| Report for Jimbo B. | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 14 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 17 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 16 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
Queynte, a noun occuring in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. The Miller, being a sanguine and bawdy character, was prone to grabbing women by their queynte, much like a cross between a bowling ball and a mitten.
In the same way you can briefly get away with the word bastard during discussions of Nativity Plays, reading the Miller's Tale is the one time you can say the word cunt to a teacher, safe in the knowledge that you are appreciating an etymology, and not simply saying cunt.
In the same way you can briefly get away with the word bastard during discussions of Nativity Plays, reading the Miller's Tale is the one time you can say the word cunt to a teacher, safe in the knowledge that you are appreciating an etymology, and not simply saying cunt.
Regarding the testicles thing; the original texts, in Aramaic and so forth, do contain words that can be translated as "testicles". However, since the kind of person who can be arsed to translate a dull and badly written piece of fiction into English are exactly the kind of person who will baulk at using the word "testicles", you will not often find a version of the bible containing the word "testicles".
However, you can find a version of the bible containing fashion tips and dating advice, including the gem that "God made guys to be the leaders, so girls shouldn't ever ask guys out or call a guy". I shit you not.
However, you can find a version of the bible containing fashion tips and dating advice, including the gem that "God made guys to be the leaders, so girls shouldn't ever ask guys out or call a guy". I shit you not.
Towards the end of my school life, I habitually bunked off games twice a week to sit in front of the telly and eat toast. At the end of one lunch break a teacher casually asked me what I'd be doing for the afternoon, so I breezily told her I'd be sitting in front of the TV eating toast and drinking tea.
I spent the remainder of that games period, and indeed every subsequent games period, on the fucking pitch feeling remarkably stupid.
I spent the remainder of that games period, and indeed every subsequent games period, on the fucking pitch feeling remarkably stupid.
I took the exam mentioned in which the first instruction was to read all the instructions, and the last instruction was to ignore all the other instructions and do nothing.
It wasn't a formally assessed exam; the assessment came during the exam as those of us (a surprisingly large number) who had actually read all the questions sat smugly whilst our contemparies did such things as " 4) If you are the first to get to this instruction, say in a loud voice 'I am the best at following instructions'" and "13) Stand up and turn all the way around once".
Most impressive was the insistence of one of the hapless spazzes, who claimed he did read all the instructions and knew that he wasn't supposed to do anything, but did it anyway for reasons he chose not to divulge.
It wasn't a formally assessed exam; the assessment came during the exam as those of us (a surprisingly large number) who had actually read all the questions sat smugly whilst our contemparies did such things as " 4) If you are the first to get to this instruction, say in a loud voice 'I am the best at following instructions'" and "13) Stand up and turn all the way around once".
Most impressive was the insistence of one of the hapless spazzes, who claimed he did read all the instructions and knew that he wasn't supposed to do anything, but did it anyway for reasons he chose not to divulge.
As well as being an above average chocolate bar, with an advert featuring a big-mouthed girl demanding chocolate to the tune of Harry Belafonte's Day-O, Trio was a fun game.
Rules : A wooden bench with a back was pulled a foot away from the wall. As many targets as possible would crouch behind it, and pop their heads up every few seconds. Those who couldn't fit behind the bench (as this was queerly the more popular playing position) would stand several feet away, and throw things at their heads as they popped up, like Whack Attack moles.
The reason this game is called Trio? The targets would sing "Trio", to the tune of Harry Belafontes "Day-O" as they poked their heads above the bench.
(To a Pokémon-savvy observer, who is aware of the taming process, the fact that most Pokémon can only say syllables from their own names, and the popping up and down nature of the Diglett family, this must have looked like nothing so much as cheeky wild Dugtrios being tamed by a violent trainer. Dear Jesus, I'm a total Pokémon wanker - Log)
Rules : A wooden bench with a back was pulled a foot away from the wall. As many targets as possible would crouch behind it, and pop their heads up every few seconds. Those who couldn't fit behind the bench (as this was queerly the more popular playing position) would stand several feet away, and throw things at their heads as they popped up, like Whack Attack moles.
The reason this game is called Trio? The targets would sing "Trio", to the tune of Harry Belafontes "Day-O" as they poked their heads above the bench.
(To a Pokémon-savvy observer, who is aware of the taming process, the fact that most Pokémon can only say syllables from their own names, and the popping up and down nature of the Diglett family, this must have looked like nothing so much as cheeky wild Dugtrios being tamed by a violent trainer. Dear Jesus, I'm a total Pokémon wanker - Log)
Having managed to buy a copy of Viz from a newsagent who didn't realise it was rude, I took it to school to impress people.
It was promptly confiscated by a P.E. teacher who, at the end of the day, gave it back with a grin and an angerless "you little scamp" tousle of my hair.
Within a second of him turning around, the other P.E. teacher confiscated it and kept it for an entire week.
How come one P.E. teacher managed to struggle through it in the course of only a single day, whilst the other took a week to mouth-breath his way through it?
Top 5 Reasons it might take a PE teacher a week to read Viz:
It was promptly confiscated by a P.E. teacher who, at the end of the day, gave it back with a grin and an angerless "you little scamp" tousle of my hair.
Within a second of him turning around, the other P.E. teacher confiscated it and kept it for an entire week.
How come one P.E. teacher managed to struggle through it in the course of only a single day, whilst the other took a week to mouth-breath his way through it?
Top 5 Reasons it might take a PE teacher a week to read Viz:
- His fists are so clenched with perpetual rage that he has to turn the pages clumsily with his knuckles.
- Every time he gets a joke, he has to take it to his girlfriend and say "that naughty cos the man dun poo wen he sed he wuddunt".
- He spent three days staring at the Vibrating Bum-Faced Goats before deciding it didn't make him want to wank.
- In a moment of hungry confusion, he ate the Viz, and it took him a week to buy another because "doing things is like riddles".
- He
I once used a Resusci-Annie to fail a four fucking day first aid course I had to do. Apparently I had "broken all her ribs and probably used one to puncture her lung". I followed this up by "willfully allowing a casualty to drown in his own blood". My appeal, based on the grounds that anyone could easily hold their breath for a fucking minute or so, was cruelly denied.
Speaking of denial, one ex-friend stunned me - not by casually admitting to having experimented with homosexuality at school - but justifying it to himself by claiming that everyone had. Everyone.
And anyone claiming not to have copped a dong in the gob is therefore more gay than those who did, because they are in denial. Perhaps he was chatting me up.
And anyone claiming not to have copped a dong in the gob is therefore more gay than those who did, because they are in denial. Perhaps he was chatting me up.
In a similar piece of logic, we were denied a coke machine.
Us: Why?
Them: It's a fire hazard?
Us: How?
Them: In the event of a fire it could block an exit.
Us: Well then put it somewhere where it isn't blocking an exit.
Them: In the event of a fire, someone could move it and use it to block an exit.
Us: If we wanted to burn someone to death we wouldn't be stopped by not having a coke machine to block a door with.
Them: Shut up.
Us: Why?
Them: It's a fire hazard?
Us: How?
Them: In the event of a fire it could block an exit.
Us: Well then put it somewhere where it isn't blocking an exit.
Them: In the event of a fire, someone could move it and use it to block an exit.
Us: If we wanted to burn someone to death we wouldn't be stopped by not having a coke machine to block a door with.
Them: Shut up.
Looking at the locker in the sports changing rooms one fine day, I remarked that I thought I could just about fit in one if I curled up very small. Someone expressed disbelief, so I smugly clambered into the locker and curled up. Doubting Gitface said it only counted if the door could shut fully, so with a big smile on my face I pulled the door shut. He couldn't believe his luck. Normally locking someone into a locker took several strong men and a couple of bruised or broken limbs; in this case, all he had to do was flick the lock shut and go to lunch. Pride stopped me from trying to attract attention until several minutes after everybody else had left.
Hampshire, Winter. An elite team of boarding school pupils gather on the headmster's lawn and build an enormous giant snow cock on this forbidden land. It was huge; as tall as the tallest pupil you can imagine.
The next day, it became a natural meeting point before school, and pupils lined the forbidden lawn, gazing in wonder at the edifice. The headmaster sent out a weedy, natural victim of a teacher with instructions to take down this obscenity.
His limbs, flapping uselessly at the proud, mighty totem served only to whip the baying crowd of pupils into hysteria, who saw it as nothing less than an attempt to wank it off.
The next day, it became a natural meeting point before school, and pupils lined the forbidden lawn, gazing in wonder at the edifice. The headmaster sent out a weedy, natural victim of a teacher with instructions to take down this obscenity.
His limbs, flapping uselessly at the proud, mighty totem served only to whip the baying crowd of pupils into hysteria, who saw it as nothing less than an attempt to wank it off.
Unleashing the knowledge on one hundred twelve year old boys that girls bled out of their fannies was bad enough.
But to tell them it was meant to happen and that it would happen for the rest of their lives really fucked with the minds of boys just starting to want to faff around down there, and set boy/girl diplomacy back several years.
But to tell them it was meant to happen and that it would happen for the rest of their lives really fucked with the minds of boys just starting to want to faff around down there, and set boy/girl diplomacy back several years.
The lowest level of the DoE award is notoriously hard to fail. But if the teacher running it drowns in front of his own children, you do kind of lose heart.
Calypso Cups - fruit drinks packaged in brittle plastic containers - were the perfect size to place in a blazer pocket, and thus in exactly the right place for someone to punch, causing a whale-like spurt of sticky liquid up the owner's blazer. Pocketing the Calypso Cup is a beverage faux pas you make once, and once only.