| Report for Conor Franklin | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 16 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 1 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 2 |
| Summary | Reprehensible Swot |
A tense and exciting game where the kid with a well-known peanut allergy would be pinned against a wall and force-fed 'Revels' one by one (statistically, one in five of which would contain a peanut). A standard get-out for the victim involved him pretending to have consumed a peanut and falling to the floor in mock-spasms clutching his throat, thus rendering the game over. Ultimately, however, this 'cry wolf' strategy backfired when he actually did swallow a peanut and alarm was only raised when he hadn't got up ten minutes later.
A line from Nora in the A-Level English Literature study-favourite 'A Doll's House' by Frederik Ibsen.
"If only I dared go out. If only no one would come. If only I could be sure nothing would happen here in the meantime. Stuff and nonsense! No one will come. Only I mustn't think about it. I will brush my muff. What lovely, lovely gloves!"
At this point, discipline faded fast.
(Also consider "Ride you tonight, my lord?" from Macbeth)
"If only I dared go out. If only no one would come. If only I could be sure nothing would happen here in the meantime. Stuff and nonsense! No one will come. Only I mustn't think about it. I will brush my muff. What lovely, lovely gloves!"
At this point, discipline faded fast.
(Also consider "Ride you tonight, my lord?" from Macbeth)
Pointless time-filling Geography exercise compulsory for every child in Britain to perform at least once. It involved writing down the registration plate of every car in the chosen street.
Come to think of it, Ken Livingstone didn't have to spend all that money on fancy cameras around the congestion charge zone. He could have just dispatched class 5 from the local primary.
Come to think of it, Ken Livingstone didn't have to spend all that money on fancy cameras around the congestion charge zone. He could have just dispatched class 5 from the local primary.
Taking a length of flexible tubing and spraying a can of lynx into one end, while holding a cigarette lighter to the other will make a rudimentary playground flamethrower.
Unfortunately the fire has a tendency to burst out of both ends, injuring both victim and assailant.
Unfortunately the fire has a tendency to burst out of both ends, injuring both victim and assailant.
Magnesium ribbon - a favourite. Produces an intense white light when lit. Can cause temporary blindness if let off in someone's face.
Sodium - produces unimpressive fizzing display when dropped in a sink full of water unless you've got enough to simulate Krakatoa. Dunking a head in the fizz will cause extreme panic and some flailing.
Phosphorus - the heavyweight. Ignites on contact with the air! Imagine sticking it down someone's collar!
Master these three and you may move on to caesium, if you can get the key to the special cupboard.
Sodium - produces unimpressive fizzing display when dropped in a sink full of water unless you've got enough to simulate Krakatoa. Dunking a head in the fizz will cause extreme panic and some flailing.
Phosphorus - the heavyweight. Ignites on contact with the air! Imagine sticking it down someone's collar!
Master these three and you may move on to caesium, if you can get the key to the special cupboard.
The most anti-climactic moment of a generation's primary school life. Everyone got the afternoon off to watch this momentous event on the TV in the assembly hall, and what emerged? A couple of planks of soggy wood. Everyone shuffled off home disappointed that the promised magnificent galleon and flagship of Henry VIII's war fleet had spectacularly failed to appear.
A headline which appeared in the local paper following the announcement of the closure of our tiny catholic boy's school. The paper reported that the parent/teacher pressure group campaigning to keep the school open had spoken directly to the Pope who was said to be 'gravely concerned' about the situation.
Yeah, right.
Yeah, right.
A headline which appeared in our local paper following the announcement of the closure of our tiny catholic boy's school. The paper reported that the parent/teacher pressure group campaigning to keep the school open had spoken directly to the Pope, who was said to be 'gravely concerned' about the situation.
So concerned was the Pope, that he immediately cancelled all his pending engagements and flew to Droitwich Spa in his private jet, to jolly well give the local authorities what for.
Then the chairman of the pressure group woke up - and the cat was hungry.
So concerned was the Pope, that he immediately cancelled all his pending engagements and flew to Droitwich Spa in his private jet, to jolly well give the local authorities what for.
Then the chairman of the pressure group woke up - and the cat was hungry.
Desperate pleas that "nits only live in really clean hair" will never be believed. The nurse only told you that to make you feel better. In reality, you even revolted the nurse.
A bizarre quasi-religious cult movement founded by several people in my year following the discovery of a mocked-up pub sign beneath the stage in the Hall. It was presumably a piece of scenery from a pantomime. The Boar's Head was protected jealously, and its status as a sign from God was akin to that of the Ark of the Covenant. I think it was believed that any army which carried the Boar's Head before it was invincible, so numbers of the converted swelled. A rival faction claiming to be the 'anti-Boar's head' made an appearance at one point, but it was not popular.
I last saw the Boar's Head in an industrial dustbin when they shut the school down. I would have rescued it for posterity, had it not been covered in garbage and rotting food.
I last saw the Boar's Head in an industrial dustbin when they shut the school down. I would have rescued it for posterity, had it not been covered in garbage and rotting food.
The Goat of Mendes signed up for five-a-side football, according to the sign up sheet I posted on the school sports notice board.
He didn't show up for training, presumably due to the lengthy commute from Hell and lack of available football boots for cloven hooves.
He didn't show up for training, presumably due to the lengthy commute from Hell and lack of available football boots for cloven hooves.
Surname sounds like a Cockney pronunciation of the worst word. Saying "Brian" before "Cunt" therefore affords you some protection from punishment. Although you should rightfully get punched for talking like a Cockney.
A flawless system of truancy detection.
Missing a class would involve its teacher writing your name and details of your crime on a yellow piece of paper.
(Lemon Slips sounded infinitely more menacing than yellow paper, though - both effete and mysterious, you can imagine the shudders running down a gentleman's spine.)
These lemon slips were sent to the school secretary, and they were then inserted in the register each morning.
Registers were then left completely unguarded in every form room for a 15 minute period ahead of registration, every day.
There was very little reported truancy at my school.
Missing a class would involve its teacher writing your name and details of your crime on a yellow piece of paper.
(Lemon Slips sounded infinitely more menacing than yellow paper, though - both effete and mysterious, you can imagine the shudders running down a gentleman's spine.)
These lemon slips were sent to the school secretary, and they were then inserted in the register each morning.
Registers were then left completely unguarded in every form room for a 15 minute period ahead of registration, every day.
There was very little reported truancy at my school.
Father Damian was the fattest teach-priest in the world. So much so that someone smeared the word FAT in mud on his clasroom window. This drove him to launch a plastic chair across the room in fat-handed rage.
(Have you said your prayers, Father Damian? What did you pray for? You say you prayed for a hill of butter? FAT PRIEST ALERT! Our father who art in heaven, seventeen chicken chow mein! Is there any other combination of FAT + something else we haven't done? Fat science dwarves? Anyone?)
(Have you said your prayers, Father Damian? What did you pray for? You say you prayed for a hill of butter? FAT PRIEST ALERT! Our father who art in heaven, seventeen chicken chow mein! Is there any other combination of FAT + something else we haven't done? Fat science dwarves? Anyone?)
...and before hundreds of you write in (oops, too late), it's not 'minge' or 'motherfucker'. Both are considerably beyond the horizon of the seven year old's swear radar, and anyway I've checked with the author. So think on.
Dear readers,
Well, yes, it seems I was a little too hasty in jumping on the bullshit bandwagon with this story. However, I'm not sorry, I don't care, and you're all gay.
All right, all right, I'll go and stand in the corner and do a snot bubble.
Well, yes, it seems I was a little too hasty in jumping on the bullshit bandwagon with this story. However, I'm not sorry, I don't care, and you're all gay.
All right, all right, I'll go and stand in the corner and do a snot bubble.