| Report for Rik Burke | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 4 |
| Rejected stories (hidden) | 4 |
| Summary | Exemplary Child |
A game played by myself and Greg Sullivan at primary school. The premise of the game was that we ran a hotel built entirely out of poo. (Imaginary) guests would come and stay, and we would try and ensure that they never realised the true nature of the hotel. It wasn't just the walls etc that were excretal in origin, however - hilariously, the menu was mainly made up of such delicacies as "burnt sausages" and "lemonade". We also offered a fine range of after dinner cigars.
In retrospect, it's hard to escape the suspicion that the entire game was a a flimsy bolt-on to a rather poor pun - but it still kept us out of trouble. Readers may also be interested to know that as a mature(-ish) adult I harbour no cloacal tendancies and that this was obviously "just a phase".
In retrospect, it's hard to escape the suspicion that the entire game was a a flimsy bolt-on to a rather poor pun - but it still kept us out of trouble. Readers may also be interested to know that as a mature(-ish) adult I harbour no cloacal tendancies and that this was obviously "just a phase".
What do you find up an Ethiopian's arse?
Cobwebs.
Cobwebs.
The practice of rolling up a towel diagonally, so it tapers to a fine point. This can then be used to whip people coming out of the shower.
I could never perfect the whipping action, which made it all the more surprising when I caught Francis Gotto on the end of his cock with an absolute corker of a flick. However, something (I presume a label from my towel) went flying off just as the crack (and subsequent howl of agony) happened. For a few horrid seconds I was convinced that I had literally whipped the top of his dick off like popping some sort of phallic champagne cork. Images of expulsion and/or prison rampaged unchecked through my head.
I never rat's tailed anybody again.
I could never perfect the whipping action, which made it all the more surprising when I caught Francis Gotto on the end of his cock with an absolute corker of a flick. However, something (I presume a label from my towel) went flying off just as the crack (and subsequent howl of agony) happened. For a few horrid seconds I was convinced that I had literally whipped the top of his dick off like popping some sort of phallic champagne cork. Images of expulsion and/or prison rampaged unchecked through my head.
I never rat's tailed anybody again.
Sage advice, and sadly not heeded by one J.C. Royston in his efforts to skive the once-yearly school run. His effort consisted of ducking under a bridge approx 200m from the start/finish line, and treating himself to a crafty kip.
On waking, he peeked out, troll-like, from under the bridge, and saw the finish line was absolutely deserted of everyone bar the timekeepers. Coming to the natural conclusion that everybody else must have finished, he came out from his hiding place and put in an impressive sprint finish.
On crossing the line, however, he was informed by a (curiously unimpressed) teacher that he had just knocked 28 minutes off the previous school record of 44 minutes.
J.C. Royston was not promoted to the school team on the basis of this superhuman feat; he was put into detention, where he presumably had to write out "I must not run at twenty five miles per hour" a thousand times.
On waking, he peeked out, troll-like, from under the bridge, and saw the finish line was absolutely deserted of everyone bar the timekeepers. Coming to the natural conclusion that everybody else must have finished, he came out from his hiding place and put in an impressive sprint finish.
On crossing the line, however, he was informed by a (curiously unimpressed) teacher that he had just knocked 28 minutes off the previous school record of 44 minutes.
J.C. Royston was not promoted to the school team on the basis of this superhuman feat; he was put into detention, where he presumably had to write out "I must not run at twenty five miles per hour" a thousand times.