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This is a question Nativity Plays

Every year the little kids at schools all over get to put on a play. Often it's christmas themed, but the key thing is that everyone gets a part, whether it's Snowflake #12 or Mary or Grendel (yes, really).

Personally I played a 'Rich Husband' who refused to buy matches from some scabby street urchin. Never did see her again...

Who or what did you get to be? And what did you have to wear?

(, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 17:45)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Problems digging this out of my brain.
I don't know if I'm repressing anything, but I can't remember much of my early school years. Maybe I'm just old.

However, reading these posts I have recollection of one nativity play from when I was about 6, which does partly go to explain why I forget my childhood at times.

I was a Shepherd at the opening sequence of the nativity. We're around a camp fire, but being a primary school, it obviously wasn't a REAL fire ( this is Hornchurch, early 70's after all), it was a humungous wooden construction made by the caretaker. I was assigned the job of bringing it off stage when we'd done our set.

All I can remember clearly is me, in front of pretty much the whole school, vainly trying to lift a 6st prop. The bastards left me to it for what seemed like hours (probably only a minute or so), but I still remember the teachers sitting there impassively watching me struggle my little arms off.

I can't see why we've got so many negative comments about this QOTW. I'm finding it quite therapeutic...
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 16:56, 3 replies)
I went to a nativity once
It was a few years ago:


So there they were, Mary and Joseph looking awfully chuffed with the miraculous baby snuggled up in Mary’s cleavage. They had barely finished cleaning off the placenta and vaginal goo when King Herod smashed down the door. He looked fucking livid, “Bugger, the brat from the prophecy has already been born!” (Yep, he sounded like Hugh Grant)

Joseph had heard of this bastard’s murderous intent towards any newborns so jumped up ready to fight, hoping that Mary could escape with the baby. But Herod quickly had him subdued; Joseph now doubled over had no energy left to resist the brutal assaults of Herod’s 12 inch gnarly wand.

Still unsatisfied King Herod moved on to Mary. She had been unable to escape very far due to the passing of what felt like a small house through a mimsey as tight as... well as tight as the Virgin Mary of course! But her constant whining about pure love and forgiveness was a massive turn-off for Herod. So he dispatched of her with the most almighty pimp slap this world has ever seen.

None of this went down very well with baby Jesus. Herod had just killed his mum (and some random prick pretending to be his dad). He hit Herod with the Holy Flying Head butt. The King’s head exploded and baby Jesus was left with a scar on his forehead for the rest of his life.

He went on to perform many miracles and save the world from eternal evil and darkness, what a nice chap!


I think that is pretty much how it happened, I get confused some times.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 16:54, 1 reply)
Never did one.
Not once. I seem to recall some smallish mini theatre productions that employed some of the other childs, but I was never asked to join. I suspect it was just because the kids who did star in the school play were more popular and better than me in every way.

Investigators may come back to this post at some future time and cite it as evidence of a history of misadjustment and antisocial tendencies.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 16:09, 1 reply)
Christmas Work
Last Christmas I was absolutely fucking skint. So incredibly poor I was going up to people selling the Big Issue and asking if they could spare some change.

My mate, Phil, suggested I get a second job. He works for an agency who provide butler services to posh people. He said he'd put in a good word. I thanked Phil, asked him if he had any spare change, and wandered off. A few days later I got a call asking if I was available that night for some work. A fella named Lord Fortisque required a babysitter.

Fuck me! Easy money! I readily agreed and a car was sent round to pick me up. A big fucking posh car. I sat in the back and enjoyed a nice smooth ride over to Lord Fortesque's gaff just near Regents Park. A big expensive townhouse nestled neatly between a couple of foreign embassies.

I stepped out the car, went up to the door and rang the doorbell. After a moment Lord Fortesque appeared, a dapper looking fella who looked like the git from the Monopoly box. He showed me to the kid's room. The baby was sleeping. He said I could have a couple of pop tarts and some pepsi, but if I touched the coke he'd go nuclear on my ass. He pointed out the quietly sleeping dog in the corner, said her name was Gloria. He advised to leave her alone as she tended to sleep through the night but if she was disturbed she'd go a bit mental. Then he fucked off and I settled down to a nice, relaxing evening of watching Sky Sports on a HD TV and watching the cash pour in.

But things are never that easy.

After twenty minutes or so of watching Conference Football, the doorbell goes. I go and answer it and none other than Britney Spears was standing there! Fuck me!

"Can I come in?" she pleads. "There's some freaky guys following me. I just want to hide out from them. Please, I'm begging you."

I ushered Britney in and showed her the living room. She started to bitch about the weather and the weirdos following her. At Ms Spears annoying, whiney voice, Gloria the dog sat bolt upright and started growling. Oh, fuck! I tossed Gloria the nearest chewable object, a tourch that was on the sideboard, to keep her quiet. Gloria caught the tourch in her teeth and started gnawing on it happily.

And then Britney Spears and I sat in silence for a bit. Inevitably the doorbell rang again. Fuck me, I was just getting into the Lewes vs Wrexham match!

I went and opened the door. There was nobody there. Then I heard a strange bleeping noise like R2D2 with a headcold. I looked down.

"Fuck me! Stephen Hawking!"


"We?" I enquired.


I went to close the door, but everybodies favorite Davros rammed my shins with his wheelchair and his two companions cunted me in the fuck. While I was out cold they pushed past me and went to hunt down Britney.

I heard a shrill scream, for one terrible moment I thought Britney was going to start singing. But, thank God, no. Then I passed out...

I came awake about half an hour later. The front door was swinging wide. The unwanted guests appeared to have left. Somehow the lights had been turned off and the only illumination was from the tourch I'd given the dog, Gloria earlier - she was running round and round like a lunatic, casting a strange, nauseating light round the place. Shit, the baby! I rushed upstairs and found the kid sleeping soundly. I sagged and let out a deep sigh of relief.

Then I went back downstairs to find the fusebox. No luck - the house was MASSIVE. I considered grappling the torch from Gloria's mouth, but she was just too damn quick. So instead I sat down in the big comfy chair in the living room and rubbed my sore shins. Then I noticed a note and a number of small wrapped presents sitting on the dresser.

They wern't there before. I went over and had a look. There was a note -

'Sorry for the trouble. We've sorted things out with Britney and she's come back to our hotel for a fourway. Just to show there's no hard feeling we brought some presents for the baby. Regards, S Hawking.'

This was all a bit fucking weird. I picked up the phone and called the fuzz. And promptly lost my job with the agency when they found out what I'd said, I think they thought I was a complete nutjob:

"Hello, this is the emergency services..."

I was still knackered and panting:

"Three wise men followed... a star... delivered gifts... child of the Lord... while Gloria shone... around... Hello...? Hello...?"

They actually put the phone down on me. The cunts.

EDIT: This post may contain traces of lie.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 14:51, 10 replies)
... may explain my lifestyle choice
Throughout Primary School all our Christmas plays were crap, so crap I can't remember any of them. Until my 4th year when the God-like Mr Thomas took over as headmaster and the performances were suddenly amazing. Being taller than average for may age at the time, articulate and able to learn and remember lines I was usually cast in pretty good roles. Year 4, We did The Naughty Sunbeam aka Jack Frost... I played Jack. Win! Year 5 was some play about a Christmas dove but I was too tall for the lead part so was cast as Herod (complete with beard) and year 6 (final yr of Primary) we did the epic, "This is your life - Santa Claus" I was the proud Santa who had to be reunited with various key people... elves, reindeer etc. The grand finale was my beautiful wife, Mrs Claus, played by my stunning blonde best friend at the time, Kim. Looking back on these roles, each part I played a male and ended up with some lovely laydee...

Hmmmm, makes you think.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 14:26, Reply)
Method acting?
I was quite the little thesp in school and managed to get a good few parts over the years – I even had a singing solo once, woo! My sister however, had to wait a bit longer for her big break… Prior to the year she was finally given the main part (in Year 4 I think), she had proved her stage credentials by playing such illustrious roles as: a sheep; a bluebird; a book and my all-time personal favourite – a piece of tinsel. A.PIECE.OF.TINSEL.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 13:47, Reply)
Never give a wiseman a prop sword
The chances are you're going to get a squeaky munchkin rendition of:

"By the power of greyskull!"

With sword held aloft and classic superhero pose at an inopportune moment, like my mate Greg did when we were six. The nativity that year was a fucking riot.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 13:00, Reply)
How to ruin it
For my secondary school years I went to a boarding school. I hated drama lessons and me and most of my mates would do sod all when we were in class. The teacher would attempt to get a play sorted for every year and I would always find a way for it to be cancelled.

The first year was knocked back after a bit of trouble was caused a few months before when a nutter from outside of school broke in and ruined most of the facilities (I had a hand in it but I avoided punishment)

The second year we used a fake terror threat to have the school on constant watch.

The third year everyone was pre-occupied with an escaped prisoner on the run and had #Ahem# been sighted near the grounds.

By the fourth year I was allowed to drop the course so I thankfully did. As I have got older it turns out that I have become a bit of a hypocrite as I was pissed off with the acting ability of the bloke that played me in the movies based on my life. I just hope his acting ability gets better for the Half Blood Prince.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 11:57, 4 replies)
B3ta nativity play: Act 2

(Act 1 is here)

Scene: a classroom with a cleared space for a stage at the front. Rows of chairs sit facing this. On the chairs are seated parents who are whispering in anticipation at the nativity play to follow. Mr chthonic coughs and slience falls over the room. A few seconds later, CHCB is pushed forward and she stumbles reluctantly onto the stage.

CHCB: The story we are about to tell took place many hundreds of years ago, but it has been told and retold more than any other story in the world.

SpankyHanky: (whispering to Pooflake) Except for 'swipes story about the bedshitter

Mr chthonic: SsSShhhhh!

CHCB: It is the story of Mary (BGB bounces on to the stage, grinning and waving) who was betrothed to the carpenter Joseph (Pooflake shuffles on looking exhausted). God was pleased with her and sent an angel with good news.

PJM: Be not afraid!

BGB: I'm not. Er, I mean, who are you?

PJM: I am the Archangel Gabriel and I have come to tell you that you are with child.

BGB: That'd be a miracle. (Pooflake looks shifty.)

PJM: Yes. And you will call him Jesus.

BGB: Are you sure?

PJM: What? Yes. Definitely.

BGB: It's not the best name for a Yorkshire lad, is it?

PJM: (stares wildly at Mr chthonic who motions him to continue.) Now you must got to Bethlehem for the census, though quite frankly how the government aren't going to cock that up I don't know. (He exits the stage, one wing hanging off.)

CHCB: And so Mary and Joseph travelled by donkey to Bethlehem.

(The children all sing an interminably long and dreary version of Little Donkey as BGB and Pooflake wander round and round the stage before stopping at a crudely drawn inn door. They knock on the door. It is opened by SpankyHanky.)

SpankyHanky: (in the style of Al Pacino) Whaddya want?

Pooflake: My wife is pregnant and we need a place to stay for the night.

SpankyHanky: (leers at Mary and casts his eyes up and down her heavily cushion-pregnant body) Well, I might take her in the back. And the donkey too. It'll cost you though.

Pooflake: Please. We're desperate. Just let us in. The donkey can do tricks.

SpankyHanky (dubiously) Really?

Pooflake: Yeah, this unborn child taught him everything he knows. The donkey jumps when you yell at him. Have you never heard of "the Little Lord Jesus' ass leap on a 'hey'!"

SpankyHanky: Fuck off. You can have the stable round the back.

Mr chthonic: (Sinks head into hands and motions for a brief interval of weak orange squash served by Fredz with bourbon biscuit crumbs round his mouth.)

(Act 3 is here)

(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 11:12, 33 replies)
Bloody Camels
My primary school was a very cliquey place and whenever we came to do a school play the same ensemble of girls would get all the major parts (The group of girls consisted of Amy, the daughter of the headmaster, Helen and Rebecca, whose parents were on the school board and Hannah, a girl whose mother was a teacher).

Anywhoo our last year at school we were given the pleasure of performing Joseph and his Technicolor Dreamcoat and naturally as I had already developed the ability to be a sarcastic twat I was given a non speaking part of one of the blokes that buys Joseph as a slave. The plan was that the three slave buyers would appear at the back of the room and make their way through the audience to stand on stage miming that we were buying Joseph. To make sure we stayed out of trouble while waiting for our cue at the back of the room, the school caretaker had knocked up some fake hobby horse looking camels for us to ride in on complete with a mouth that could be controlled via a string attached to the broom handle body.

The night of the play and everything had been perfected, the narrators knew their lines, everyone had a number of family members in the audience and the cast were ready to impress. The school had even forked out for a video to film the event and sell on to the parents afterwards (This was back in the time where portable cameras were both so expensive and so big no one really had one).

Anywhoo the camera was to be set up and recorded by the caretaker who took the easy route of setting the thing up pressing the record button at the start and leaving it standing at the back of the room while he popped out for a few ciggies. Unattended Camera on Record + Bored kids waiting for their part = trouble.

Whoever got to see the final video would have seen some piece involving Joseph (Played by Amy- no less) while a number of extras danced and performed cartwheels in the background, only to have the view blocked by a camel who appeared on screen. Taking a leaf from Morcambe and Wise- An off camera voice (Mine) then asked “What do you think of the show so far?” and the camel (complete with moving mouth) replied “Rubbish”. The camel then spent a few minutes pretending to eat cast members on the stage before disappearing out of view (I thought that the head was coming over so I stopped)

The school never released the video due to a “technical fault with the video” and I was given a bollocking in private for ruining everyone’s hard work by the head.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 11:11, 1 reply)
The ‘Inappropriate Situation Danger Horn’
When I were a lad, our school did a play every year. It alternated between Welsh and English (as it was a Welsh school, not some bizarre Welsh obsessed English School).

I was in a couple of plays/musicals for the first few years of secondary school but never a major part. I was usually on stage as I didn’t really suffer from stage fright and I could carry the odd tune. I also douched regularly.

However I unfortunately had my card marked before I could peak. I was playing the head ‘brother’ in the production of ‘Joseph’. The reason why I was playing the head brother was the fact that I could sing in a ‘comedy’ French accent.

It was the opening night. My family were in tow, clapping at the right times, and in the front row. I was wearing a comedy French black and white stripey top, a beret, and a pair of very tight cloth trousers. Sadly my ‘wife’, was pretty much the hottest girl in the school. Oh dear. We can probably tell what happened can’t we?

I got the ‘inappropriate situation danger horn’ when I was dancing closely with this gorgeous girl.

I have never ever had such a diamond cutting erection in all of my life. I tried to hunch my body so it wouldn’t be so noticeable, but I had to go to front centre stage halfway through the song, and the shocked gasps and laughs from the mums and dads highlighted my plight. I felt like I could burst through my trousers in some horrid Hulk-like transformation and sweep people off stage with it. I actually felt unbalanced.

I went incandescently red in the face and forgot the lyrics to my solo. The conductor of the orchestra (the redoubtable Mr. ‘Bumface’ Morgan), noticed I missed my cue and got the orchestra to replay the cue again. And again. But I was too shell-shocked. It was literally the worst and most embarrassing thing that could possibly happen. I was like a moth at ground zero. I remember *enjoying* the feeling in some perverse way. Then everything went fuzzy and we were all called off the stage and the next scene commenced.

No reasons were ever officially given but I was bumped from the play and my understudy had to fill in. I was teased by parents and children alike. Thank god I never had a gun.

(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 10:45, 3 replies)
As an adult I try and avoid rooms filled with kids to the same extent I try to avoid sexual partners sporting crusty, puss-filled genitle sores and a custard-coloured vaginal discharge. But kids and VD have something in common - sometimes, try as you might, you just cannot avoided them. All you can do is roll your sleeves up, get stuck in, and hope the clawing sense of shame washes off in the morning (and the crusty puss round your cock and pubes, depending on circumstances).

About nine years ago I was seeing a lovely girl named Maria. She suffered from one of these terrible conditions. No, not VD - she had a kid. A little bruiser named Bruno. I actually got on really well with the little twat, truth told.

But this relationship threw up a new and interesting dynamic. For the year or so I was seeing Maria I became - God help him - a surrogate father to the boy named after Britain's slowest, most annoying, maddest boxing champ.

On a rainy night in December I found myself sat in a school hall, bored, watching the heavy rain hammer against the large windows and the trees outside dance like electrocuted spastics. Occasionally, the motion sensors set up outside would trigger and throw searing bright light across the pitch dark schoolyard. It was like a scene from a scary movie. On stage the little darlings were going through their paces. Maria was sat next to me, holding my hand, beaming as little Bruno wowed the crowd with his rendition of a fucking raindeer. All very nice.

Maria leaned close to me and whispered: "What do you think?"

I whispered back, after some consideration, "I really, really, REALLY need a piss - I shouldn't have drank all that coffee on the way over. The boy's doing good," I said. "I'm just off to have a slash. I'll be back asap."

And I slinked off to find the toilets.

Now, the thing about primary schools is they fucking scare me. Its a bit like being in Land of the Giants, only I'm the giant. All the coathooks are low down, the door handles are set lower in the doors, all the pictures on the walls are at a nice height for the little fuckers to gaze longingly at. It just freaks me out.

There was no one about - everyone involved with the school was busy doing something for the nativity production, so I figured I'd have to find my own way to the bogs. After a bit of wondering about, I found some toilets. Unfortunately the little kids were using it as a changing room. I opened the door, reaching for my cock and relief, when a couple of angelic faces looked up at me. The two little boys were stripped to their pants, struggling into their costumes. I quickly released my cock, backed away and shut the door. Shit! I really didn't fancy being accused of being a kiddie-fiddler. I stood outside, feeling my bladder swell even more.

Fuck it, I thought, Maria's going to be pissed if I take much longer and my bladder's about to explode - only one thing for it...

Back in the hall the nativity continues. Mary and Joseph and the reindeers (don't ask), have just found a place for the night in the stables. But just as Joseph starts thanking the Innkeeper every head in the place turns soundlessly to the windows.

The motion sensors have just gone off again, throwing brilliant light over the rainsoaked schoolyard.

Only this time there's somebody stood outside, and he seems to be looking into the hall.

There's a small gasp from one of the parents. I imagine somebody may have suggested calling the police in hushed tones.

Because the man stood outside in the corner of the schoolyard, appearing to be peering into the hall, had a childs' raincoat covering his head and face and he had his cock in his hands...

Thankfully, the lights went off very quickly, and the mysterious pervert at the window disappeared too. Maria told me all about him on the way home.

I was, of course, utterly disgusted.

But God is a vengeful cunt. In my haste to get zipped up and back in the hall, I accidentally dangled my bell end in a patch of stinging nettles.

I sat there for the rest of the night scratching and squirming like I'd caught a bout of the clap.

"Are you ok?" asked Maria.

I stopped scratching: "Yes, I'm fine, thanks - just got a splinter from one of those chairs in the hall," I lied.

"I know what you mean - its amazing how much pain you can get from just one little prick, isn't it?"

I simply nodded and laughed nervously.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 10:17, 3 replies)
I've been looking at the complaints
And giving this some thought. Now, I'm not the most regular of posters, but I do enjoy reading these pages. However, I'm not so in love with the complaints. This site is provided to us, free of charge, with the option to provide donations, should you choose to do so.

Secondly, these questions are not meant to be easy, they're meant to provide some stimulus for some good answers, that are outside of the weed, dick and fart jokes so beloved of Cheech and Chong. If you can't answer the question, it doesn't mean it is necessarily crap. It just means that you can't think of anything to say.

Whilst this post is not meant as a dig to anyone, I would suggest if you can't think of anything to say, just suck it up. There are other areas of the site to play in- QOTW offtopic, /talk, /board, and /links. Surely you can think of something to say there, or fire up photoshop and get creating!

This part of the site is not the be all and end all of b3ta, and besides, there will always be another question come Thursday.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 10:01, 21 replies)
Does anyone want to be in the school play?
asked the music teacher.

Thirty blank, silent faces stared back.

"You get a lunch pass so you don't have to queue".

Upon unleashing those powerful words*, thirty arms shot straight up into the air accompanied by thirty cries of "Me!".

We spent the rest of the lesson auditioning, each in turn having to sing, unaccompanied, a few lines from Joseph and his Technicolour Dreamcoat. I was lucky enough to be given a minor role: choir member.

Next week, having got the pass, I attempted to walk straight in past the queue but was apprehended by Mr Davis the fearsome Welsh games teacher who disliked any boy who wasn't in the school rugby team.

"Where do you think you're going?" he boomed at me. "School play, Sir" I replied. "You're not in the school play" he responded preparing to drop-kick me to the back of the queue. "Check the pass Taffy, and weep" was my cheeky reply**, "Muhahahaha, feel my power" I continued as I walked past him**.

*Nine hundred boys, one canteen. If you didn't get there before lunch time began, you could be queueing for almost the entire break.

**May not have used those exact words.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 9:04, 1 reply)
Ruined night?
I used to absolutely LOVE doing nativity plays, or any plays at all for that matter. Nativity was just a great way to get out of the classroom and dos - which for me was very important as I HATED schoolwork.

So, to cut potential long story short as its cold and my fingers are a bit numb....

I was cast as a stage hand, moving around the set. This pissed me off massively but what can you do - it still allowed me to dos so I just got on with it. After many rehersals and enduring hours of the little wanker that was cast as Joseph winding me up that I was a stage hand and didn't have a 'real' part, I was ready to beat the shit out of him.

First night of the play comes along and myself, another stage hand and Joseph all go to have a pee before the kick off... this is before we knew about the male toilet etiquette procedues mind. I was on the left, Joseph in the middle and my mate on the right all having a pee in the stalls, when my mate calls me. Inadvertently and with zero thought whatsoever, I turn while in full flow completely covering Joseph in my piss - ruining his costume and destroying his self confidence (plus it did smell quite fowl).

Made my night that did - especially helped by seeing him prance around the stage covered in my piss :D
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 8:54, 2 replies)
I really hope this is true.
My sister is a teacher (and delights in winding me up, hence the disclaimer). She does however claim the following is, if you'll pardon the pun, gospel.

At her school they were doing the nativity play on two successive nights.

To make this fairer Child A (who had the plum role of Joseph the first night) was due to be demoted to Innkeeeper the second night to give another kid a shot at being God's cuckold.

The only problem is that Child A loves the crowd adulation for his triumph at Joseph the first night, and REALLY doesn't want to let Child B take the role the next night. It doesn't quite come to fisticuffs but there is much tug-of-war with outfits, teacher intervention and sulking.

Order is eventually restored. Child B, proudly betowelled as Joseph, makes a good start. Until he gets to the inn and asks if there is any room.

"Yes!" beams Child A.

"Mary, you can come in. Joseph - you can fuck off."
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 2:18, 5 replies)
No-one at my school was that coarse or incontinent
But I've replied to posts saying bad things about this week's topic, so I feel I should contribute here to ease my conscience and not be seen as a whiner...

...Okay. I was five, like so many at that time. I thought I was king of the world. I understood that atoms were so small you can't even see them, that nothing was bigger than infinity (except infinity plus one, at a push), and I knew that claiming I was a hundred years old wasn't impressing anyone.

So I was cast, at the very beginning of my long and distinguished career in school performance, as a shepherd. Upon seeing that I got a tea towel on my head, and that the angels got a bit of wire with tinsel as a halo, I did only what was reasonable. I wept like a burst pipe, insisting that I be an angel too. I wanted that halo, and everyone knew that shepherds are shit.

So after crying inconsolably until it was a Christmas miracle in itself that my little head contained any more water, I became an angel, only for the halo to itch, and for me to turn on the waterworks again, begging to have that comfy tea towel back.

Of course, now I look back I know that what I was really begging for was a clip round the ear, I just didn't realise it at the time.

Yeah, yeah, it's not funny. I tried.
(, Mon 30 Mar 2009, 2:03, 2 replies)
2 points
2 points to the first poster to comb ine all 4 of this month's QOTWs into a single, coherent post.

The Nativity & God bits are easy, but let's hear someone add in a Shameful Penis and make a Pun.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 20:38, 4 replies)
Tenuous link here
but the topic is pretty piss-poor, so I figure we're thin on the ground.

Never really did the school nativity/play thing, I remember being in the chorus once or twice when it was compulsory, but in an attitude that extends to much of my life, if I didn't have to be there, I wouldn't be.

My youngest brother was slightly more involved than me, and chose to go for a good role in his middle schools production of Oliver Twist. Now normally I wouldn't be associated with this, but much of the extended family was coming down due to my brothers' big role - Bill Sykes - so I felt slightly obliged. That and the fact that as the youngest, my brother is a tailored object of ridicule, and I felt some sneer-worthy moments would crop up. Incidentally, I don't treat him quite so badly any more, but the evening didn't disappoint.

We're in the middle of the country, the school is well-funded and gets good Ofsted reports, and the feature was going to be performed to well over 500 people, so the school weren't going to put on some dog and pony show. They worked their hardest to put on a good performance, I remember Brother putting in many rehearsal hours.

On the night, after some awkward conversations with ex-teachers, we sat down and saw that they had indeed gone all out. Huge spotlights at the back of the hall, massive speakers, and when the show began, it became apparent, microphones on the actors.

Now this would seem a logical step; there were several hundred at each performance, it was a fairly big hall, it would help keep the audience at the back in the moment. The only problem being we are talking about 12(ish) year olds, and whilst not hellraisers they're not exactly to be relied upon with a mic. So my brother comes on stage, starts singing his heart out, yelling his lines into his collar mounted mic, and generally doing a decent job.

Until towards the end of one of his scenes, he fluffed a line. Nothing really terrible, but he stumbled. And as he disappeared off stage, everyone in the hall, all those middle-class, BMW-driving parents and their youngest crotchfruit, received a perfectly audible, clear, 'fuck...'

Spectacular. Wet myself. Could not sit still for the rest of the show, just gaped at all the stunned faces and every crying child. Had to have 11 biscuits at the end to calm myself down, and crow all the way home.

Even better, I later found, they were recording that nights' show for the DVD to go on sale to all the parents. Don't think they used that copy...
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 18:05, Reply)
I have this great idea for a Christmas play
it's a sort of modern updating of 'A Christmas Carol.' I call it 'The Twelve Lays of Christmas.' What happens is that I'm visited on Christmas Night, on my deathbed, by a ghost, who rewards me for a virtuous life by allowing me to experience sex with twelve women that, in real life, I never got to have sex with.

The twist is that various celebrities are invited to the performances, and all the women I pick are said to be their Mums. I was thinking that the sex itself could be an amusing comment on the celebrity. Like, if it was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, "anyone who'd want to keep track of millions of pounds would have be quite anal..."

The idea is that I'm not really having sex with the women themselves, but with angels who take their form. I was thinking you could show that by having a transparent balloon take the place of the angel.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 17:57, Reply)
I was about seven and was cast as one of the shepherds. We were to enter, stage left, talking amongst ourselves. There were no lines, just the instruction to 'talk amongst ourselves'.

I asked a teacher what sort of thing we we should say and was told, "Just say 'rhubarb'". Now, I may not have been great at improvising dialogue, but I *was* good at organising and motivating...

Enter stage left, a group of shepherds inexplicably bellowing, "Rhubarb!" perfectly in unison.

The following year I was a tree.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 17:55, 6 replies)
Jeebus, our saviour or no,
must be getting pretty sick of having his birth re-enacted every year.

It's the religious equivalent of a mother embarrassing her first-born by trawling through the baby photos when the new girlfriend comes round for tea.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 15:42, Reply)
St Pancras Station
Walking through St Pancras Station just before Christmas on my way to celebrate the birth of our Lord with a festive Big Mac and fries, I noticed a load of schoolkids from the local primary school singing hymns on the concourse. A troop of little wide-eyed angels in their bright red school jumpers.

The poor little fuckers looked petrified.

Obviously, it didn't help when as I walked past I ran a finger across my throat mimicking sliting their throats as I looked at them menacingly.

Their teacher wondered why several of them burst out crying spontaneously completely fucking up the sweet rendition of Little Donkey.

I chuckled to myself as I carried on walking.

I am a very bad man.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 15:02, 2 replies)
Snow White
I got to play the title role in Snow White & the seven dwarfs, despite having neither interest nor talent to ever become an actress. The reason for my selection?

I am a blonde.

Now I know Disney has mucked up rather a lot of good old fairy tales, but at least they were correct on this detail:

"Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony".

Dropped my apple off the stage too.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 14:22, Reply)
Third Shepherd from The Left
Yawned the whole way through.
The end

And that was the extent of my stage career for the next eight years.
Until some numpty decided that my school was to have a musical thingy one xmas. I got cast as a Wassailer (WTF? is a wassailer? To this day I'm not sure except singing and hitting trees were involved.)
The only reason I was cast was because I'd got into the habit of wearing my grandad's old deerstalker to school and a teacher thought "Hmm. Very Victorian"
Naturally, come the day, I got ready to set off to school, deerstalker in place, when my Mum flatly forbade me from setting foot outside with "that bloody thing on your head"
My protestations being ignored I thus ended up on stage in front of the entire fucking school wearing some lavender, floppy, abortion stolen from a sherry-addled granny's attic.
Thanks, Mum.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 12:55, Reply)
Well, I'm a non religious type so the only part I ever played was "The snowman".

Yes, thats a very uninteresting point i know. I generally read the QOTW and look at the image challenges when I read B3TA but this, BY A LONG COUNTRY MILE, has to be the most uninteresting subject matter i have ever come across !!!

What have we got here? a few posts with something that MAY just about register as a smile? Nothing like some of the falling off the chair type laughing and clutching my side in pain when innebriated I have done on some previous QOTW's.

So come on, PLEASE, I couldn't give a hoot about some mong who forgot his lines or some irritating cherub who cacks his pants etc.

Who exactly chooses the QOTW and how can we put forward some sugestions?

How about something like (and probably done before) "Funniest things that have ever happened to you" as I have a god damn truck load of things I can put on there !!

Sorry for the rant, but i cannot even be bothered to read any more of this QOTW. And thats a first for me !!!

Anyone else agree?

Length? pretty short this week !! BOOOOOOOOOOOO
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 10:33, 9 replies)
PC? What PC...?
Every year at my Junior school, we'd put on a play vaguely connected to religious figures in some way. In our second year there we did a story about Saint George and the Turkish Knight.

Naturally the blonde haired, blue eyed Ayran wonderkid got the role of Saint George, and was predictable noble and adorable. The teachers and parents got a little more than they bargained for when I was cast as the Turkish Knight however...

First off there was the costume. My mum was determined to make a show of this, so set about constructing a fake chainmail vest using an anorak and some sequins, some big turqiose pantaloons, curvy slippers, a tunic complete with the star and crescent of Islam on it (oh yes, I was bringing religious hate-war into things at an early age), a spiked helmet with a turban wrapped around it and to cap it all off, one of the most convincing beards you've ever seen on a child. In short, I look terrifying - like an angry dwarf who'd just emerged from the Crusades into late 80s South East England.

There was a problem though... I do not look, in any way, shape or form Turkish. Even with that plentiful pre-pubescent beard. How to solve such a dilemma Mum?

Gravy Browning.

Yes, that's right, I blacked up for the school play, such was my commitment to getting the character right.

I wasn't done there though, not by a long shot... I wanted this to be a performance of Robert De Niro like accuracy - a testament to my infantile acting ability.

"Mum, where IS Turkey?"

"It's in Asia, but the bit just next to Greece."

My mind begins to whirr... In Asia, but next to Greece... Well, I've snuck downstairs and seen a Greek man on the telly before. Something about a kebab shop... called Stavros... If Turkey's next to Greece, I should probably sound a bit like him... But then... Asia... Hmm... Asia... That's like India and places isn't it? So, somewhere between a Greek and Indian accent... I can do that.

I'd like to think that the day they saw a fully armed, blacked up seven year old alternating between Stavros the Greek and a generically Indian stereotype while waving a wooden sword at a terrified looking moppet on stage is one that will live in the minds off all the people who were there that night.

For some reason our second night had to be pulled... Shame, I thought it was ace.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 10:10, 2 replies)
There are certain noises/sounds/smells you don't forget
This has all three.

When our school did the nativity I was cast as a tree. The good looking and intelligent ones got the good roles, the usual, but our headteacher decided to give the role of Jesus to the school retard (out of sympathy probably, not trying to say Jesus was a spastic).

Ah those were the days.

Anyway, we were all gathered on stage and it was going well, then I heard a strange rumbling noise coming from Jesus, then a dodgy smell drifted over. I looked down and Jesus had shit himself during the play!

A good actor would have carried on, but me and my immature mates decided to shout out "Jesus has had a dump!" to all the parents and the priest from the local parish. They were not impressed.

Funnily enough i didn't get a part in the next performance, and the retard was never cast again either.
(, Sun 29 Mar 2009, 5:19, Reply)
My sister is a primary school teacher
She tells me that a few years ago she did an R.E. class where the kids explored the nativity story using roleplay. This went quite well until Mary told Joseph that she was pregnant, at which point the young Joseph started channelling Jerry Springer, accused Mary of being trash and demanded a divorce.

How a couple of R.E. lessons a week are supposed to cancel out a lifetime of watching daytime TV I don’t know.
(, Sat 28 Mar 2009, 23:07, 2 replies)
My Two Cents
Pub Quizzes.
Unrequited Love.
Under The Influence.
Stag Nights.

You ignored all these potentially hilarious subjects (and this is just from 1 page of suggestions) to give us this feeble excuse for a QOTW. What dribbling cretin chose this shit?

Length - Shrinking rapidly in disgust
(, Sat 28 Mar 2009, 22:44, 8 replies)

This question is now closed.

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