This is a classic in the making. A joyous ending

There was (and still is) a game played at school, and at others (a bloke at rugby told me) known as mackerel. The rules being, when someone farted you would cry "mackerel", and were allowed to give them beats untill they said 5 times of fish. However, to counter this you could cry "safetey", an then if anyone mackereld you, you could give them beats.

There was also a less popular game known as doorknob, were the victim had to touch a doorknob, and this could be countered with "knobend" however this never took off due to our schools lack of doorknobs.

There was also a

I'm glad that actual schoolchildren are joining us...

we get this dumb maths teacher called mr mcdonagh (mr mcdoughnut, madonna). when he walks past, we say really loudly, 'i hate maths dont you? (hannah says yes) especially this teacher mr mcdoughnut, he reeks doesnt he?' he always gives us this really queer look. not just that but he pervs on you, he fancies hannah, he tries to look up her skirt or down her shirt he is a total perv.

Shouted and accompanied by a flexing of a little finger. Denotes the possession of a unimpressive member. An abbreviation of Maggot, which little willies look like.

Variations include, maggee, Mr. Magoo, magga magga magga and magwaaaaah, shouted in a Zippy from Rainbow style voice.

The only reversal is, sadly, lacking in finesse. Simply shout back "No you're the MAG! I'm a MONSTER!" Meaning, obviously, that your penis is huge, and very hairy indeed.

Maggie More, she was a whore
She sold herself ten pence an hour
The army came, the navy went
They left her cunt all broke and bent
Now she is dead, but not forgotten,
Her frilly knickers are fucking rotten!

Game played on school trips in dormitories. Consisted of combat between by boys who had to remain at all times on the floor wrapped up in duvets. Were it a cartoon scene, the word "squirm" would appear three times in each frame.

Maggots had no winners - play was its own reward.

An animated wizard, who had special e-mazing powers. Voiced by Derek Griffiths, he would sing;
Fat becomes fate with me!
Rat becomes rate with me!
and of course
Shit becomes shite with me!
I'm magic magic E...
After comically noting that shit becomes shite with him, children would rack their brains, without success, to think of another rude word ending in a removeable "e".

The Magic Potion would be made from a hlaf-empty yoghurt pot, plus added ingredients such as barbeque crisps, bread crusts, apple pips and anything else to hand. The challenge was to make it as big and filthy a mix as possible, and for it to be stirred clockwise with the dinner-lady's pen, otherwise it wouldn't work.
The hapless yogurt owner would then have to eat this mess. If sucessful and was able to keep the mix down for more than ten minutes they were crowned "the Great Sage" for the lunchtime. If they lost the contents of lunch within the ten minutes, they were made to eat grass, because that's what cats do when they have a dodgy stomach.

"What's underneath the Magic Table?" I asked, out of the blue, one lunchtime.

Naturally curious, I bent my head to investigate the source of the witchcraft and wizardry, which proved to be Jane McKeating's eight year old, hairless genitals.

Even if you are wearing trousers and underwear, if you press your fingers hard enough up your buttock cleft and worm them around, a small amount of anus smell will be transferred to your fingers. The process by which this happens is entirely magical. On a really warm day, I managed to get the smell through underpants, trousers, and jumper.

FINGERS!Among the more mental things this kid called Kia did at our school was to once steal a long strip of magnesium ribbon from the chemistry labs then later waiting to go home to lob it onto the train tracks so that it linked the two live live rails.

There followed a blinding white light and a mini mushroom cloud of smoke, which within five seconds everyone had decided was a terrorist bomb (in Sandwich for fuck's sake) until I, who had been playing too much metal gear solid or something calmly told everyone it was probably just one of them stun grenades

(never, never break friends/if you do/you'll catch the flu/and that will be the end of you.)

So we all know this one, but interestingly enough, the popular comedian Adam Bloom genuinely believes he invented this rhyme, in a playground in Richmond in 1977. No one else knew it before he invented it, and he will accept no argument to the contrary.

James Fidget (real name) had a false roof to his mouth that clipped on in some arcane way. It didn't clean itself very well, so in between his roast dinner and his custard-drenched pudding he would remove the plastic thingummy and clean it manually. The trick here was to distract him in increasingly surreal ways so he forgot to replace it, and then - when he had eaten a fair whack of the custard - make him laugh hysterically. You haven't lived until you've seen custard flood out of a schoolboy's nose.

Gerald Malarkey was devoid of any kind of morality or humanity. Once he was disturbed from slamming a small kids head in a door by a particularly stupid PE teacher. This prompted the line "What's all this Malarky....", at which point he lost momentum, realising how his sentence must end. "....errm.... Malarky..." And we all laughed,except for the guy with his head in the door,who wept.

a boy i know called david kirby rapes dogs!!!!

A male who has yet to grow pubic hair. Or - and this is the tricky bit - anyone who does not know what a mallet is.

Pleasingly close to diarrhoea. Mamma Mia / I've got diarrhoea / Plip-Plop / Can you hear my shit drop? is a fine example of this similarity in action.

Man with Jack-in-the-box, The, noun phrase.
Best known example of a freestyle epic narration (a form of oral storytelling in which profoundly eccentric characters have endless serial adventures in a world that is in various unforeseeable ways hostile to their existence).
A story featuring a man cursed with the possession - which he could never put down - of a large jack-in-the-box whose 'jack' could spring to a height of twenty metres; an optimistic young girl; a monk who had mastered a meditative technique in which one relocated one's own centre of gravity to a point some way in front of oneself (this made walking impossible; he could only fall from place to place), and other minor figures. This trio encounters many trials as they negotiate, for example, perilous roof gardens made of papier mache and corridors which contrary to the laws of perspective, physically narrow to a single point.
The story was developed by the boys who didn't play touch football.

A game loosely based on the Hale & Pace characters of the same name. I can't remember the character names now, but two boys would be the two management guys, and one other (usually me) was "Crusty" or something.
So, the guys would be trying to run a nightclub and any other kids in the area would be made to be the nightclub acts. I'm not sure exactly what was supposed to happen then, because it usually degenerated into a fight around that point.

Inverted reproach for lack of courtesy in yourself. Drop the please from any request, and if the subject complies, you may shout "MANNERS!" at the top of your voice, teachers permitting.

Strangely uninsulting insult for boys with big heads. Almost Shakespearean.

A smack on the back of the head. It's spam backwards, you see. Very clever. And therefore not thuggish.

Is this the 'Cookie' who emailed us and asked why his/her entries weren't going up? He asked WHY his entries weren't going up?

They are called Marathons, not Snickers.
And if you disagree you are gay and like watching "Buffy".

Having cornered the marble market in his first year, in his second year Marcus Mellor rapidly established himself as the pornography kingpin of our school.
He dealt his grubby wares from a large, tatty, black briefcase held together with masking tape, and always filled to bursting point with an seemingly unlimited quantity of top-shelf magazines.
His empire came to an abrupt and spectacular end. Running to a lesson, his briefcase burst open, spilling Clubs, Razzles, Fiestas and Mayfairs in a slithering tide down the stairs. Despite his desperate entreaties, they were hoovered up within seconds by a huge crowd of unbelieving boys. I still can't watch aid convoys arrive in famine-stricken towns without being reminded of the event.

Soiling yourself in a moment of unforeseen and explosive diarrhoea. You will not live this down. Your name, if it begins with m and has two syllables, will be used to replace "magic" in the song "magic moments".

As 16-year olds in December 1985, we thought it would be supremely adult to buy some beers, dog off school, and go round to Stephen Wyper’s house to watch the Australia v Scotland World Cup qualifier. Just like real men. At 9.30 in the morning. Rather surprisingly, it wasn’t such a good idea. Mark Sneddon spent the match complaining that he was never going to lose his virginity, went into French class pissed up after the game, told Miss Cumming to fuck off, vomited all over his jotters, and got us all called up in front of the headmaster. And it wasn’t even a decent game.