| Report for Leigh L. | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 8 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 4 |
| Summary | Exemplary Child |
While Skill's country of origin was never widely known (or cared about) at our school, it was first and foremost a BUMMER'S disease, not a BUM disease, which is an entirely different thing and a deeply important clarification.
It was conceivable that you could pick up a bum disease just by not wiping your arse properly, or sitting on a fat kid's coat, for example. There was only one way of getting a bummer's disease.
It was conceivable that you could pick up a bum disease just by not wiping your arse properly, or sitting on a fat kid's coat, for example. There was only one way of getting a bummer's disease.
At one point during the moral and sociological evolution of our class, superiority over others suddenly came down to one thing and one thing only: the girth of your shit. Ludicrous Pythonesque exaggerations flew thick and fast, but Big Dai Morgan's solemn claim that he'd laid one as thick as a Coke can while out camping the previous week was both horrifying and oddly believable.
Maths teacher who developed the controversial but effective teaching method of grabbing kids by the throat and pinning them to the wall until they gave her the right answer.
Often resulting in panicked trial and error and a stream of steadily less discernable numbers.
Often resulting in panicked trial and error and a stream of steadily less discernable numbers.
Robert Watson's eloquent yet practical description of hateful Maths teacher Mr. Pickrell's balding head:
"I give up, it's like talking to a wall."
"Yeah, and this is like talking to a fucking egg."
The sneering bastard was so taken aback he couldn't think of anything to do but turn around and carry on with the lesson, whereupon we resumed the quiet, character-building ritual of taking turns spitting into his briefcase.
"I give up, it's like talking to a wall."
"Yeah, and this is like talking to a fucking egg."
The sneering bastard was so taken aback he couldn't think of anything to do but turn around and carry on with the lesson, whereupon we resumed the quiet, character-building ritual of taking turns spitting into his briefcase.
Shit but traditional time-waster of a game played with pens, strips of paper and as many people as possible (pointless if played with two, heartbreaking if played alone). The idea was that everyone started off by writing someone's name at the top, folding it over so that the next person couldn't see it, then passing it along. The next person would add a random sentence beginning with the agreed word, usually 'went', 'met' or 'had', occasionally 'shagged' or 'sucked'.
This went on until the strips were full, usually dictated by the thick kid with the huge writing, and the hilarious stories that you'd created were unfolded and read aloud. Most of the time, sadly, they were not the dada-ist flights of whimsy one would expect. They were either total bollocks that either made no sense, or contained endless variations on the same sentence from kids with fuck all imagination, like "went to shag a prostitute!!!" or "had a big shit on the toilet!!!"
William Burroughs did not write Naked Lunch after a game of Consequences.
This went on until the strips were full, usually dictated by the thick kid with the huge writing, and the hilarious stories that you'd created were unfolded and read aloud. Most of the time, sadly, they were not the dada-ist flights of whimsy one would expect. They were either total bollocks that either made no sense, or contained endless variations on the same sentence from kids with fuck all imagination, like "went to shag a prostitute!!!" or "had a big shit on the toilet!!!"
William Burroughs did not write Naked Lunch after a game of Consequences.
The incomprehensible way in which Mark Lewis used to pronounce 'penis', and the sole reason that we used to look forward to Geography lessons*. Mark would sit in front of us and mutter it to himself constantly throughout the lesson. Sometimes he included someone's name as an afterthought, but we liked it best when he attached it to a type of stream-bed erosion or the name of a country whose main export goods were being discussed.
* Apart from "Windy" Miller the teacher and his extravagant pigeon strut.
* Apart from "Windy" Miller the teacher and his extravagant pigeon strut.
What David Jones ended up with when we got bored on yet another fucking trip to the local country park to sift the pond for poxy whirligig beetles and cunting caddis fly larvae.
Anyone who kicked Cheesy, stole his bag or merely expressed a different opinion to him in polite conversation instantly became his emeny, and he'd waste no time telling them as much. I suspect he'd have had less emenies if he hadn't insisted on using a bastardisation of the English language generally reserved for children 10-12 years younger.