| Report for Drew Styles | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 9 |
| Pending stories (hidden) | 2 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 8 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 13 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
The act of voyeuristically viewing - or being viewed - via a small window within a door when confined to a teachers office for some reason.
The specific emotion felt by the exhibit behind the glass often correlated with the events preceeding their quarantine. Acts of malfeasance made one feel pleasingly notorious when regarded. By contrast, emotional outbursts or displays (particularly in response to taunting) engendered in the tank occupant a unique nakedness and vulnerability.
But most pleasingly, from the perspective of the viewer performing the tanking, was the fact that a swift gurn over the teacher's shoulder through the mesh-reinforced glass would light the blue touch-paper on a further outpouring of hysterical belligerence from the 'fishie'.
The specific emotion felt by the exhibit behind the glass often correlated with the events preceeding their quarantine. Acts of malfeasance made one feel pleasingly notorious when regarded. By contrast, emotional outbursts or displays (particularly in response to taunting) engendered in the tank occupant a unique nakedness and vulnerability.
But most pleasingly, from the perspective of the viewer performing the tanking, was the fact that a swift gurn over the teacher's shoulder through the mesh-reinforced glass would light the blue touch-paper on a further outpouring of hysterical belligerence from the 'fishie'.
Is that not in some way derived from a song that Bruno, the fabulously permed keyboard spanker from Fame, played about Mr. Shorofsky, his music teacher?
The song in question is featured in the episode "A Musical Bridge" from Season One. Another episode where Bruno agonises over writing music when Montgomery tries to persuade him to cash in on his ability to produce "a mindless cacophony" (Sho-Sho-Sho-Shorofsky, Do The Gimme That).
I didn't just know that, by the way. I looked it up. - Ponky
The song in question is featured in the episode "A Musical Bridge" from Season One. Another episode where Bruno agonises over writing music when Montgomery tries to persuade him to cash in on his ability to produce "a mindless cacophony" (Sho-Sho-Sho-Shorofsky, Do The Gimme That).
I didn't just know that, by the way. I looked it up. - Ponky
The lyrical mainstay of Paul Yates second (and sadly last) school assembly pop extravaganza.
To set the delicious scene; Paul was NOT your normal school league pop kid. He looked like H from Steps had been interrupted whilst morphing into a football. His fringe and forehead seemed thrust together as a result of seperate, geographically divorced planning committees. His shirt cuffs were always a good seven inches prouder then his jumper sleeves.
He was good at all subjects and correspondingly bad at all other aspects of life - including not being considered a bed wetting chess club stalwart.
He happily admitted doing an hour of voluntary "study" (not homework, study) each night at home, as if this deserved anything other than scowls and occasional violence. His sister showed solidarity with her brother's cause by sprouting a moustache at the age of 14.
Despite all this, Paul scored minor pop kudos for a keyboard backed lament about nuclear war one assembly day. We begrudgingly gave him credit for his efforts.
Flushed with success, a later assembly found him sitting behind a "drum kit" assembled from the kettle drum, a snare drum, and all the other crap the dumb kids got to vent on during group pieces. To our delight, he proceeded to thrash (alone, without any other accompaniment) arhythmically like a waterheaded Keith Moon, whilst trilling in an odd adolescent contralto;
Dance to the music,
rock rock rock.
Everybody is doing it,
rock rock rock.
Please note his failure to conjugate "everybody" and "is" into a less rockless "everybody's". Oh yes, he even incited group bachannalian abandon politely. Of course, we laughed. A sound which his brain appeared to translate into applause.
He never performed another self-penned opus, so this remains the highlight of my school life. Paul, if you're out there; home studios are very cheap now. Please, Paul. You owe it to rock.
To set the delicious scene; Paul was NOT your normal school league pop kid. He looked like H from Steps had been interrupted whilst morphing into a football. His fringe and forehead seemed thrust together as a result of seperate, geographically divorced planning committees. His shirt cuffs were always a good seven inches prouder then his jumper sleeves.
He was good at all subjects and correspondingly bad at all other aspects of life - including not being considered a bed wetting chess club stalwart.
He happily admitted doing an hour of voluntary "study" (not homework, study) each night at home, as if this deserved anything other than scowls and occasional violence. His sister showed solidarity with her brother's cause by sprouting a moustache at the age of 14.
Despite all this, Paul scored minor pop kudos for a keyboard backed lament about nuclear war one assembly day. We begrudgingly gave him credit for his efforts.
Flushed with success, a later assembly found him sitting behind a "drum kit" assembled from the kettle drum, a snare drum, and all the other crap the dumb kids got to vent on during group pieces. To our delight, he proceeded to thrash (alone, without any other accompaniment) arhythmically like a waterheaded Keith Moon, whilst trilling in an odd adolescent contralto;
Dance to the music,
rock rock rock.
Everybody is doing it,
rock rock rock.
Please note his failure to conjugate "everybody" and "is" into a less rockless "everybody's". Oh yes, he even incited group bachannalian abandon politely. Of course, we laughed. A sound which his brain appeared to translate into applause.
He never performed another self-penned opus, so this remains the highlight of my school life. Paul, if you're out there; home studios are very cheap now. Please, Paul. You owe it to rock.
That pales into insignifigance next to the mini-ELO stage show that is opening all the gas taps around a square workstation and lighting them. With just a snaffled pack of Swan Vestas the entire classroom can look like a Bonnie Tyler video.
Jimmy M allegedly took a crap in the empty case of "Adventures in Babysitting" in our local non-chain video rental store. I'm not sure if this was anarchy or criticism.
Despite not being there at the time I'm confident of the veracity of the story because I can't believe a 14 year old would be witty enough to arbitrarily insert a film like "Adventures in Babysitting" into the anecdote's retelling.
Despite not being there at the time I'm confident of the veracity of the story because I can't believe a 14 year old would be witty enough to arbitrarily insert a film like "Adventures in Babysitting" into the anecdote's retelling.
This seems as good a forum as any to state; David Craig, once and for all, I don't care what your mum says my mum said in 1982, I did NOT have stitches on my cock when I was cicumcised.
The greatest open goal nervy French teacher Mrs Redwood ever gifted me was sending me out of the class with the parting shot "...and don't come back until you're ready to work." So naturally, I went home.
With hindsight, I wish I'd had the vision to realise the gag's full potential and never come back.
With hindsight, I wish I'd had the vision to realise the gag's full potential and never come back.
Our bitchwhore of a first year junior teacher, Miss Shaw, made a young lad of pikey extraction do PE in a lovely pleated green PE skirt from the lost kit mong begbox when he forgot his shorts once. If I saw her today, I'd kick her in the cunt for that.
I wonder if I'm the only one thinking that you all sound like a far greater bunch of cunts then him?