When submitting entries to Law of the Playground, please try to make sure you're not ripped off your tits on a cocktail of amphetamines and brain retarders. For your delight, I bring you - the rather lovely Charlotte Ackrill!
At my school we had a supply freak called Mr Simmonds who looked like Chief Wiggum if he's opted for a Terry Nutkins haircut. He wasnt qualified to teach so instead he'd pick on the class punchbag and direct a tirade of abuse at him until old man simmonds face went red and he started spitting like a retard achieving his first masturbatory orgasm in a broken lift in the sahara. once the spitting had occured it was a signal for the whole class to erupt like a versuvius of snot in laughter at the victim who would generaly end up crying at the spectacle before him. We are still at a loss as to why he did this and why he called it cheese on toast but it generally happened at christmas after screening a video of him doing the laughing policeman at another school he wished he'd never left.

A classic scenario between mother and child. Either through the child's one-off expression of preference, or because the mother is simply mistaken, the mother gets it into her head that her son likes cheese sandwiches.
She will then give her son cheese sandwiches until he finishes his GCSEs. The son will at first eat them, because - after all - he likes cheese sandwiches. Soon, they will be left, rotting, in long-forgotten bag pockets and hedges on the way to school. After five years, the boy might even have to find new ways to walk to school, to avoid over-saturating certain roads with cheese fucking sandwiches.
I did bring this up with my mother in adult life, and she asked me why I didn't say anything at the time. But... you can't, can you?
NOTE : Use this effect to your advantage with less-visited and possibly housebound relatives, who will fill their home with your favourite thing, and you can go around there whenever you feel like it.

This was where you would get a packet of round maize balls (usually 6p and sometimes fortified with vitamins on the premise that anyone so poor as to eat them probably didn't have a healthy diet) and then insert them one-by-one under your foreskin, then pull your flap over them until they disappeared. You would do this for as many as you could and put them back in the packet. Then you would offer them around, safe in the knowledge that if anyone called your bluff, you could quite safely put your own cock cheese in your mouth.

The unbelievable but true name of an Australian who attempted the World Rolling Record in St. Albans. This involved rolling around the field, egged on by his colleagues. Egging on consisted of friendly kicks to the back.

I defy anyone to find a better use for a periodic table. Simply make rude words up from the available elements.
For example...BiTcH (bismuth, technetium and hydrogen), GaY, FUCK, PoO and especially SnOTi.

Magnesium ribbon - a favourite. Produces an intense white light when lit. Can cause temporary blindness if let off in someone's face.
Sodium - produces unimpressive fizzing display when dropped in a sink full of water unless you've got enough to simulate Krakatoa. Dunking a head in the fizz will cause extreme panic and some flailing.
Phosphorus - the heavyweight. Ignites on contact with the air! Imagine sticking it down someone's collar!
Master these three and you may move on to caesium, if you can get the key to the special cupboard.

An insult for boys or girls who have red faces. A superior insult to "Ding Dong, Avon Calling", as it completely robs the victim of any comeback. This is because, in essence, it makes no sense.

An alternative activity to looking at me, but one which unfortunately has the same outcome, to wit, losing your fucking teeth.

The old Wrigleys packs of chewing gum used to have 3 pictures on the back, one of a pair of lips, one of an envelope (no idea why) and one of a man putting litter in a bin. Tear the wrapper into three, mix them up and predict a friend's romantic future.

If you pick the piece of paper with the lips on, then someone's going to kiss you. If you get the envelope, someone's going to write you a love letter. If you get the bin, you're going to get dumped, which doesn't really work if you were single, but such is the scrambled logic of the hormonal pre-teen.

Dicking about on the stage in the main hall during an Art lesson, Danny Bailey and myself got bored and decided to throw random objects at David Forsyth, a confused young boy who used to draw pictures of axe murderers. Legend had it that his dad drew Count Duckula.
The first object that came to hand was a Chewit, and it was thrown a good 50 feet across the hall, hitting him square on the head and causing him to explode with shock, casting his pencils and drawing equipment into the air in a true comedy moment - it was probably the most accurate shot I've ever seen in my life.

I saw David Forsyth in a pub last year, and his girlfriend was better looking than mine, bastard.

This was a martial art invented and practiced in my secondary school. Pioneered by Matthew Roche and Jason Walker, it involved opponents (one-on-one or team event) running at each other at high speed, jumping into the air, whilst turning so that the bums of each opponent would clash. The main idea was to knock your opponent off balance in mid-air so that they would land flat on the concrete with a rather loud slap. It was also customary to chant 'chicken bumswing' in a mild Oriental voice whilst in battle.

Legendary local tramp who seemed to be based in the local scrap metal dealer. Fundamental to the legend of Chicken George is that he was actually a millionaire (honestly, a 17 year old boy with a scooter who hangs around with 12 year old girls says so). We found out later on in life that Chicken George had a Godly omnipresence, or moved around frequently, as he seems to have been the legendary local tramp for schoolchildren covering a twenty-mile radius.

Some remedial classes, because of the innately gentle nature of the mentally unexcellent, are sometimes charged with the care of several chickens. At Great Sankey High School, the use of being in the chicken group as an insult lasted until a child took it upon himself to destroy all the chickens with a spade.

A game on the BBC computers at primary school. I forget what it was called, and what the point of it was, but every now and then the screen would fill up with chickens and eggs and then the question would be popped "What came first, the chicken or the egg?"
I never knew the answer.

The use of the nail on the index finger of one hand to scratch the back of the other hand, repeatedly and continuously. The aim was to go past redness, rawness, and well into the open wound category leaving scabs for weeks and possible scarring. The really hard, and thus trendy people would rescratch partially healed scratches to ensure they were 'fresh'. The practice was banned in an assembly when a couple of kids got blood poisoning.

I believe that this is the best entry we have EVER had.
When I was a child these five girls used to love kissing me all at the same time! When they had finished I would proceed to punch this guy named Edward in the stomach!
Were YOU a bigger child stud than Murray Pirret? Perhaps you were snorting coke off a prozzies' tits at nine years old. We NEED to know.

After resisting all the uses of the chin for a long time (feeling that Baddiel and Newman had covered it adequately), here they are:

Giving someone the finger,except you stick up your pinky rather than your middle finger. Then you must bellow in a crap chinese accent "CHINESE RUDE FINGER" Thus avoiding the ire of the teachers as the gesture is neither rude nor particularly Chinese. (I was told this by a six year old called Emma)

A dangerous game to play if you are the teacher, and you suffer from B.O. The chances are that the children will return the phrase "Mr Gardiner smells of piss", and you will not know who to blame. You cannot punish anyone, so you will appear powerless. The children will see this, and be upon you in seconds, and you shall be a skeleton left to bake in the sun before home time.

Chinese Whispers is crap if, when you are not sure of a word, you replace it with "something" instead of the closest word to it. This happened in our class, and the end result was always "Something something something... something something something." Defeats the object of the game, really.

Put your fingers to the corners of your eyes and pull as directed whilst singing;
"My mum's Chinese" (pull both fingers up)
"My dad's Japanese" (pull both fingers down)
"Look what happened to me!" (pull one finger up and one finger down).
If this visual gag wasn't hilarious enough, imagine a pubescant girl singing "Chinese, Japanese, Mummy please, what are these?" whilst gesturing to her new, pert bahongas!
Boys can gesture to their dirty knees instead, but that's not as funny as TITS.

A touching ode to an incompetent Oriental farmer:
Ching Chong Chinaman went to milk a cow
Ching Chong Chinaman didn't know how
Ching Chong Chinaman pulled the wrong tit
Ching Chong Chinaman covered in shit.
In retrospect it's hard to imagine what 'the wrong tit' could possibly mean, although I suppose it could be the cow's tail.

At my primary school when someone said something that was blatantly untrue, like 'my dad drives a tank. He keeps it in the garage', the correct response was to push your tongue into your bottom lip and go 'urhhhhh chinny barbados'.

Perhaps one of the most terrifying of our fellow students was John Kennedy, whose mother was an albino aboriginal. John had really curly blonde hair and brown eyes and had severe psychiatric problems - like REAL problems. In our poorly supervised woodwork class he wreaked absolute havoc. I'm talking blitzkrieg Fucking terror here. He began by "just" smacking the back of the hands of the unwary with a wooden mallet. Anyone who placed their hands on a flat surface, like a bench, it was WHACK, like real fucking hard.nnSomeone took exception to this, someone pretty tough, like Michael Stravanides, and had a go at Kennedy. Kennedy simply upped the ante and armed himself with a chisel. He then began randomly trying to stab other kids with it. He cut his own hand open with it and daubed "Chisel Man" in his own blood on the front of his woodwork apron. When our teacher, Ray Arnold left the room, Kennedy would jump up like Chucky in those "Child's Play" films and scream "Chisel Man" then (and this was the terrifying bit) randomly chase someone around the room trying to stab them. No one was safe. You could be on what you thought were really good terms with him and still be the victim. He was real serious. He stabbed Veli in the arse "Midnight Express" turkish prison style. Veli had blood comin' out his arse and was screaming. We were all shit scared, but no one said anything and the teacher seemed to disappear from class for ages.nnAnother time he tried to put Bill Gavanoudis' head into the band saw - it was like the Fucking Shining or something, I mean I was in that panic state where you want to scream and run but just stand there laughing nervously and sort of dancing on the spot.nnI can't recall how it all ended, but Kennedy had left by form four. He was failing everything. I remember he grabbed Miss James and was kissing her, really rough and excitedly coz she gave him a pass on a geography assignment. He then dropped to the floor and spun around on one elbow yelling "Woh, Woh, Woh, Woh" like Curly from the three stooges. She was shit scared too - you could see it in her face.nnKennedy used to piss on car door handles at Chaddy shopping centre every night. His ability to seemingly piss at will and stop and start the flow was incredible. Veli finally got revenge on him for the Chisel incident by pushing him over the side of an escalator at Myer, He fell about 12 feet onto his face but didn't appear too fussed and "paid" Veli for what he had to admit was a pretty "good one". He could obviously admire the psychotic in others too. Kennedy's dress sense in retrospect was pretty cool. He wore tight blue jeans with big cowboy boots and a really tight lumber jacket. With his wild blond hair he looked like some crazy southern Jerry Lee Lewis style rocker. He HAS to be dead by now.

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The Chocolate Cock (paraphrased)
from "The Talking Teapot and Other Tales" by Enid Blyton

Once there was a piece of chocolate in the shape of a cock. The chocolate cock stood right in the very middle of a sweet-shop window, and all the children came to look at him. He was very proud of himself indeed - as would you be, if you were a huge delicious brown cock.

"I am the Chocolate Cock!" he crowed. "I am the Chocolate Cock! I am the handsomest bird in the world, for I am the Chocolate Cock!"

He was marked a shilling, and none of the children that came to look at the cock could afford to buy him. They just stood and looked at him, to drink in the staggering beauty of the massive over-priced chocolate cock they all wanted so badly to stick in their mouths and drag across their bodies, stencilling the edge of their bot-bots.

Sometimes the feelings in their tummies, a hunger that could not be sated by any other food, led the children to experiment with each other in front of the cock, while it looked at them with its imperious, milky eye. But one day the wife of the Duke of Edinburgh visited the shop, and said she didn't like all the little boys fucking each other outside his shop, so he got a farmer to kill them.