waddling in, red faced, to investigate, the shouting would continue in such a way that when Boyle entered the room it would appear you were cursing the kettle for its poor performance. Whoever came up with this, I salute you.