Later than school days, but nevertheless during education....
Starting the third year of Uni, most of us were a little nervous, having two years of drinking and shagging behind us, we knew it was time to do some work if we were to escape this with any proof of academic ability whatsoever.

First lecture of the year: Music History, and we've got a new lecturer... how... umm... exciting?

So we're all waiting for the guy to turn up, and waiting... and waiting... After about half an hour, as most of us are getting up to go, he stumbles in stinking of sweat, fags and booze and begins without a moments hesitation:

"Right, where were we last week? Troubadours! Of course! So, we have the troubadours and trouveres..."

And off he goes into a lecture on God knows what, drawing diagrams of triangles and funny curved lines that in now way relate to music, or even what he's talking about for that matter. I'm sure at one point he started rambling about dog food, but by this point we'd stopped taking notes, realising it would be a complete waste of time.

The following year's lectures were similar in nature, and quickly became rather popular, even with the usually absent stoner brigade (do stoners have brigades? It seems unlikely, but what the hell).

The last lecture of the year, before final exams and we've had more drunken rants than the entire collected works of Rab C. Nesbitt and he sits down at his desk calmly. He's clean... he's... SOBER.... This should be interesting...

"So, let's have a look at the paper you'll be doing shall we?"

I have no idea if the Uni knew about this, but apparently it happened every year, and every year, strangely, everyone got a decent, though not stunning mark.

Thanks to Enzyme's post below for reminding me of this curious alcoholic blabber.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Fri 30 Jan 2009, 15:04, 1 reply)

More dissection...
At my school, the biology and maths departments were housed in the same block, maths on the ground floor, biology on the first. The block itself was next to the chapel lawns, and overlooked a convergence of three paths, leading to various boarding houses, to the chapel, and towards the centre of the town, where more of the school buildings were situated. As you can imagine, when lessons changed over, these paths could get quite busy, with various kids entering/leaving the building, going to and from their houses, and buggering off to other lessons elsewhere.

Friday afternoons meant a double biology session for me; this particular afternoon we were dissecting pig's hearts. Working in pairs, I'd teamed up with a slightly crazy-eyed boy called Will, who could be very sweet, but rather unpredictable. Peering at our heart, I was diligently trying to cut a delicate notch into the aorta with my scalpel. Will leaned past me and opened the window, so I assumed he was feeling a bit overcome by the whole process.

Will turned to the heart, and quickly hacked off a large chunk of dark red, tough raw muscle. I just watched him, thinking that his dissection technique left a lot to be desired. He looked at me and in a low, calm voice, simply said "duck". I ducked, and he picked up the chunk of heart and lobbed it out of the window. Onto the path below. Where nearly a hundred children were milling around as they changed classes.

As the sounds of screaming and retching drifted into our classroom through the open window, Will looked at me and smiled, a far-away look in his eyes.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:58, 4 replies)

Actually I liked lots of things...........
Come to think of it.

A chemistry teacher, Dr somethingorother showing us how to make nylon and helping us to understand reactions by working out just how much explosive force was tied up in the chemicals on the shelves! Heavy mathematics but it didn't seem like a chore at the time. I was crap at this lesson, hence my previous post (must've been a decimal point in the wrong place, meh).

The last two years' PE lessons were a blast!

I took 2 terms of fencing - including Schlager!

I took 2 terms of - wait for it - Shaolin Kung Fu! The head of chemistry was a graduate apparently, showed a completely different side to the guy.

However, that's not what I came here to talk about.

The last 2 terms I was dragged into powerlifting by a mate who was competing in the juniors at the time, It was either that or tenpin bowling, I wasn't looking forward to it but as it turned out, I loved it!

Especially as we were training in the sports hall where the sixth-form girls were playing badminton. You could cut the hormone-laden air with a knife, even the fit female gym teachers were making excuses to be in the hall watching the young muscley sweaty guys straining at the weights.

As I'd been a rugby player, I was pretty fit. However, I was never very successful with the ladies until "the weights".

Bugger me with a fishfork was I successful THEN!

Previously unattainable babes suddenly wanted to find out whether "that was a thesaurus in my pocket, or was I glad to see them"!? Happy days, shagging my way through the Netball teams like a good un'

The best/worst/most frightening thing about my whole school life happened just after I'd left, I met the school uberbabe MILF teacher, Mrs Bxxxxx, in my local.

GOD she was gorgeous, from the top of her beautifully-coiffed blonde head, to the tips of her stiletto'd toes she was pure sex on legs. Posh too, with a deep and husky voice to make men spontaneously combust in a frottage-fest.

She caught my eye and sashayed over.

"Ah James, nice to see you again, particularly now you've left".

"Why "particularly now I've left" ma'am".

"Particularly now you've left because I can now legally shag you".

"Oh". *gulp*




And yes, dear reader, I did. Gave me my penchant for the "more mature" lady that has stayed with me to this day.*




*Unlike the success with netball teams.Or the muscles.

Bugger.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:56, 7 replies)

What is it about physics teachers?
This story contains exaggeration for comic effect - but not as much as you might think. It's at least within touching distance of true.

BC was my physics teacher for GCSE. (We had to do at least one science. This was mine.) He had an obsession with prisms and ticker-tape timers. On a couple of occasions he'd dig out the school's supply of radioactive isotopes and wave them in the general direction of a Geiger counter or (hilariously) our testicles, before launching into a tirade about how Greenpeace exaggerated the threat of contamination at Sellafield.

But mostly, what BC did was to crank out a very long-winded shaggy dog story about an octopus. Fair play to him: he made it last whole double periods for well over a year. This story was such as to make Tristram Shandy look concise and structured.

He retired at the Easter before the GCSEs. His replacement looked a bit like Kryten, and had been on the board that had set the upcoming exam. In his first lesson with us, he produced a copy of the syllabus.
"OK," he said. "I don't expect that I'm going to have to do much by this stage except make sure you're prepared. So let's see what you think you need to brush up on."

He started naming subjects. We looked blankly at him. Quickly, it dawned that he was going to have to be more than a caretaker. BC had spent so much time talking about octupi that a good two-thirds of the syllabus was untouched after 18 months. There were six weeks to go.

The replacement teacher - whose name, sadly, I've forgotten - was unpreturbed.
"Right," he said. "Obviously, I can't tell you what's going to be on the exam. But if you listed carefully to the things I'm going to teach you over the next 12 lessons, you should be all right."

We took the hint.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:52, 4 replies)

Stand in line and don't move!!!
The primary school I attended was sort of split in two - class 1,2,3 and 4 being infants (age 4 to 7) with 5,6 and 7 being juniors (7-11).

After breaks and lunch classes would stand in line waiting to go through the only entrance from the playground and back to class. If there was constant misbehaviour, which there was on occasion, the class in question would be made to practise standing in line.

Now the scene is set I shall let my story begin:

I was in class 5, being around 8 years old, the year being roughly 1986. Someone in my class and the class below had been a bit naughty and so we had to practise standing in line. Anyone who spoke, moved or did something that the teacher observing the lines didn't like was dispatched to the Heads office.

So there we were, standing in line, being well behaved, quiet as mice, Mrs Moss stood over us waiting for the most innocent of crimes to be comitted so she could dispense her foul and cruel justice.

I did a little a trump.
Andrew laughed.
He got set to the Heads office for laughing.
I got sent up for making him laugh!!

Where the buggeryfuck is the justice in that??? I did a little squeaky trump and get sent packing!!! Mother would not be pleased so we best keep this quiet.

Eventually the HM (Mr Ainsworth) turned up and we stood in office. He asked Andrew why he laughed and he gave an honest answer. This made me do one of those silly frrrrppp type laughs which got me in more in trouble (why should I have been in trouble for farting in the 1st place???)

The result: We both got a whack across the arse with a slipper. We had the last laugh though; he hit like a girl but we pretended that it hurt anyway so as not to provoke his wrath any further.

In hindsight, I'm pretty sure this wasn't actually allowed back in '86.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:49, 1 reply)

CODE BLUE BALLS
Well in the lovely US we have in our school systems required drills for twats. One of these said drills, after 9/11 is a Code Blue. This basically means that when they say some key phrase over the intercom, the school is on lockdown because there is someone in the building who shouldn't be. So all of the teachers close their rooms off and shut off the lights and get everyone away from the windows remaining as quiet as possible.

In my junior year of high school, there was a drill for a code blue in the middle of day. Well in one ofthe computer labs some boy decided this would be a nice time to enjoy some oral. So when the lights went out the girl next to him willingly went under the table and went to work.
The lights camne on sooner than expected and needless to say, it was incredibly awkward for all parties involved. The girl was expelled where as the boy was... relieved....

Not really though, he was expelled too. But her parents decided they had the right to sue the school. This law suit is still going on, to my knowledge.
(Argentum, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:44, 4 replies)

"Fancy a Tic-Tac?" - Warning Excessive consumption may cause laxative effect
My mates grandad was always complaining about being "Bunged up" and regaled us for ages in the mornings when I called round for my mate to walk to school...

One morning, he'd gotten a big job lot of laxatives, about 10 packs, and we snaffled one as we left the house...

We giggled to ourselves as we thought about how we could turn this into something funny...

We went to the corner shop and got ourselves some supplies for the day, sweets, fireball jaw breakers and then my mate saw the tic tacs...

"They look like them laxatives..." he mused...

"they do an all, except the black writing on the laxatives..."

"We wagged first lesson, and spent an hour using a blade from a pencil sharpener to scrape off the black lettering, and ate all the tics tacs (them orange and green ones) and filled the box with the laxatives, there were about 20 in a box, so it almost filled the tic tac box...just in time for the 10am break time...

We just went round the tennis courts and communal areas offering out tic tacs to first years, but hardly any took us up on it...the cunts...

We then noticed the massive queue for the tuck shop, and everyone buying "chocolate crunch" which was like a chocolate flapjack that students made in cookery the previous day, which was then sold at morning break...I looked at him, and he looked at me, and joint lightbulbs shone above our heads..."WE'VE GOT COOKERY THIS AFTERNOON"...

So we crunched up about 16 laxatives, and added them to the mixture, this made a fair amount of chocolate crunch, about 3 trays full, and then we sloped off...next morning the queue was huge at the tuck shop, everyone clamouring for chocolate crunch...little knowing that chocolate crunching would be prevalent for the follwing day or so...

That afternoon, loads of kids starting going down with the shits, so much so that they closed the school down for 2 days, to stop the "viral infection" that was going around...

Heroes amongst slightly small and un-hairy men-boys? That was me and my mate...until he started bragging to some girls, whose brother had it bad, she told her mum, her mum told the headmaster and he told us that we had to go home for a week on suspension...

As if thats a punishment...
(Big Andy, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:34, Reply)

Three off the top of my head
1. Picture a perfect volley, slightly wide of the playground goal post hitting the RE teacher square in the face. Now as you can imagine this was quite funny in its self but add to the scene her then falling down the rest of the History block stairs and breaking her arm. In two places.

2. Best mate has been into prono big time for a few months. We're all about 13/14 and prono is where its at. Anyway, he's brought his collection in to swap for another boys collection. Cue the same RE teacher catching my mate as hes trying to gather up his 20 or so copies of the worst 80's german porn and mags the likes of escort and razzle up off the lunch room floor after dropping his bag.

3. Same Friend, sat in chemistry spends the entire hour winding up the fat kid (who wasn't actually fat at all, he was built like a shit house) As the lesson draws to a close and I wonder how i'm ever going to explain the hole all the way through my backpack where I've dropped a strip of magnesium i'd been burning under the desk the fat kid tell my mate hes going to beat him up. Hes serious this time and looks it.

Me and my mate walk out of the science block towards the canteen, the fat kid in front by a few feet. My mate suddenly walks ahead of me, pulling out an old style compas with a good inch of point at the end from his inside blazer pocket.

17 punctures in the back and neck, 1 tetnus injection.
(Tibble off the crack since, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:28, 4 replies)

picasso cock
our upper sixth form common room had a large picasso print on the wall. it looked very innocuous, just nestling there against the white paint.

only on very close inspection could you see where someone, many years previously, had defiled it by sticking cut-out paper cocks all over the abstract pattern, so you could only spot them if you looked really closely.

sheer genius.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:26, 3 replies)

No win situation
I'm sure this has happened to many people - the ridiculous arguement with the HeadMaster about wether or not you did something wrong. Generally the arguement was thus:

HM: So, Spikeypickle, Mrs WelshPsychobitch claims that it was you that fucked the turtle up the arse whilst felching the school rhino.
SP: No Sir, it was not I.
HM: So you're saying Mrs WelshPsychobitchh is a liar?
SP: No Sir:
HM: So you did fuck the turtle up the arse whilst felching the school rhino!!!
SP: No Sir, I definately didn't do that.
HM: So you are calling Mrs WelshPsychobitch a liar!!!
SP: No sir.
HM: So you did fuck the turtle up the arse whilst felching the school rhino!!!
SP: Nope, I'm sure it wasn't me.
HM: So you are calling WelshPsychobitch a liar!!!

Repeat x infinty

Plaese note that the fucking of turtles and felching rhinos was an illustrative example of a ridiculous arguement that I had with HM on more than one occasion. There was definately no fucking turtles or rhino felching at my school.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:21, 15 replies)

Kaol's Pig and knives related post reminded me of something
School was a bit shit to be honest, and I've been realy trying to remember something amusing and/or gross enough. So here it is.....

It was either GCSE or A level Biology, I honestly forget which but my teacher at the time was pretty cool, and every now and then would bring in part of a pig carcass for us to dissect. I tended to be fairly handy at dissection, possibly because I wasn't that squeamish (despite being the only vegetarian in the class - weird huh?). Anyway, one lesson the teacher bought in a pair of pigs lungs. He decided that he would demonstrate to us how lungs inflate and deflate, and asked for a voulunteer to inflate them via a length of tubing.

Anyway, I voulunteered - as you do, and obligingly drew a deep breath, put the tube to my lips and inflated the lung. It looked pretty cool, I must admit. Then I made a tiny miscalculation. I breathed back in. Without taking the tube out of my mouth. Words alone cannot describe the taste that filled my mouth, together with what I can only imagine where flecks of dried blood and pig mucus..... To my credit I managed not to throw up - though I did gag pretty hard
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:15, 8 replies)

Posters
Halfway through my first year at 6th form the school started putting up 'motivational' posters reminding us of the school rules, such as no chewing gum, etc. The most mocked poster I believe was one about uniform, where the school had obviously tried to be 'down with the kids' as it had a picture of a person in uniform with the slogan "Tuck in or tuck off!".

Anyway, we started replacing the posters with our own spoof posters. Every so often the staff would notice and would take our posters down. Obviously we would just make more. Eventually there were so many posters up and most of them fake that the school removed them all and put up a poster saying "NO POSTERS". It was only about 2 hours before another poster appeared next to it saying "NO IRONY".
( Kitty v1.0 desperately naive, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 14:03, 1 reply)

Welsh passport
We were on a school trip to Wales in a minibus and we told this kid that he needed a passport and pretended we all had ours. He hid under the seats as we went over the Forth of Firth bridge. Later it was snowing and some wag went outside and carved ********* wanks in helicopter rescue sized letters in the snow. We then had the incredibly cruel delight of watching him in his stripey pyjamas trying to rub it all out in the snow in the middle of the night.

What a bunch of nasty little bullies we were, but I guess that's kids for you.

Sorry about that Chris B. I hope you're a roaring success now and it didn't do your head in too much.
(weeds, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:59, 5 replies)

In 6th form
there were a couple of lads who were kind of geeky, but in a more eccentric way that would have labelled them as insane if they weren't kids of middle class families. They were decent enough, but obviously didn't think in the same way as most people, so were prone to saying odd things or doing things for their own amusement (such as training themselves to speak and write backwards, including maintaining the original intonation), regardless of it was funny or appropriate for their age.

The best thing they did (of that I actually witnessed) was produce about half a dozen misspelled notes, written in felt tip on A4 paper saying things along the lines of "OuT of Orda, dnt UsE!!!" (actual spelling of these notes is lost to history) and they proceded to stick them on things which couldn't be out of order, such as chairs, bins and doors, including the one to the staff room.

They then, from their seats in the common room, laughed as people would go to put their rubbish in a bin, read the sign and then go and find a different bin to use, or avoid a fully functional chair in the common room for a week.

The staff caught on quickly and the cleaners disposed of as many signs as they could find, but before long they had branched out, and these notes appeared in classrooms and even into lower school, before they got bored and found something else to do.

It was entertaining in a very low key way.
(Nikkusama, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:50, Reply)

Not exactly the Harlem Globetrotters
Ah the best days of your life eh?

A stage for piss take and brutality more like.

I digress. My tale centres around one P Learmonth, erstwhile Maths teacher and P.E dept leech, who would offer to help the staff out with lunch time activity clubs, even though he was about as useful as a homosexual with hemorrhoids.

I was roped in (peer pressure - sad sheep like fool that I was) to appear at the basketball club - nothing to do with my 6ft 3 gangly frame I presume! which our hero presided over.

Bedecked in bright red track suit, 2 striped Adidas Winfield (RIP Woolworths) with those hoops at the bottom of the legs. Top always unzipped as I am sure it could not contain the girth of the man, trying to restore order to a circus of 16 year olds launching basketballs to all 4 corners of the gym hall. After much bellowing and collar grabbing he had whittled down the unruly mob to just my mate Alan & my good self. He was however at the opposite end of the hall and decided to take a couple of paces towards us and hurl his own basketball in our direction. Easily avoided by your 2 anti heroes by easing our heads to the side to allow the projectile to carry on in its way. At this point however, the gods of good fortune completely abandoned Learmonth as the rector (Scots term for head teacher) appeared; holding the door open for the latest visiting dignitary - None other than the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland (wow what a feckin title), who yes got a face full of orange synthetic missile. Enough to not only knock him to the floor but also to induce a torrent of claret from his unprotected hooter.

Cue dying fly frenzy from the collective youth.

Post script - Fair play to the messenger of God, he took it in good spirit, but alas this proved to be Learmonth's swansong and never again did he darken the P.E dept of a lunchtime.

Length?
(Said Debt, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:41, 1 reply)

Army cadets...

...we found ourselves prone atop a small hill, our machine guns rapidly unleashing countless blank rounds toward the wood below, from where a cacophony of youthful shouts and screams phased with the distant cracking of rifle fire, like a badly conceived Steve Reich piece.

Three of us had carried machine guns that were longer than we were tall throughout a long, arduous day of orienteering and survival exercises interspersed by walking, lots and lots of walking.

As was usually the case with these things, we'd been dumped in the middle of the Oxfordshire countryside with our weapons (without any ammo, blank or otherwise), a map, a bit of food, some vague instructions and lots of thinly veiled threats about the consequences of our inevitable misbehaviour.

As was always the case with these things, each team had among them a ready supply of drink, drugs and plenty of mischievous intent to help get them through the 10 hours of wandering helplessly about the countryside.

The day culminated in the opening scene, as though to provide scant reward for the torture the day had provided, and the image of three very drunk, machine gun wielding reprobates, firing joyfully towards their beloved school chums never fails to amuse me.
( Moey, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:37, Reply)

School Games you invent - where do they come from?
Invented games at school were the best thing ever - the height of imagination just when you needed it most!

Anyway, myself and my best mate Stani were ALWAYS in trouble at Primary school - nothing bad, we were just a bit 'mischievious' but the usual punishment was to miss playtime and/or lunchtime play by standing in 'The Centre' - it was basically the main entrance to the school right next to the head masters office. We had to stand in opposite corners facing the wall and not speak.

The floor was black tiles but occasionally there would be the odd coloured tile to make it 'a bit fancy' so we devised a game based on the end sequence from 'The Adventure Game' (if you're over 30, you'll remember this) basically 1 of us would be the player and 1 'The Vortex' and we had to take it in turns to swap sides of the room by jumping from coloured tiles as in this lovely photo of cheggers



We'd play it all playtime having TONS of fun with the added bonus if you heard Mr Singleton's (head teacher) door open you'd have to pelt back to your corner (still only touching coloured squares!) without being caught. Brilliant times. AND i was/am a fat kid that was bullied - but i still liked school!! You never wanted these days to end and you always thought you'd be best mates forever.

Here's a Youtube of The Vortex in full 48k-ness!
uk.youtube.com/watch?v=6HLX2weZfkA
(TheManofScience, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:36, 5 replies)

Porn
We used to have lockers at the back of our form rooms at school. One lunchtime some of the cool boys (the ones good at sports and very little else) got hold of some pictures of naked men and put them behind the locker doors of three of the cool girls. And waited.

Not being remotely cool, I watched from the sidelines, secretly wishing for a better look at some of the pictures myself.

Sometime later, two of the cool girls arrived and deliberately avoided their lockers. The boys had been rumbled and their trick amounted to nothing.

In the midst of the "you're so stupid" discussion that followed, the remaining cool girl breezed in, said "hi" to her friends and opened her locker.

Her face, with her eyes nearly bigger than her mouth and her jaw almost on the floor, was a picture.

The questions remain as to why the other cool girls didn't warn their "friend" and how did the oh-so-straight, sports-playing hard-men that were those cool boys get pictures of very naked, very hairy and very excited men?
(BearWithLittleBrain, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:34, Reply)

I loved school
Here are my top three school stories

3. Bullies
My friend and I were enjoying sitting in the sun outside the science block discussing the relevant benefits of Bros over Jason Donovan or some such nonsense. A group of girls in the year above us approach the bench and tell us to move, rather aggressively.
They were all wearing purple lipstick and eye-shadow, and all had the same bouffant hair, they looked absolutely ridiculous
My friend and I thought their appearance was so weird, we started laughing. The sort of laughing that descends into guffaws and tears.
By the time we looked up to give them the respect they deserved, they had slunk away with their tails between their legs.
What rubbish bullies!

2. Hostage
We had a fabulous form teacher called Ms. Batty (unfortunate name, cracking teacher) whose sense of humour was so dry, she could sell sand to arabs.
As a class we challenged ourselves to make her laugh, she knew about the challenge and had nearly got through the entire year without breaking.
Nearly.....
A girl suggested us all putting our ties round our heads and pretending to be Rambo. This idea evolved into tying the girl who suggested it (she was a willing participant) to a chair, with all the ties, scarves and other "rope-type" implements in the class.
Ms. Batty walked into the class, took one look at our hostage and laughed herself dizzy.
I took the register that day, becasue she couldn't talk.

1. Blind Mans Buff
Our form had a special room where we kept our coats and bags. It doubled up as a store room.
One day, in a pique of boredom, we decided to hang out in the room putting storage boxes over our heads.
This developed into a game where there would be six or seven girls in the room, one of whom had a box on their head and played blind mans buff.
The game became so popular that we had to have a rota of players for each lunchtime.
The game eventually stopped when the Head of Year walked in to find a group of sniggering girls sitting on shelves, lying on the floor under piles of PE bags and hiding under coats along with at another girl spinning around with a box on her head.
We were sixteen.

I'm in my 30's now, but I'd love to go back to school. School? Brilliant!
(Jugular, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:12, Reply)

Pools. . .

Whenever we had swimming lessons, my mate Ian would ALWAYS piss in the pool...

ALWAYS!!!

And every time, without fail, the cunt of a PE teacher, Mr Butcher, would grab hold of him and haul him off to the head's office.

Ian would've got away with it too...

...if he hadn't been stood on the side pissing in...







...sorry...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 13:05, Reply)

"i get a lot more out of school trips these days"
6th form trip to check out Nottingham University. A double-decker tour bus was hired as it turned out to be quite popular. Well it beats sitting in school all day. Me and my mates quickly baggsied the back seats on the top deck with the two teachers and uber geeks occupying the tabled seats on the bottom deck. We knew it would be a good trip as my bro was there at the time uni living off Lenton Blvd. just a shortish walk away. We had NO intention of touring the uni.

Along came my trusty friend ‘Chunky’ , a home made bong (they’ve gotta have a name )and after a long journey smoking bongs and blowing the smoke out of the rear skylight (still don’t know how we weren’t sussed) we arrived at the uni and proceeded down the long twisty entrance to the coach park. It was during this go slow period (10mph zone I think ) that we goaded my mate Al to climb out the rear skylight and run along to the middle one where we would open it and let him in to receive his well earned adulation, I think an ‘Ayrton Senna ’ was also rustled up. Out he goes and being the bastards we were and knowing he’s find it funny eventually we shut the middle one while he was on top, then we shut the rear one. After we had stopped pissing ourselves and shouting “get the crystal !! get the crystal !! “ we relented and let him back in . He was pretty shaky for a while but we gave him the praise he deserved….and a phat reefer to calm him down.

Sorry for grammatical inadequacies.
Length …well I’m not one to brag but I was known as tripod at school.
(brickyhull, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:49, 4 replies)

Miss, what's PMT?
When I was at school, it's fair to say I was very naive and mildly cretinous (looking at some of the previous entries reminded me of some of the prickish stuff I used to do).

Anyway, when we were in year 8 or 9, we would regularly get student teachers from the local Poly who were putting their new-found skills to the test. Often the poor buggers got torn in half by us playing up and answering back thinking we were dead clever (it felt like it at the time), but one poor girl got far worse treatment from me, albeit inadvertantly.

It was around this time that girls and bras and what-have-you were starting to become prominent in our adolescent conversations, and while the young teacher was attempting to get us under order, my mate Rob asked me if I knew what PMT was. As previously stated I was spectacularly naive at this time, and confirmed that I didn't. Rob (the twat) then suggested I asked the teacher what it was (in my defence, I didn't know it was anything biological/embarrassing which would have stopped me had I known).

So I asked her.

And the classroom fell silent.

And she crumbled.

Even as an idiotic child I realised the upset I'd caused, but covered it up with a bit of youthful bluster and pressed on (she managed to finish the lesson by the way, but I never did get an answer).

Years later (as in about 6 months ago), I saw her again in my local pub, and I was instantly taken back to our previous encounter. I visibly cringed as I thought about what I'd said, and actually took steps to hide from her. At one point my drunken stupour suggested that if I was still single, I could've gone over and 'fessed up. She would've been charmed, and we would laugh and shag (she was tidy) Common sense soon put paid to that ridiculous concept, however, and I spent the remainder of the evening cowering behind my dad. I'm 30.

Student teacher, if that was you, sorry.

P.S. I know what it is now, too...
(titusyouclown, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:49, 2 replies)

Guns and ammo
All week the lads from my school who caught the Ambridge* bus had been coming into school with tales of scuffles and fights breaking out between them and Ambridge comprehensive. Since they finished school half-an-hour earlier than us, quite a few of the unsuspecting grammar school boys had been waylaid on their way home. I have no idea what started it, but like all sectarian violence, it escalated in a tit-for-tat manner until an ultimatum was thrown down. On Friday, after school, they were going to send their hardest boys to the bus stop opposite our school and the fight of the century was going to go down. Everyone was buzzing about it, literally the whole school was talking about it and of course the teachers got wind of it.

One of the things that seriously worried us was that Fridays was a special day at our school - it was CCF day, which meant that about a third of the school would attend in army/RAF uniform and stay behind to learn about preparing ambushes, operating radios and aircraft recognition. This was a major blow for our fighting prowess because most of the lads who were into fighting had naturally joined the army cadets - leaving only the 'civilians' to represent at the bus stop.

We shouldn't have worried. The deputy head and a couple of other teachers involved in the CCF gathered together the sixth form cadets just before 4pm. The army cadets were given combat gear, the RAF got the horrible green coveralls they wear (ha!) and each was issued with an L98 cadet GP rifle. They said that afternoon the cadets would learn about patrolling - more specifically, patrolling the area around the bus stop.

When the Ambridge lads arrived, they were greeted by thirty or so of our biggest boys in full military gear, armed with guns.

There was no fight that day.

*Name slightly changed to protect the guilty
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:46, 3 replies)

Repost of Old Message
I can read minds
Years ago in Careers class, the teacher, who looked like Audrey Roberts with too much make up, was never there...

David Bowie, for that was his name, was seeing if anyone could read minds, so we all sat round at took turns to guess which card he was holding.

Everybody got one or two out of ten as expected. Then it was my turn.

Put my head down and covered my eyes. I got kicked in the back three times by the kid sitting on the desk behind my chair, luckily I picked up what was going on instantly. "Three I said", looking up. Over the next ten I only got one wrong, I'd miscounted. I really went to town with over acting, staring into his eyes, but not in a gay way, rubbing my temples, etc...

By this point Mr Bowie was getting seriously freaked out, being a fully paid up god botherer. Everyone had realised that the chap sitting behind him was signalling to the chap behind me what the card was and were trying to keep straight faces.

He then spent the next few days telling everyone, including teachers I could read minds. I never did tell him.
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:41, Reply)

Camp 2
Sonic James Doom reminds me...
Our scout group was mixed, long before that became the norm.

Again, we were killing time in a tent. J decided she was cold, and climbed into a nearby sleeping bag. The bag was already occupied - by a teenage boy.

The conversation continued, and after a couple of minutes J fidgeted a bit.
"Hey! Could you get your knee from out of my groin?"





"It's not my knee."
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:40, 1 reply)

Just remembered another...
Year 7 Summer Camp, at the end of the year, off we all went to go and enjoy the great outdoors for a week with nowt but a sheet of polyester to protect us from the elements.

Thing about tents is that they don't insulate sound very well meaning we heard all sorts of things we shouldn't have done from the other tents including sexy noises from the teachers tent, endless bitching about pupils and my personal favourite, from a amate's tent at one in the morning:

"I'm trying to sleep, fuck off. No, fuck off. ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR MARTIN THAT'S WELL GAY!"

Some questions are best left unasked.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:36, Reply)

Camp
My school had a Scout group attached to it, of which I was - for a while - a member.

Being a Scount involves camping. One evening, there was a group killing time in a tent. B - whom I've mentioned elsewhere - was playing with a lighter. Somehow, the Scout leader found out, and came storming across.
"You stupid boy!" he bellowed. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to burn down a tent?"
B looked peacably back at him. "It depends on how big the tent is, doesn't it?"

On another occasion (on the same trip, IIRC), a group was sat by a fire playing with penknives, as is the wont of teens. One of the group was D, who, if not exactly unpopular, was at least the butt of all the jokes. Having had enough one evening, he stood up from beside the fire, conspicuously pocketing his knife, and announced that he was going to go into the woods to slit his wrists.
There was a shocked silence. C, who had a sort-of-leadership position, looked worried for a moment.
"I suppose I'd better go after him. Just to make sure the stupid bastard does it properly."


Happy days.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:29, Reply)

The Tale Of Kaol And The School Open Day
I didn't enjoy school very much.
It was mostly full of the stuck-up spawn of City bankers, along with a hefty dose of overseas boarders with massive egos.

Anyway... The worst thing about that place was the fact that we had school on Saturdays.
One-day-weekends are far too brief.

So, once a year there would be an open day which, for most of the group of friends I had, would mean a day off, as we "Did Not Give A Good Impression Of The School".

In my final year, however, I was asked to help out in the Biology department for the open day. I didn't appreciate having to do this, particularly, until I found out that I would be doing "Dissection Demonstrations".

This was fine with me, as I absolutely love cutting things up, and always have done.

Open day rolled around, and I was given a lab coat, a scalpel, a box of blades and a black bin bag, filled with still-born pigs.

I started by doing a standard "pin it to a board, split it open and pin the guts back" dissection, and then decided to get creative.
I took a fresh piglet and carefully set about creating the porcine version of Two-Face from Batman, by removing the skin from one side of it's body.
I got a little bored and took the eye out too.

The head of Biology came over and asked me to carry on with what I was meant to be doing, and not "lark around", so I put the eye back into the pig, and left it nice-side-up on the slab.

About half an hour later some children were walking around the department. They were about ten years old, and with their parents.
They stopped in front of Kaol's Table Of Pig Bits, and were asking questions about what I was doing.

One of them pointed to the half-skinned mess that was curled up on the slab like a freshly-washed miscarriage.

"What's that one? Can I see it?"

I nodded, and grabbed it around the chest, brandishing it towards the kid like a pork-sword.
This had the unfortunate effect of propelling the eyeball towards him, hitting him in the chest and sticking there with part of the optic nerve.

There was a lot of screaming and a fair amount of crying.
Whoops.
( Cawl, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:24, 9 replies)

Nasal nostalgia…

I come in search of answers…

When I was at school there was a lad called Stuart. He and I were ‘Toilet twins’ (not in any way shape or form to be confused with ‘Toilet traders’).

No, a ‘Toilet twin’ is a non-relative that for some inexplicable reason always needs the toilet at the same time as you, and vice versa (when it’s all ‘one-way’ then that’s stalking)

Anyhoo, every time Stuart and I were stood together at the urinals, he would without fail let off a rumbling, low riding, wet, sloppy elongated fart with such ferocity that I was constantly surprised that the Richter scale people weren’t perpetually checking our school bogs for tectonic plates.

The thing is, during this momentous trouser trumpeting, he would always retort: “OOOOOooooooooohhhhh YEEEeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh….GET OUT AND WALK!”

I never found out what he meant. I left school without ever having asked him and haven’t seen him for years.

Could somebody please explain to me what the blithering clit-squids he was banging on about?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:23, 3 replies)

Where did my best friend go?
I cant at the moment think of anything hugely amusing about my school life. I seemed to have deleted the memory of most of it.

However, what I do remember is that I was a rather shy lad, and didnt really get along with anyone. Oh yes, I guess I was the "different kid." I just wasnt very sociable and didnt like anyone.

However, I had one mate, someone I had known my entire life. We did everything together. His parents were friends with my parents. We were in the same classes for everything since 3 years old. Neither of us had any other friends. We were pretty inseperable buddies. I think you get the picture.

Year 11 came along and I think we both started growing up a bit, and sadly apart. As he was really getting into the Games Workshop Warhammer stuff on a big scale and I was really getting more into I.T. We kinda drifted a bit and finally both of us broadened our social circles (and started liking girls!) We never fell out, just moved on a bit from each other I guess.

After our final GCSE exam, I said taraa to him as we went our seperate ways home.... and have never seen him since.

I went off to college, and for some bizzare reason we just never stayed in touch. I know he also eventually moved away, and I heard his mother had died of cancer. After that, he just seems to have completely dissapeared.

Its been 12 years now since I've seen him, and I do wonder how he's doing and what he's doing. Of course, thanks to the Internet, with Friends Reunited and Facebook etc, its pretty easy to find old school mates. Armed with these tools, there was no one else i'd have wanted to find. But nope, he's either allergic to computers or he's dead. Because he is no where to be found! No one else from school who I have contacted have heard from him either.

So in a last ditch attempt. If you, Christopher Paul Lind of Rotherham, South Yorkshire are a hiding lurking b3tan then make yourself known. It would be great to have a catch up with an old school buddy over a pint some day.

Also if anyone else has any other ideas on how you find people these days, I'd be interested to hear about it. He really was the best friend I ever had.

The search continues....
(Miggyman, Fri 30 Jan 2009, 12:14, 9 replies)