| Report for Andy Mansh | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 38 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 17 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 13 |
| Summary | Shows promise |
Directed with great relish at those who had lost an argument, displayed ineptitude or suffered from general misfortune, this insult was usually drawn out ("chee-yokeddd!"), accompanied by a dry cough, and the pinching of skin over the adams apple.
Not to be confused with the pinching of skin either side of the neck, which as everyone knows, is an Ethiopian eating a crisp.
Not to be confused with the pinching of skin either side of the neck, which as everyone knows, is an Ethiopian eating a crisp.
Aware of such dangers, we acted in a socially responsible way by dissuading kids from wearing these hazardous coats during times of snow. We would do this by piling onto anyone wearing one, doing the zip right up to maximise the snorkel effect and then packing the cavity in front of the face with handfuls of snow. Yeah, nice and tight.
Short for Gary-Baldi. An insult directed at anyone who either through hard evidence or simple malicious rumour was judged to be devoid of pubes. Accompanied by tight mouthed squeaking noises like those you would get if you rubbed a spotless plate.
Kirstie had no thumbs and would self consciously hide her hands inside the sleeves of her jumper. What did we call her? Fonzie. Heeeyyyyy.
Rural fun based on the cow's inability to move sideways. Generally results in cow being killed. Sometimes, if it's been raining, and if urban myths are true, the child will take a run up, hit the cow, slip through the cow's legs, and get landed on by a freshly tipped cow. Then they both die.
(Rural readers! Have YOU ever tipped a cow? Did you chortle as the cow, its fate sealed, lay helplessly on the ground? Did her big, confused eyes look at you as though to say “this was a horrible accident, right?” Or do you just make it all up to impress gullible city folk? Answers in the usual way…)
(Rural readers! Have YOU ever tipped a cow? Did you chortle as the cow, its fate sealed, lay helplessly on the ground? Did her big, confused eyes look at you as though to say “this was a horrible accident, right?” Or do you just make it all up to impress gullible city folk? Answers in the usual way…)
In biology, we were given bulls' eyes to dissect. Obviously this was an important lesson for anyone who was looking for a career in bovine opthalmology. For the rest of us, we were happy to discover that the stuff at the back (presumably optic nerves and shit) was very sticky. This meant that by the time the teacher got back from break, there were twenty bulls' eyes stuck to the blackboard glaring down at her.
Writing the name of your favourite band on your yellow canvas bag? Cool. Liking the Cure? Really cool! Decorating your bag with a lovingly rendered Cure logo? Kool and the fucking Gang!
However, make sure you finish the logo, and don't have a break half-way through the word, otherwise someone may write a crude "NT" after your lovingly crafted "CU". Well, they did to me, anyway.
However, make sure you finish the logo, and don't have a break half-way through the word, otherwise someone may write a crude "NT" after your lovingly crafted "CU". Well, they did to me, anyway.
Tony Langley used to put dead wasps on his tongue and then chase Paul Fletcher around the classroom. Why did Tony Langley do this? Because it scared Paul Fletcher. Why was Paul Fletcher scared? Because Tony Langley had a wasp on his tongue.
When the French exchange students were over, we told our class dunce that "fromage frais" was a cool way to say "Hi, howya doin'?"
Imagining him in shades, snapping his fingers like the Fonz, and saying "heeeeeeey... fromage frais..." was strangely satisfying.
Imagining him in shades, snapping his fingers like the Fonz, and saying "heeeeeeey... fromage frais..." was strangely satisfying.
Jon Fennell got sent out of history - can't remember why. What I DO remember is that moments later, the classroom door crashed open and Jon burst in 'riding' an industrial floor waxer, 'revving' the handlebars and shouting 'VHRUMMM! VHRUMMM!'.
I don't think I've ever felt more love for another man than at that moment.
I don't think I've ever felt more love for another man than at that moment.
Early 80's flask technology was simply not up to the job of keeping water hot enough for lunchtime Pot Noodles, so they were both luke warm AND crunchy.
Hold on, hold on, Susan. What the fuck is a 'Mood Ring'. I went to an all boys school and have never heard of such a thing. If it magically displays the mood of the wearer, I shall buy one for my wife.
Alex Pennington and Andy Cruse were sat next to each other on the bus on a French trip. Alex was ripping the piss out of Andy for being a virgin (cos yeah, HE'D done it loads). Andy, being something of a nutter, replied by plunging a penknife into Alex's thigh, puncturing an artery. An arc of blood shot out and was making a right mess of the upholstery so, calmly, Andy got up, walked to the front of the bus, tapped a dozing Mr Kavanagh on the shoulder and said the now legendary phrase: "Excuse me sir, but I appear to have stabbed Pennington."
BANGERS! BANGERS BANGERS BANGERS!!!
Other than flick-knives, 35 centime wine and porn, this was the only entertainment available on our French trip. To ensure that we didn't smuggle exposives back into Britain, the teachers announced an amnesty on bangers and collected them all as the boys got onto the bus for the last time. Foolishly, they simply threw their booty into a litterbin by the side of the road. What they hadn't considered was Hugh Gibbs arriving late and throwing a lit box of matches into the bin before embarking. Honestly, it was like the final 20 minutes of a James Bond film.
Ok, it wasn't.
Other than flick-knives, 35 centime wine and porn, this was the only entertainment available on our French trip. To ensure that we didn't smuggle exposives back into Britain, the teachers announced an amnesty on bangers and collected them all as the boys got onto the bus for the last time. Foolishly, they simply threw their booty into a litterbin by the side of the road. What they hadn't considered was Hugh Gibbs arriving late and throwing a lit box of matches into the bin before embarking. Honestly, it was like the final 20 minutes of a James Bond film.
Ok, it wasn't.
Steve Pine, a geography teacher, may have been gay. Paul Fletcher took it upon himself to test this theory by prodding him in the backside with a 12 inch ruler and shouting "WAHEYYY!!!"
The results were, sadly, inconclusive.
The results were, sadly, inconclusive.
Mr Jennar had to wear glasses with lenses like icecubes. To help him out I would do my homework in impossibly small writing using a 0.015 Rotring art pen and a magnifying glass; I found that by doing this I generally got improved marks. I can only assume that he didn't want to let on that he was technically blind, and simply gave my shoddy offerings the benefit of the doubt.
Karen asked Adam, innocently enough: "Have you had your hair cut?"
"No" said Adam, "I've got leukemia"
Co-incidentally, so had Karen's brother.
I think she'd just about stopped crying by about lunchtime.
"No" said Adam, "I've got leukemia"
Co-incidentally, so had Karen's brother.
I think she'd just about stopped crying by about lunchtime.
Sometimes we used to play a deliberate bumming game (careful now), where the cigarette would be passed around with each participant deliberately making the butt wetter than before. The 'winner' would be the last one prepared to suck on this disgusting morsel.
Apparently, you could put clingfilm over the toilet at a party, so that peoples' poo and wee went everywhere. Personally, I can't see that people wouldn't notice.
I preferred the old 'empty a bottle of washing up liquid into the cistern' trick, which was lush.
I preferred the old 'empty a bottle of washing up liquid into the cistern' trick, which was lush.
My friend Tina's boyfriend was in a band who were called 'Shy-Talk'. Very 80's. The venue of their first gig rang him up to ask the name of the band for the posters. They - of course - misheard, and Cheltenham was awash with 'Shite Hawk' posters. Bonus.
My brother and I were bought a ZX80, ZX81, A ZX spectrum and a C64. He is now an enormously well paid computer programmer, whereas the best I can do is submit my pointless meanderings to Playground Law and lament the pathetic excuse that is my so-called career.
You have the valid excuse of being deprived. I simply couldn't be fucked.
You have the valid excuse of being deprived. I simply couldn't be fucked.
The pinnacle of this practice was:
SANDWICH: Ham & mustard on white bread.
WITH: Beef Monster Munch (sadly no longer with us).
DUNKED INTO: Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle.
Lloyd Grossman eats these. He told me.
-Imagine how Lloyd pronounces the word "monster". Brrr, horrible.
SANDWICH: Ham & mustard on white bread.
WITH: Beef Monster Munch (sadly no longer with us).
DUNKED INTO: Chicken & Mushroom Pot Noodle.
Lloyd Grossman eats these. He told me.
-Imagine how Lloyd pronounces the word "monster". Brrr, horrible.
Said, slackmouthed and emotionlessly, in reply to patently unfunny joke/remark. Preceded by: Oh. Ha ha.
But Chakka Khan.
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.
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.
Tell 'em what to do
Have a wank, do a poo!
Have a wank, do a poo!
A brief round-up of the hair options available to the child who considers themself special...
Toners
Suitable for Duran/Japan fans, these came in sachets, the contents of which you 'washed in'. They lasted for between zero and one washes and came in the following tones: 'Mahogony', 'Copper', 'Fox' and 'Creosote'.
Sun-In
Suitable for Wham fans, sprayed onto towel dry hair, it gave you that 'just been to Club Tropicana' look. At Club Tropicana not only are drinks free, but people have hair like hay, coloured in with yellow felt-tip pens.
Henna
Suitable for Goths with crusty leanings. Users normally stank of patchouli.
Spray-In Colour
Strictly for the mummy's boys who weren't allowed to do anything even semi-permanent to their hair, these came in ridiculous fluorescent colours and earned the user no respect whatsoever. Nobody likes a tourist, especially "wacky" fuckers who rinsed their hair in the sink at the end of the day, so they don't get told off at home.
Proper Permanent Hair Dye
Two colours - Black. Or Blue/black. Can you hear me calling, Mari-aaa-eee-aaa-eee-anne?
Toners
Suitable for Duran/Japan fans, these came in sachets, the contents of which you 'washed in'. They lasted for between zero and one washes and came in the following tones: 'Mahogony', 'Copper', 'Fox' and 'Creosote'.
Sun-In
Suitable for Wham fans, sprayed onto towel dry hair, it gave you that 'just been to Club Tropicana' look. At Club Tropicana not only are drinks free, but people have hair like hay, coloured in with yellow felt-tip pens.
Henna
Suitable for Goths with crusty leanings. Users normally stank of patchouli.
Spray-In Colour
Strictly for the mummy's boys who weren't allowed to do anything even semi-permanent to their hair, these came in ridiculous fluorescent colours and earned the user no respect whatsoever. Nobody likes a tourist, especially "wacky" fuckers who rinsed their hair in the sink at the end of the day, so they don't get told off at home.
Proper Permanent Hair Dye
Two colours - Black. Or Blue/black. Can you hear me calling, Mari-aaa-eee-aaa-eee-anne?
Mr Carnell taught us that the rudest thing you can say in French is "Et ta soeur!"
Translation: "And your sister!" It apparently worked best as a reply to someone insulting you; i.e. "You're a tosser!" "So's your sister!"
I suspect that this is the rudest thing you can say in french. IF YOU'RE FIVE YEARS OLD.
Translation: "And your sister!" It apparently worked best as a reply to someone insulting you; i.e. "You're a tosser!" "So's your sister!"
I suspect that this is the rudest thing you can say in french. IF YOU'RE FIVE YEARS OLD.
This was a kind of 'Tag' game, played by hurling a tennis ball at someone's head from shockingly short range to make them 'it'.
As throws from behind were perfectly legal, it was quite possible not to realise you were playing until you felt a stunning blow to your occipital.
It was soon decided that tennis balls simply weren't murderous enough, and so they were replaced firstly by cricket balls, which themselves were succeded (on account of not having 'enough corners') by large cubes of solid pine stolen from the woodwork room.
Luckily, the game was outlawed before someone took the decision that lumps of timber simply weren't 'Ninja throwing star-y enough'.
As throws from behind were perfectly legal, it was quite possible not to realise you were playing until you felt a stunning blow to your occipital.
It was soon decided that tennis balls simply weren't murderous enough, and so they were replaced firstly by cricket balls, which themselves were succeded (on account of not having 'enough corners') by large cubes of solid pine stolen from the woodwork room.
Luckily, the game was outlawed before someone took the decision that lumps of timber simply weren't 'Ninja throwing star-y enough'.
Andy McNally : an oafish lump of a child. His squirrel game : to take a squirrel that he'd found outside his house, take it into a field and repeatedly throw the roadkill as high in the air as possible.
There was a boy at my junior school who, if you stamped your foot in his general direction and went "Yargh", even at some considerable distance, would curl up into a ball on the floor with a look of sheer terror on his face.
Only now can I assume that he was being abused at home every night, and in fact I was contributing to an existence more miserable than I can ever dream of.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a victim.
Only now can I assume that he was being abused at home every night, and in fact I was contributing to an existence more miserable than I can ever dream of.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a victim.
Remember when cash machines first came out? They had opaque perspex barriers that slid down to cover the screen and keyboard when not in use.
This was to prevent vanadlism, but as they were giving cards to everybody, it simply meant that vandals could make a right mess, then hide their handiwork until the next customer came along.
You would put your card into the slot, and the barrier would rise like a theatre curtain. To reveal a 'tableau' of greenies, marker pen and chip-shop Pies smeared all over the interior.
Today, that sort of thing would win the Turner. *Sits back, puffs on pipe, contented that he has had a dig at modern art, but vaguely annoyed he didn't get to mention split-in-half cows.*
This was to prevent vanadlism, but as they were giving cards to everybody, it simply meant that vandals could make a right mess, then hide their handiwork until the next customer came along.
You would put your card into the slot, and the barrier would rise like a theatre curtain. To reveal a 'tableau' of greenies, marker pen and chip-shop Pies smeared all over the interior.
Today, that sort of thing would win the Turner. *Sits back, puffs on pipe, contented that he has had a dig at modern art, but vaguely annoyed he didn't get to mention split-in-half cows.*
After listening to a fantasist regale us with tall tales, we would sing the theme tune to Storybook International. This was an ITV programme with animated opening titles of a suspiciously elegant bard. His beautiful singing would attract the attention of a fox, until he transformed without warning into a naked black man, scaring the shit out of his vulpine chum. Look, I'm not making this up.
Anyway, when he sings about his name in many countries, that's your opportunity to work in the insult. For example: if Roly claimed that his brother had a fight with Wolf from The Gladiators, you would sing:
I'm the Storyteller and my story must be told,
In Germany I'm Johannes, in England I am John,
In Cheltenham I'm Roly, and I'm a lying cunt.
If the liar was actually called John or, God forbid, Johannes, the last line could simply be repaced by a mongoloid impression, and a celebratory flid flippers dance.
Anyway, when he sings about his name in many countries, that's your opportunity to work in the insult. For example: if Roly claimed that his brother had a fight with Wolf from The Gladiators, you would sing:
I'm the Storyteller and my story must be told,
In Germany I'm Johannes, in England I am John,
In Cheltenham I'm Roly, and I'm a lying cunt.
If the liar was actually called John or, God forbid, Johannes, the last line could simply be repaced by a mongoloid impression, and a celebratory flid flippers dance.
You can, according to my better-informed schoolmates, tell whether a girl is a virgin or not by whether her knees rub together when she walks. If they don't then she has undoubtedly been riding the entire town and should be buried in a Y-shaped coffin, the dirty little whore.
Let's take Michelle McManus. Her knees definitely rub together when she walks, because she is fat. As it is a well known fact that it is harder to pull fat, ugly, birds than slim attractive ones*, and because, well, NO-ONE wants to shag a fat lass**, this must be true.
*Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.**Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.
Let's take Michelle McManus. Her knees definitely rub together when she walks, because she is fat. As it is a well known fact that it is harder to pull fat, ugly, birds than slim attractive ones*, and because, well, NO-ONE wants to shag a fat lass**, this must be true.
*Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.**Unless you are a fat ugly bloke.
Easy now; it's only the quarterly fat teacher update!
Gotty Gotty has written to let us know that he "Had a female I.T. teacher who was so fat that she once took a week off and when she came back it was revealed she'd been to have a baby.
She was so fat that nine months pregnancy was total unreadable under her vast bulk."
Rast Clat says: "Our R.E teacher, Mrs Hart, was so huge that when writing on the blackboard she would rub everything off with her huge boobies as she went, which confused her no end. She would also wear a bright yellow dress in the summer which, not only made her look like a tennis ball, but was also see-through, much to the disgust of everyone who set eyes on the massive beast."
Finally, an anonymous user wrote to say "My school must have been unique in not having any truly massive teachers. Perhaps the stairways were too weak/narrow to support them."
Er, quick question, anonymous user: do you find that people often yawn right in your fucking face, you pointless twat?
Gotty Gotty has written to let us know that he "Had a female I.T. teacher who was so fat that she once took a week off and when she came back it was revealed she'd been to have a baby.
She was so fat that nine months pregnancy was total unreadable under her vast bulk."
Rast Clat says: "Our R.E teacher, Mrs Hart, was so huge that when writing on the blackboard she would rub everything off with her huge boobies as she went, which confused her no end. She would also wear a bright yellow dress in the summer which, not only made her look like a tennis ball, but was also see-through, much to the disgust of everyone who set eyes on the massive beast."
Finally, an anonymous user wrote to say "My school must have been unique in not having any truly massive teachers. Perhaps the stairways were too weak/narrow to support them."
Er, quick question, anonymous user: do you find that people often yawn right in your fucking face, you pointless twat?
Casual insults hurled at those children who were pigeon toed. Those whose feet were only mildly inward pointing were dubbed 'Ricky', short for 'rickets'(the condition caused by not eating enough yam flavoured sailors); the more severely afflicted were called 'Nobby', after the rhyming slang for haemorroids (Nobby Stiles: piles). Evidently, the child's imagined bumgrapes were so massive, that the only relief to be had was to walk around with his buttocks as far apart as possible, resulting in that unmistakable 'Elvis Costello' stagger.
I got my first stirrings when Mrs Ramsay bent over to cut a large sheet of sugar paper I was holding, and I got an unencumbered view of her tits down her top. I was 8. Later that year, sex was explained to me when I asked Lee Davies what he was referring to when he sang a song containing the lyrics '...And the hairs of her Dicky-Dido went down to her knees'.
A planet discovered by William Herschel on March 13, 1781, and named 'Uranus' by him, for a laugh. An absolute comedy staple of geography lessons, and by far the funniest of all the planets. Examples of usage include:
"Miss! Last night I looked through a telescope and I could see Uranus!""Miss! I know Saturn has rings, but what about the ring of Uranus?""Miss! Is Uranus part of a constellation? Is it Great Bare or is it the Big Dipper?"
Recently, teachers have tried to convince us that it is pronounced 'Err-en-us', but their efforts are likely to be thwarted by the announcement that planet 'X' is to be officially recognised, and re-named 'Stinkycornhole'.
"Miss! Last night I looked through a telescope and I could see Uranus!""Miss! I know Saturn has rings, but what about the ring of Uranus?""Miss! Is Uranus part of a constellation? Is it Great Bare or is it the Big Dipper?"
Recently, teachers have tried to convince us that it is pronounced 'Err-en-us', but their efforts are likely to be thwarted by the announcement that planet 'X' is to be officially recognised, and re-named 'Stinkycornhole'.