Not me but...
There was a wanking club at our school. God knows how I found out about this, but I am pleased to say that I was never a member. Others who were members told of illicit meetings in the school darkroom (where anyone in the staff room next door could hear every word that was spoken), where pornography was shared and vaguely homo-erotic fapping took place. The manky bunch of tossers.

One of the fully paid up members was a young man we shall call Greebo.

Imagine a pained scream, the door flung open in panic, and the head of economics dashing Greebo to the Royal Berkshire Hospital in the back of his car, wrapped in a blanket.

Greebo, in his frenzy not to come last in the soggy biscuit game, had yanked too hard on his old man and split his foreskin.

He arrived back at school the following Monday, rested and bandaged, with a sicknote that went straight to the headmaster's office, and he was excused games until he could walk without looking like John Wayne.

And nobody spoke of Greebo's misfortune, ever, for a vow had been made. Except to call him Rumplesplitskin. Every day. Forever.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 2 Sep 2004, 15:45, Reply)