Pranky Mc Pranks.
Back when I was a teacher, I engaged in many acts of japery and indeed hijinks.

One particular lad called Frankie was a troubled little fellow, and I took him under my wing. His mother was a waitress in a cocktail bar. His father left home at an early age because his mother didn't want him anymore, so he had no father figure, or floating shelf in his life.

I saw him being bullied as usual one day by 'Tucker' Jenkins, a loud mouthed little cunt who had been transferred to the school only recently after being expelled from his last school for throwing a sauasage on a fork at another pupil.

"Oi, Frankie you dirty pikey!" He yelled at Frankie "Nobody hides from the Wolf" With that Tucker brandished his signed framed photograph of 'Wolf' from Gladiators which was hanging round his neck, thrust it at Frankie, and then threw no less than 13 cocktail sausages on plastic forks at the poor lad from a cool box he was carrying.

Well, I felt sorry for the lad, but couldn't intervene. The government was stopping any form of discipline enforcement, and I was on my tea break and had a marmalade sandwich to look forward to. Oh how I loved my marmalade sandwiches. I would eat them like Paddington Bear - stop animation style with my nose and mouth moving up and down in rapid movements.

Anyway, I came up with a scheme to get Tucker Jenkins back, and make Frankie feel like a hero. All this was achieved using childish pranks.

I visited the joke shop that night and spent a small fortune. I also stopped at the Supermarket to get a bottle of wine and some flowers for the missus. Then I ran all the way to Frankie's house. I knocked on the door and Frankie's mum answered. I was panting from running, and carrying my haul from the joke shop and my flowers and wine.

"Can I see Frankie?" I asked his mum.

"Of course Mr Quaffer, he has just got out of the bath and should be in his room.

"Excellent" I said, rubbed my hands, adjusted my ballbag (which had become tangled from running) and made my way to the young boy's room with my stuff.

There we plotted the fiendish plot to end all fiendish plots. A plot that would see the downfall of Tucker Fucking Jenkins, the cunt that he was.

The next day, the plan went into action. Frankie made sure he was hanging around the gate when Tucker walked in. I was hiding behind a bush.

Tucker came round the corner, spotted Frankie, and the abuse began.

"Ha! It's Frankie. Your kettle is out of date and smells of stale water you fucking shitcunt!" He yelled at Frankie.

I have to concede that Tucker was spot on here. When I was round Frankie's house, I noticed that the kettle was a Morphy Richards model, beige in colour, circa 1974. Wasn’t even cordless. I mean, you can see why the poor lad was targeted by bullies.

Frankie sighed and slowly walked up to Tucker Jenkins, and squared up to his face. A small crowd gathered.

"What are YOU going to do Frankie? You wear Gola trainers, and you use own brand Ibubrofen when you have a headache."

It was then he noticed Frankie's flower on his lapel.

"Hey, that’s quite a nice flower that, Frankie. Mind if I have a sniff?"

"Go right ahead, Tucker" Said Frankie with a snigger.

Tucker leant forward, and BAM! water all in his fucking face!

"Glub glub... You utter fucking bastard!" Shouted Tucker.

"WHOOP WHOOP!" Shouted Frankie, farted and ran off to class, leaving a small crowd of slightly amused people, and a slightly wet and embarrassed Tucker Jenkins in his wake.

Later on in class, Frankie was sat in his usual place, when Tucker walked in. I was hiding behind a bush.

"I'll get you after school Frankie" Said Tucker, all sinister like, and showed Frankie his inside pocket, which housed an Asda 'Taste the Difference' Lincolnshire sausage with a Stirling silver fork stuck into it.

Although frightened, Frankie continued with the plan.

"Come sit down here Tucker, I've cleaned this chair for you" he said.

"Hey, that chair is quite clean compared to the other chairs, ok."

Quick as a flash, Frankie slipped the whoopee cushion onto the seat as Tucker sat down.

“PPRRAAAAARRRPPP!!!”

“Eurgh, you dirty beast!” Said Frankie on cue, and the whole class turned around to a red faced Tucker Jenkins under suspicion of dropping his guts. All the other kids were mildly amused.

Frankie adopted a Blakey impression, shook his fist and shouted “I’ll ‘ave you Frankieeeee!”

“SHNEEB! SHNEEB!” Frankie shouted back, spun around, and did a Michael Jackson tip-toes-bended-knees-hand-on-hat pose before shooting gun fingers at Tucker and moonwalking out the door.

At lunchtime, Frankie watched tucker as he went into the boy’s toilets, and he followed him in. I was hiding behind a bush.

He waited for Tucker to finish having a piss, and approached him as he went to the sinks.

“Frankie you cunt, get the fuck out of here before you get this in your fucking eye.” From his pocket Tucker pulled out a barbecue fork with a cumberland ring on the end of it.

“Cool your jets Tucker” said Frankie, cool as a cucumber. “I just thought you might like a stick of chewing gum”

“Ooh sounds good, I could do with a breath freshn… Hey, wait a minute… That looks like an awfully cheap pack of chewing gum, and I thought they stopped making Doublemint years ago, and its your last one… Are you sure I can have it?”

“Of course, my old adversary”

Tucker took the gum, and SNAP! Hidden trap device straight onto the index finger! All the boys who saw it go down tittered slightly.

“Gah! You wanker! I’ll get you for this you see if I don’t!” Yelled Tucker as he flailed around the bathroom.

“BUCKEROO! BUCKEROO!” Yelled Frankie, and he clicked his heels, licked his finger and drew a ‘3’ in the air, before licking his other finger and pressing it against his buttock and making a ‘hisssssssss’ noise. Then he ran out.

All was going well, and the final and most genius part of the plan was about to come to fruition.

At the end of the school day, Frankie followed Tucker into Patel’s newsagent, where Tucker would buy a 10p mix up almost every day. I was hiding behind a bush.

“Hi Tucker, sorry about today. I’m just so fed up with you bullying me, that I thought you needed some just desserts” Said Frankie

Tucker looked him up and down, and slowly nodded. “Well, I suppose I deserved it. No harm done” Said Tucker.

This was unexpected. I tugged on Frankie’s shirt from behind the bush, and despite Mr Patels apparent confusion at the sight of a talking bush, I let Frankie have it straight.

“Frankie, we’ve come too far to back down now” I said

“But he has apologised, I’m ready to accept it” Replied Frankie.

“But Frankie. Your Mum’s kettle,” I said.

Frankie frowned, cleared his throat, and offered Tucker some nuts from the tub he had in his pocket.

“Want some nuts?” Frankie asked softly

“What’s wrong with them?” Asked Tucker.

Frankie looked down, sighed, looked at me from behind the bush. I hurriedly wrote ‘Kettle’ on a packet of custard creams in magic marker (Mr Patel’s stock displaying skills left a lot to be desired) and showed it to him.

Frankie read it. Looked back at Tucker and said “Nothing.”

“That’s good, I could really go for some nuts right now” Said Tucker as he unscrewed the lid.

BAM! Spring snakes, about half a dozen of them all over the fucking place

“BUARRGGGGH! HUAGRRRRRRGGH!!!” Tucker yelled as he knocked over a display of really fucking cheap wrapping paper.
“I thought we were sorted now you fiend!” Yelled tucker.

There was no display of triumph from Frankie this time. A single tear rolled down his face.

“You pushed me to this. YOU FUCKING PUSHED ME TO THIS!” Frankie yelled as he reached into a Mary Poppin’s style bag. He pulled out a giant novelty custom made sausage from the local butcher on a pitchfork.

He threw it with great force at Frankie.

The sausage on a pitchfork hit him in the face, and both prongs from the pitchfork went into his eyes. He fell backwards into the display cabinet of woefully shite, paper thin birthday cards and lay there. Dead. Bleeding. A ‘Sorry you’re leaving!’ card aptly perched on his shoulder.

Tucker Jenkins looked at Frankie’s body and cried. “£59.99 including VAT that sausage cost me” He said. He bought a can of Lilt from Mr Patel, cracked it open, raised it at Frankie, and drank from it.

And with that he walked off.

In hindsight, I think the pranks got out of hand, and it was no surprise that I was struck off soon after.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Mon 21 Sep 2009, 16:58, 6 replies)

*click*
Enjoyed that.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 21 Sep 2009, 17:21, closed)

Bollocks.
Of course, it was Tucker Jenkins who yelled "You pushed me to this. YOU FUCKING PUSHED ME TO THIS!” as he reached into a Mary Poppin’s style bag, not Frankie.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Mon 21 Sep 2009, 17:31, closed)

you left your stash of porn
behind that bush
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 21 Sep 2009, 17:41, closed)

This is the best story ever.
I badly want this to win, which is why you get a click from I.
(Uncle Comrade, Mon 21 Sep 2009, 18:36, closed)

this took up far too muchof my time to read
but this deserves to win everything!
*clickety click*
( unsey a frizzy haired fruit since, Mon 21 Sep 2009, 20:36, closed)

just so you know
i would only read a story this long from yourself, quaffer!

utter brilliance!
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Tue 22 Sep 2009, 8:53, closed)