| Report for Bitching Pedant | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 5 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 3 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 9 |
| Summary | Mean Boy |
Brett was our fun class scapegoat. Each break time we would playfully chase him across the playing fields until we caught him, whereupon a joyfully mild beating would be administered.
I thought of this as run-of-the-mill schoolboy horsefoolery, until my mate from another class furnished me with a more objective viewpoint. He had one of those teachers who would keep students back on any flimsy pretext, so his class often got to see our fun. He provided me with this description.
I thought of this as run-of-the-mill schoolboy horsefoolery, until my mate from another class furnished me with a more objective viewpoint. He had one of those teachers who would keep students back on any flimsy pretext, so his class often got to see our fun. He provided me with this description.
- The bell would ring. There would then be a gap of some 30 seconds, during which his entire class would stare out of the window.
- Like a panicked Gazelle, Palfrey would spring out from the buildings and beat a breakneck path across the playing fields.
- There would be a further gap of about 5 seconds, as an underfoot thunder gathered force.
- The doors burst open, and a screaming mess of boyhood (containing a significant number of the rugby team) throttled towards the fleeing Palfrey.
- Palfrey would be engulfed. His bag, ejected from the melee, would follow a graceful parabola before showering the ground with his books.
- The cloud would then disperse, cheerfully discussing the whimsical dusting-down that had just been meted out.
- A broken Palfrey forlornly picked up his books, put them back in his bag, and waited until he could get back to the comparative safety of the classroom.
Approach your victim and tell him that you will say to him the names of various birds, and after each one he must say 'Why?'.
You: 'Eagle'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Swan'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Sparrow'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Crow'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Duck'
Him: 'Why?'
You then swing your arm in a horizontal arc and smack him on the side of the head as hard as you can.
It should be a him, as girls lack the linguistic sophistication required for a joke of this cunning. Plus, they might say "Saying why after each bird makes no sense. I'm not going to indulge this folly," the divs.
You: 'Eagle'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Swan'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Sparrow'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Crow'
Him: 'Why?'
You: 'Duck'
Him: 'Why?'
You then swing your arm in a horizontal arc and smack him on the side of the head as hard as you can.
It should be a him, as girls lack the linguistic sophistication required for a joke of this cunning. Plus, they might say "Saying why after each bird makes no sense. I'm not going to indulge this folly," the divs.
A woeful cliché posed by clueless teachers when they see you writing something unrelated to study, and probably childish. In this case, I had just written "tits bum fannies knobs" on my neighbour's exercise book.
My mate, already tolerating my childishness, fixed Miss with a look of limitless contempt, sighed, and said 'Not really, Miss.'
But Miss was made of sterner stuff. She picked up the book, and read the four words out with such undisguised relish - "tit... BUM... fannies... nooooooobs..." even contriving to give the word "knob" five syllables.
The class went wild for this reading, and my friend was given weeklong kudos. Which is a bit unfair, considering I wrote it.
My mate, already tolerating my childishness, fixed Miss with a look of limitless contempt, sighed, and said 'Not really, Miss.'
But Miss was made of sterner stuff. She picked up the book, and read the four words out with such undisguised relish - "tit... BUM... fannies... nooooooobs..." even contriving to give the word "knob" five syllables.
The class went wild for this reading, and my friend was given weeklong kudos. Which is a bit unfair, considering I wrote it.
Mr. Roberts was the supply teacher who turned up when our normal teachers couldn't be arsed.
He looked like William Conrad in Cannon (A Quinn Martin Production), but without the moustache. Plus, he was bald too.
Best was when he had to take us for games. He'd make the pretence of refereeing a game of football or rugby for precisely two minutes, then stop us because we were 'doing it all wrong' and make us line up for some 'coaching', which, PURELY coincidentally, entailed him standing still for the rest of the lesson.
He looked like William Conrad in Cannon (A Quinn Martin Production), but without the moustache. Plus, he was bald too.
Best was when he had to take us for games. He'd make the pretence of refereeing a game of football or rugby for precisely two minutes, then stop us because we were 'doing it all wrong' and make us line up for some 'coaching', which, PURELY coincidentally, entailed him standing still for the rest of the lesson.
If a bully from the year above is amusing himself during a quiet lunch break by repeatedly banging you head on the ground, it is a Bad Idea to press your head against the ground to stop him lifting it up again.
He will stamp on it instead.
He will stamp on it instead.