Silent But Deadly, a popular type of fart. Whilst in retrospect volume was never inversely proportional to the actual stench produced, it was generally accepted that the silent ones were the worst, as our elaborate pantomimes after inhalation would attest. Common remarks in the immediate aftermath almost always included, "He who smelt it, dealt it" (q.v.)
Steven Jackson developed quite a penchant for getting good lungfuls of the expelled air, and giving a considered and expert opinion on the quality. We always listened to his judgement.
(The reason this has popped up again seven years on is that the involved party has asked for his friend's name to be changed. We don't think anyone should be passed up for promotion based on their deep, fruity inhalation of other men's farts. But unfortunately we do not live in an ideal world.)

The 'Schools Christian Assembly Team' who toured Derby, and possibly elsewhere, in the late 80s.

On the night before his death, according to the Christian scriptures, Jesus consecrated bread, wine and chocolate and gave them to his disciples, saying "this is my body", "this is my blood" and "this is my poo-poo". He commanded his followers to repeat this rite in his memory, and the Poocharist traditionally involves consecration of bread, wine and Walnut Whips by the clergy and their consumption by worshippers.

In Roman Catholicism the Poocharist is a cackrament, and the bread, wine and chocolate are thought to become the actual body, blood and ploppies of Jesus through transubstantiation.

Particularly vulgar and amusing variant on flashing by Greg, who would expose just his scrotum in public.
Sometimes this would be just casually doing normal stuff like, say, buying sweets at the shop with his scrotum hanging out of his flies as if he hadn't noticed, and sometimes it would be a full on run-up-to-the-granny-pull-the-old-sack-out-whilst-shouting-sack-attack-and-running-away-again routine. Endlessly hilarious and linked to several legendary tales.

What one calls out when they have just made a silent but particularly heinous fart that those around them haven't smelled yet. If "Safety" is not called out immediately after committing the deed, your nearby classmates are entitled to repeatedly punch you in the shoulders until you stop trying to secretly gas them to death, you unapologetic cunt.

A game involving a sharp pencil and extrasensory perception. Named, for some reason, after German worksheets of the same name.
Player A wields the pencil and thinks of a number between 1 and 10. Player B guesses the number. If B guesses correctly, the roles are reversed. If he guesses wrongly, A stabs him in the thigh with the pencil with a shout of "Sag Mal!" for being so fatuous as to suggest a wrong number. Over time you become spookily good at it. Or you end up with very sore thighs.

Improbable cash-in board game, linking ITV's top presenters with the true story of how the Spanish Armada foundered on the rocks around the coasts of Britain. Suprisingly, Mr Roberts deemed it of sufficient historical value that myself and Andre (its co-creators) were asked to play it on school open night in front of the bewildered parents of prospective pupils.

In my comprehensive in sunny St. Albans our only entertainment was making up ridiculous and erroneous rumours about lesser classmates. One memorable one was the Richard Lucas was caught on the school field trip to Belgium inserting a slad bagette up his anus.

Our Home Economics teacher, Miss Munroe, would get the class to chant "salts and sugars are not nutritious" before the start of every lesson.
After school one evening, Miss Munroe was spied by Martin Jenkins gobbling off our sports teacher in the car-park of the local pub.
When she intoned her mantra in class the following day, Martin's reply of "what about the ones in Mr. Johnson's spunk, miss?" was enough to see her scream and run crying from the room. She didn't return to school.
A shame really, as we wanted to know if she'd gone against her own teachings by swallowing.

A speech synthesis programme on the Commodore 64 that provides me to this day with my comical "robot malfunction" voice. Oh, you should hear me. I'm such a one.

What may seem like a rubbish insult got me in a lot of trouble, because Sandra was a Jehova's Witness, as was the teacher in that class. Why they should be so sensitive about smelling like squirrels is beyond me; unless they, you know... bum them.

SARAH AND SAMUEL


Once there was a beautiful girl called Sarah she had a boyfriend called Samuel , they loved each other so much. This was because they both were really sporty and Sarah loved singing too . If Sarah would lisen to a song she would remember the lyrics quickly and easily. Sarah 's age is 9 and Samuel 's age is the same, this is because they are in the same year group and the second reason is because they were born in the same year.

One day , they had a race from school to park it was really fun and there also was a tie. So they tried again and again and still nobody won the race that they planned. But at last Samuel won it. Sarah said ''that was fun wasn't it ''.
''yeah!it was not only fun but amazing ''Samuel answered. So they kept on playing in the park.

The young two children saw an dangerous boy teenager lighting firelighters . So they both told everybody even the adults so one of them adults told that boy that 'FUC OFF!you can kill a child '' a adult shouted as hard as she could .

I don't want to see you here will those firelighters I mean it or I will kill you .So that adult didn't even see that boy for the rest of her life even in the park . But is good that the children will be safe .

So everyone was safe and wouldn't die never. Happy ever after


THE END

Liam Cornelius Kennelly, oblivious to the immaturities of his fellow 6th formers, loudly replied to Phill's claims that he was gay with the unforgettable line:

"Yeah, Phill, I'm really gay"

It was the addition of being "really" gay that made the admission even more shocking. Any gayness we had previously perceived in Liam was clearly only the tip of the gay iceberg.

I mean, even gay people don't admit to being "really" gay, unless they're taking part in some kind gay mating ritual of one-upmanship. Heh. One up man's shit.

The form of Satanism which consists of nothing more than memorizing the Lord's Prayer backwards and drawing pentagrams on our New English Bibles.

Has anyone ever come up with a satisfactory name for that paper device thing kids (girls mainly) made to do fortune telling? You'd fold the paper in a certain way to make a pyramid thing you could stick your fingers in. Then you'd approach your testee and ask them, say, their favourite colour. "B-L-U-E" you'd spell out and do something complicated with the paper. The paper thingum would now look a little like vulcan handfanny (q.v). The testee would pick a number from one of the flaps, lift the flap, and it would say something like "You love Luke Goss" or "Your tits smell."
If you have any idea what the fuck I'm blathering about, please write in. You are probably a girl and probably owned a mood ring when you were young.

Shower-time practice of stretching the scrotum out with both hands until it is perpendicular to the body, causing the genitals to resemble the titular item. Accompanied by a cry of "Sausage on a plate!!"
Most commonly seen in lunchtime rugby practise. Does not go down so well in french lessons.

The distinction between the French words "saucisson" and "saucissez", acording to the Tricolore books, is that one was a "continental" sausage. I have not heard this expression since I was eleven, and any requests for continental sausage in the Co-Op have met with a stony indifference. It did however, form the basis of a bilingual song; "continental sausage / continental sausage / continental sausage / je suis!"

Our German textbooks were narrated by a talking sausage. Enterprising young men - ie everyone - would draw a line across and a line down, ensuring German was taught to following years by a cock in lederhosen.

A slogan of the insufferable Paul Gittens, a smug little shit and would-be intellectual. He announced his cod-theory that atoms were made up of tapered, cylindrical sub-particles. Appropriately, he was bullied thoroughly, but this only seemed to bury him in ever more smarminess. There seemed like no way to break him. Eventually, we staged Save Our Tactons Day in which the slogan was chalked onto every available flat surface. He finally cried when someone threw a rugby ball at his head - an inspired irony given the ball's tapered, cylindrical shape.

"Say Red..." says someone.
"Red", you say innocently.
"You wet your bed!" they say to hoots of laughter.
"Say Blue..." they continue.
"Blue." you say, slightly suspicious this time...
"You done a poo!!!!!!"
GRRR! BUT YOU HAVE ONLY YOURSELF TO BLAME.

The more we said "moist" while she was talking, the more increasing was her frustration.
"I know what you're doing!" she told us.
So did we. We were saying "moist" at her.

A game devised in Year 11, and something of the antithesis of the more subtle game, "fuck". It basically involved going up to Mr. Stove, our Science teacher, and saying the word "fuck" to him.
e.g: "Sir, I'm not sure I understand this equation for measuring acceleration. Fuck."
or "Mr. Stove, can you tell Andrew to leave me alone? Fuck."
"Fuck" had to be said clearly, and could not be disguised in the middle of a sentence, or as part of another word. Not saying "fuck" once you had made your approach resulted in a beating. Mr Stove never reacted in anger. In fact, he hever gave any signs of giving the tiniest shit.

New pet adopted by Mrs Reeve's class following the sad demise of the elderly Bobby. Tragically killed on his first time out of the cage after being trodden on by promising ballerina Victoria Robinson.

When i was in primary school there was this dinner lady person that hated kids. i think it was becaue we all used to take the piss out of her and her coat that had a hole in it in the shape of pacman but anyway i think she hit a kid and now she works in a swimming pool, i dont no how that works out but anyway. We graciously gave her the name SCARY MARY!!!

For a role-play exercise in German class, the pupils had to stand in front of the class and display their new-found knowledge of airport vocabulary. After a short terrorist-and-bomb-style exchange, Sean Wensley and Michael Lancaster shouted "Schnell! Schell!" and ran out of the room. Sean never came back to the class. After that, we had no more role-plays.

fucking will to live, or WHAT?

fuck me. Might give this to cockfingers

Gratefully received. A turd of an entry. Cheers!

A favourite of mine was school assemblies, which were always a serious, dour affair begging to be injected with a little humour - which they occasionally were. These varied from 'doctoring' chairs so that they collapsed halfway through prayers - you always tried to detect a wonky chair as you filed into assembly - to more daring adventures. Two memorable ones are outlined here:
The first involved the head prick-fect who had to a list of boys that were to be called into the head masters office that morning, presumably for a fate worse than being meddle by a priest. This list was drawn up by the school secretary and left in a tray for the head prefect to pick up on his way through. It was a custom to add a funny name to the bottom of this list so that the prefect mad an ass of himself. Sometimes they were just nonsense - "Can Hugh Jarce please see the headmaster afterwards" to the more subtle "The headmaster would like to see Harry Caverty, Wayne Kerr and Mike Hunt immediately". Then you could have fun with Polish/Indian/Pakistani names that either had rude connotations or were just too difficult to read.
The second involved the music at assembly time. Each morning we had to listen to some classical music that would have been considered "dark" if played at a funeral - just what you needed that time of the morning. So it obviously needed changing - and change it we did. This was made possible due to one fact. On old Vinyl records the centre label was in fact multiple layers that could be prised apart if care and some skill was used. So the objective here was to find an unoffensive record (something out of the old man's collection worked ideally as you had unlimited access to it do take off a label - however it was high risk if you knackered the operation and shagged his record - time to blame the cat). Having obtained your inoffensive label that read "Dvorak's 7th Funeral Dirge" you could place it over the top of a completely offensive record, say Never Mind the Bollocks - a common choice, or on one occasion Derek & Clive Ad Nauseam!
The next daring part was to hide near the record player that lurked behind the curtains on the stage. This was risky not only because of the fact that the 6th form prefects were seated behind the headmaster and deputy head and head prick-fect. However those in the know used to use the trap door in the stage floor that was situated right by the record player, allowing enough time to flip the record on top of the boring original and disappear under the stage again before a 6th former prefect would be instructed to put the music on.
The hardest bit was stiffling the laughter under the stage as you heard Dudley Moore saying "This bloke walked up to me in the street and he said 'you cunt'"....invariably the 6th form prefect would be quizzed and conspiracy suspected - until that is one of us was caught in the act!