My mate Pike jumped on a squirrel. He did. It's eyes popped out and everything.

Readers! Have you ever jumped on anything so that it's eyes popped out? My brother once trod on a pregnant gerbil, and apparently her eyes AND babies popped out! Unfortunately, he couldn't say whether the babies' eyes popped out, too. Please! Share your stories of jumping on something so that its eyes pop out - Log

Once we found a frog, sitting on a large rock. We were all gathered around admiring the hapless amphibian when Little Fricker produced a claw hammer and smashed the luckless critter right in the back.
Symptoms of frog hammer attack : a wafer thin depression where its back once was, and all of its innards had been jettisonned from its mouth. Eyes, however, remained in their sockets.

I went fishing with my Nan and my cousin once. I caught a perch, but couldn't get the hook out of it's mouth. With the confidence of the seasoned fisherwoman, my Nan deftly pulled the hook out, bringing with it the eyes and jaw of the rather surprised fish.
She just said 'shit', took her shoe off, smashed the poor little fucker on the head and threw it back in the lake.
The journey home was quiet, and included lots of staring out of the car window.

My friend accidentally trod on a sparrow as we were walking along the lane to school. Readers may be interested to know that sparrows go 'crunch' and not 'splat'. I didn't look at its eyes.

Goats will happily eat tiny frogs if they are wrapped up in leaves, greek style.
If you don't have goats around, the only other use for tiny frogs (whose anuses are too small to slip Calypso straws into) is to practice roundhouse kicks by throwing them into the air, and kicking them into a kind of dead dimension as they land.

My foster sister had downs syndrome, and being typically affectionate, loved the cat very, very much. So much so, that one day she gave it a gleeful squeeze and it's bot popped out. Don't worry, ladies, the cat lived for many years; just with a very long anus.

"The Wheels of Death" were quite simply the most efficient killing system employed by anyone since Auschwitz.
1. Gather up as many snails as you can find. A damp school playground is an excellent place to look. A tupperware container is useful to store your molluscy trophies.
2. Find a nearby car that you know will be driven soon. If you're doing this at school, now is an excellent time to take a trip to the teachers' car park.
3. Place the snails all around the tyres of this car. They will conveniently stick themselves to the tyres!
4. Wait. Wait wait wait.
5. The door closes. The engine starts up. The car reverses up to pull out. The first few snails pop satisfyingly, a mere teaser.
As the car slowly drives away, listen to that rhythmic crunch.
That is the sound of death, my friends.

I used to live near an old mill pond, and occasionally perch would appear, dead in the reedy edges.
Commenting that one of these perch - with its slack, gaping mouth and beady eyes - looked like my friend's mother, I leant in to note the similarities further.
Just as my friend, enraged at this scaled clone's likeness, jumped on it, launching a mixture of shoe dirt and perch guts into my mouth.
So, I can verify that this is what happens when someone jumps on a dead perch. If you are looking into its mouth.

Take one of everything with a picture of a skull or some fire on it out of the kitchen, and/or shed. Mix. Put mixture in one of those garden spray containers for misting plants. Spray directly onto spider's webs then poke the middle to make them come scurrying out. Light.
That'll teach the little fuckers for having eight legs and being creepy.

Baby frogs strike amusing limbs-at-full-stretch "Kate Bush" poses when they jump from ones hand and land delicately into a fresh cup of tea.

My Dad, who being a keen gardener hated slugs, taught me that the best way to kill them was by pouring salt on them. Naturally, I passed this information on to my classmates, and the resultant carnage was worse than the daddy-long-legs genocide which had occurred a few months previously.

Dad, however, quickly tired of wasting good salt on mere molluscs, and was keenly researching new ways of making slugs die. One morning he proudly showed me how far he had managed to shoot a slug's innards after stamping on one end of it. They’d gone at least a foot.

That day at school, there wasn’t an unstamped slug in sight.