Cross Country…

It’s happened to everybody at least once in their lives…Cross country…but you’ve forgotten your P.E kit.

But when it happened to me, considering that our course went out of the school grounds and past the local council estate, did the teacher say: “Never mind, just sit it out this time eh?”

Did he cuntswill.

No, he ordered me to jog half-heartedly around the squalid streets in the sub-zero temperatures…in just my pants.

But then I mentioned that I was going commando at the time.

The teacher was not for turning. Convinced that I was just making excuses to sit out PE, the stubborn old shagsack said: “Well, you’re still running the course…with nothing covering your shame at all!

I will never forget that moment…bounding about past the old folk’s home with ‘the last turkey in the shop’ swinging mightily between my legs like a withered goldfish trying to negotiate it’s way out of a particularly wrinkled fruit pouch.

The senior citizen’s district suffered a record amount of strokes that afternoon.

The teacher thought it was a victory. However, the joke was on him…because the truth is…my P.E kit was always in my bag – I’m just a perverted exhibitionist.

In fact, he only finally realised something was wrong when I started turning up every week to cross country totally bollock naked…and 2 hours early.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 2 Feb 2009, 12:31, 2 replies)

Next door to a 'mental' school
I had a pretty decent secondary school, in a fairly nice, quiet suburb. But it wasn't short of it's interesting moments:

- like being chased out of the grounds by the kids from the 'special' school which was right next door. It joined onto the end of our car park, god knows why they put it there, but all the kids were proper loons. The headmaster of the shit hole was once quoted as saying in the local paper that working there was more nerve racking than when he'd been on a nuclear-sub in the Navy during the cold war. Luckily the weirdo's had some sort of supernatural fear of going past a nearby bus shelter, so as long as you got there before them, you were OK.

- I'll also never forget the girl who sat behind me in science, who got so nervous during a test one morning, she pissed all over the stool she was sat on, and all over the floor around her. Can you imagine the onslaught of bullying she received?! She also threw up corn pops in a maths test once. I've no idea how she ever got through her GCSE's!

- how many other people here burned their names into the desks in science? I just wonder, because it seems to me now, 10 years later, tha acts of vandalism are probably best if you don't sign them.
(Amputated is tickling the exit wound, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 12:02, Reply)

My Teacher the Murderer
For my 3rd year in Junior school Mr Jackman was my Form Master. A short dumpy man with huge jowls and 3 chins that wobbled when he refereed football.

Jacko took great delight in metering out corporal punishment to boys by slippering them in front of the class with a gym shoe for trivial matters like talking in class, girls on the other hand were punished in private by a lady teacher. On one occasion Jacko whacked a lad with a football boot - this was in the days of old when footie boots really were boots!

Yes old Jackman was a bad tempered grouch at times.

Around fifteen years after I left school the headlines in the local paper read something like "Teacher strangles lover and hangs himself".

It turned out that after his marriage broke up, Mr Jackman set up house with Miss Smith another teacher at the same school. During a row he had strangled her and then climbed up into the loft, secured a rope to a beam and having placed a noose around his neck jumped through the access hatch.
( Vambo, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 12:01, Reply)

just remembered
for the last four years - I have been taught the various subjects of geograhy/history (year 8), english (years nine and 10) and now A - level History by the same teacher.
this teacher, a 6'9&1/2", gangly giant of a man, has helped me through a bucketload of crappy times.
Great for a laugh, lets you get away with just about anything in the classes, but just one of those teachers who will go the extra bit to help his students.

So. Mr King. If you are reading this. Thanks. You're a fucking legend and have been one of the few teachers who make school worthwhile.
(Poppet some assembly required., Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:41, 2 replies)

Sony Bravia?
A while back, there was an advert for Sony Bravia featuring a load of balls bouncing down a hill. I saw it, and forgot about it.

A few years on, it's time to leave school. It is traditional for the outgoing year to cause some kind of mayhem, though in recent years this has been progressively stamped out. This, thought the school, would be the end of it.

They tried to bribe us.
They threatened us with not being able to sit exams.
They Threatened us with arrest if we broke in.
They hired security with BIG damn dogs to reinforce this last.

So we had to be more creative. I remembered that advert, and obtained some bouncy balls, five hundred in total. I would drop them from a window, and run away.

Meanwhile, everyone else had planned a rather large coordinated raid, complete with boiler suits, smoke grenades, eggs, balaclavas and water pistols.

Oh and someone else, having heard of my plan, got a quid from everyone in the year and added five thousand bouncy balls to my five hundred.

The results were impressive - balls everywhere, an explosion of colour, as 5500 of the things bounced and rolled over a car park filled with children (and be-boilersuited bastards with most of the ingredients for a cake in throwable form.)

Speaking to a teacher a few weeks later, I found out that my plan had worked exactly as planned.

I had planned it to be funny - it was. I had planned it to be self cleaning - every child in the school picked up three or four bouncy balls.

I had planned for it to get progressively more annoying as the week went on - see above. Apparently no staff member could turn around for about a month without having a small rubber ball bounced off his head.
(Foxinsockssir, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:36, 2 replies)

Polaroids
A bloke in my secondary school class, when we were about 15, appeared one day with a couple of Polaroid photos, which seemed to be causing a bit of a stir. So I asked what all the bother was about.

Turns out this chap, who was a bit of a weirdo, had been rummaging through his parents' wardrobe, and discovered his dad's porn stash. Fair enough.

But on further digging, he'd also found some more 'private' images. Home-brewed Polaroid pics of his mother.

Naked.

On her period. With blood dripping down her leg.

I nearly spewed. I can only imagine how shocked I'd have been to have found such photos of my mother, and the last thing I'd have done is to have taken them to school to let my classmates see!

Bloody pervert.

His mum had nice tits though
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:19, 4 replies)

Mr Aberwaldy
There's always one, and this one was a bald ogre with sweat stains, foul breath and a penchant for blackboard boners. He was old-school, and thought nothing of lobbing a wooden board-rubber at a talkative lass on the back row, or lashing a metre-rule into the throat of a distracted pupil.

Well, this one time, he was worse than usual on account of his beloved Morris Minor being pushed into a canal. He was telling us about the Ganges or something when he noticed that Robert Uurine on the back row was staring out of the window with an apathetic air.

Quick as a flash, Aberwaldy unholstered a a Colt 'Magnum' .45 and aimed it at Robert. A collective scream went up, but it was too late: the barrel flamed and the kids head was blown clean off, right through the window and through the basketball hoop in the yard. Blood sprayed madly in a Jackson Pollock up the window.

God, how we laughed! Brought up on a diet of The A-Team, we had no conception that being beheaded by a bullet might actually be fatal! It was 20 mins before Mr Aberwaldy could calm us down, and even then it was only by putting the barrel in his own mouth and blowing the top of his head off in a geyser of blood and brains.

Well, I laughed so much that I shat out my pancreas and had to be hospitalised for a month.

Happy days!
(frankspencer, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:17, 2 replies)

An Oldie
.
I went to a balloon school with a balloon boy. Yup, a boy made out of balloons and a right little bastard he was.

Anyway. One day he woke up in a bastard of a mood and went berserk with a pin. First he found his mother and stuck her...

"Hssssssssssssss" and she collapsed to the floor.

Then he went for his farther and, again, he wielded his deadly pin.

"Hsssssssssssss" went his dad as he collapsed to the floor.

Little balloon boy laughed and went running off to balloon school with his deadly pin. He reached the school building and stabbed gleefully.


"Hssssssssssssss" went the school and collapsed in a big heap.

Then balloon boy suddenly realised what he'd done and couldn't live with himself. So he took his trusty pin and stuck it into himself.

"Goodbye cruel world" he thought as the air hissed out of him and everything went black.

But our story doesn't end there. The paramedics got to him in time and rushed him off to hospital. There they repaired his wounds and slowly pumped him back up. As he regained conciousness he saw his headmaster looking sorrowfully at him.

"Ah balloon boy" he said shaking his head.

"You've let your mother down. You've let your father down. You've let the school down. - But most of all, you've let yourself down."

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:09, 4 replies)

first fanny
Who can forget those innocent primary school episodes where girls doing handstands revealed their tiny hairless clams to the disgusted eyes of boys more interested in torturing flies and comparing bogies?

There was always one girl more 'advanced' than the others who'd lift her skirts for a digestive biscuit or mint humbug. At our school she was called Moira Snatch (no joke) and she was the girl to go for if you wanted a kiddie biology lesson.

I particualrly recall hunkering in an under-stairs cupboard with a few other boys as Moira put on a dildo show to rival anything you'd see in the backstreets of Amsterdam. The following week, for the price of a pack of Jammy Dodgers, she was sucking off Michael Wilson's labrador 'Rex' as we stood in rapt repulsion.

I've since heard that Moira has become the North's premier Honda salesperson.

Happy days!
(frankspencer, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:06, 1 reply)

Owl Stretching Time
Despite being at a Grammar School I was in the bottom set for French, this was basically the dozen worst pupils stuck in a room with the slightly psychotic teacher Mr K. Mr K was old school, called everyone by their surnames, and would regularly threaten students. Only one or two ever got a beating more through luck and the law than any self restraint on his part. The kid whose Dad had sold MR K a dodgy second hand porsche that broke down beyond repair after 4 months was one major target of his Ire.

He also had the sort of moustache that looked out of place anywhere other than the army or gay porn.

Given we were the bottom set basically meant we were the lazy ones or the ones the teachers didnt like and most of us were actually quite good at French at least by G.C.S.E standard.
French was always held in the same room a semi-underground room that also had a storeroom of it.

One day as we came into the class two of my classmates known as Meanly and Reid turned up each wrapped in a red curtain and with a cushion hidden underneath. They had also drawn swirly moustaches on their top lip with marker pens. They then went and hid in the storecupboard.

Not long after Mr K turned up. and in his usual angry way said to another pupil "SOUTHGATE. WHERE ARE MEANLY AND REID"
and southgate obviously in on the joke replied straight faced

"Well I didnt expect the Spanish Inquisition"

At which point the two lads jumped out of the storeroom menacingly holding their cloak and shouted.

"No one expects the spannish inquisition"

To which mr K straight face just said

"Get out" with no hint of emotion

the rest of the class then wet themselves laughing for a full 30 minutes.

If I have time the story of Gordon Browns moneymaking scheme will be revealed.
(lordofallhesurveys How appropriate you fight like a cow, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:06, Reply)

The computer
I was lucky enough to be at school when the first PCs came out. Our school had one - I think it was a Acorn GTi but I might be wrong -and the 300-or-so students had to share it.

It didn't do much. You could type in your name and it would show it on the screen in green writing. Or you could put a floppy disk the size of a 12" LP in it and save your name for posterity.

I had bigger ambitions. So I found a way, a decade or so before the internet, to hack into the phone lines and access the Strategic Air Command mainframe at Hawk Mountain, Arizona, and call in an air strike on my school.

Within hours a phalanx of F16s were overhead and launching a lethal rain of missiles on our red-brick secondary school so that the whole place was reduced to a gore-strewn rubble wasteland of death. Perhaps 400 people were slaughtered during that attack, but I survived by hiding under a table.

Happy days!
(frankspencer, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 11:00, 1 reply)

It's a load of balls anyway
When I was very small, my mother would reassure me about the fears of the night by reciting a little poem:
"From ghoulies and ghosties
and long legged-beasties
And things that go bump in the night
- Good Lord, deliver us"

One Halloween this rhyme backfired terribly on me. The teacher was standing at the blackboard, and asked us to shout out the name of things that frightened us. My six year old self remembered the rhyme and shouted out "Ghoulies!"

You've never heard such a fuss.

Bloody nuns.
(richardm, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:52, Reply)

Doctor Swift
Our Chemistry teacher had formerly worked in industry, and evidently had a pretty casual attitude to the usual rules of the lab since he'd eat and drink in it. He was rarely seen without his mug of tea and perhaps a biscuit or two.

I remember one occasion where we were doing something involving a vacuum pump, and he'd left his mug of fresh tea next to the fume cupboard and wandered back to the prep room to fetch something. We were all sitting around unattended and bored; the pump was running, the ever-present tea was as present as ever, so one of us took the hose from the vacuum pump and dumped the end in the mug.

I don't know quite what we'd expected to happen, but the draw of a vacuum pump is quite considerable and with a loud SCCCCHHHLLLLUUURRR noise most of the mug's contents instantly vanished.

With some alarm the end of the hose was pulled from the mug and shoved hastily back into the fume cupboard.

Doctor Swift returned from the prep room, and surveyed his mug and the sad dregs of the tea within. He shot us a suspicious look, but by then we were all looking as vacantly innocent as only a classroom of kids who know something is up can be.

So he continued with the lesson. I doubt any of us could remember what the lesson was actually about, because vacuum pumps are designed to pump air, not liquid, and what filled our attention most was not the subject of the lesson but the tea leaking steadily from every seal on the pump.

Probably turned out to be rather expensive, I suspect...
(richardm, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:41, 1 reply)

My Bart Simpson moment
First hour of the first day of the first year of my forst school. I was four. I was shouted at, and I do mean full on, red-faced, top of his voice, shouted at by the headmaster for asking the kid next to me what everyone was doing during prayers in assembly. I believe he even mentioned going to hell, I'm not sure, I was too busy crying. I was four, afterall.

Cried all the way back to class, where the nice first-year teacher tried to comfort me by pointing at me and saying "That's what happens when you talk during prayers" to the whole class. I was four!

I hated school from that day until the day I left. Like really hated. To the point where I'm dreading sending my kids to school, because I know how much I hated it (though if anyone shouts at my kids the way the head did that time, they're gonna find themselves skidding across the floor on their arse fairly rapidly).

Though, I feel I have to point out, despite hating school with a buring passion, I always wanted to be a vet, so my parents said "well, you'll have to work very hard at school then" so I never bunked off, I actually paid attention (to the important stuff anyway) and I made the ffort to make sure I passed my GCSE's. granted, it all went downhill from their, since I then decided that being a vet was far too much work and worked in the games industry instead of doing A levels and going to uni.
(ScousersPet, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:40, Reply)

A geeky one
Our new, all singing all dancing Win 95 school computers were, in no small part due to my efforts in my early years of high school (3.11 wasn't exactly difficult to hack), locked down to fuck with Kerberos to stop us messing with them. No crappy easy to hack Nimbus bollocks like mentioned in other posts!

This didn't stop us of course (cover CCTV, open computer, short CMOS reset jumpers to get into BIOS, set floppy drive as first boot device and get into Win 95 off a boot disk), meaning we could install Quake for network-wide deathmatches.

Probably went a bit too far when we replaced the Windows 95 splash screens (remember what a weird format they were in? All squashed horizontally) with horrible porn badly edited in Paint to feature the head/deputy head's faces.

And when we discovered that almost none of the other schools on the county WAN had the same approach to security as ours (sharing your entire school's user folder area with full privileges, with the whole WAN? We'll delete it all then. Sharing your printers with anyone and everyone? Much fun will be had sending random porn and abuse to the print queue of every printer in every school in the county)

I was banned from using the computers at school for almost all of my time there.

Funnily enough, I work in IT these days...
(Son of Sam-i-am We're all as mad as hatters here, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:37, 2 replies)

Burning Snowman
Back in high school, I was part of the nerd clique, but there was no one really to bully us so we let our creativity run wild.

One time the others were having a conversation in my absence, and the topic of oxymorons came up (you know, like controlled chaos or US military intelligence). One of my friends blurted out "Burning snowman!" There was kind of a Frankenstein moment when another friend exclaimed "It...Could...Work!" They decided that doused with petrol (sorry, I'll probably slip and call it gas) it would be possible.

It was winter, so we gave it a shot out in the big field that happened to be across the street from the then world's largest shopping mall, West Edmonton Mall (and the two Beijing malls that displaced it sound like they will close down very soon).

First we needed an accelerant. We went to a gas station with the excuse we needed fuel for a snowblower. With a $20 deposit we got a gas can to hold the gas, and we returned to our snowman.

We doused the snowman and set it ablaze. It takes a lot of energy to melt ice, so a little gasoline sets it on fire for an impressively long time. It was truly a beautiful sight.

Next winter, we did it over by my house, which was adjacent to a riverside ravine. We built a Satan snowman and a God snowman, and we set them on fire to see which side would win this battle of titans. While they were still burning, someone happened to walk up the path. We quickly hid, and this person walked by, saw the burning Satan and God snowmen, quickly shielded it with a single hand so he wouldn't have to look at it, and hurried past. Satan ended up burning the longest, but there was debate over whether that meant he fought the longest, or whether God's assault outlasted Satan's own.

Last time I returned to Canada in the wintertime, I brought my now wife with me and introduced her to the now traditional Canadian winter pastime of burning snowmen. She was quite insulted by our immaturity. I can't wait until next time I'm in a climate with decent snow so I can light a snowman ablaze.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:29, Reply)

One of my earliest memories
At the age of about 5 or 6, was correcting my teacher when she wrote 'YAHCT' on the board.

Got sent out of the class for being a smart arse. A harbinger of my school career to come...
(Son of Sam-i-am We're all as mad as hatters here, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:24, Reply)

Cannibalism

Today's weather reminded me of this one...

We had a very pretty and eloquent french trainee teacher at our school. If you looked up lovely in the dictionary there would've been a photo of her angelic face beaming out at you. She was named Claudette.

It became a bit of a game to try and gross her out.... Well, we were teenage boys...

Go back far too many years for my liking...

A snowy day in the midlands, the playing fields covered in the white stuff. A proper snowfall - not like the weak as piss stuff we get nowadays.

Most of the teenage boys are pelting each other with snow and ice and stones wrapped in snow, as teenage boys tend to do.

Claudette notices a group of lads including my good self, over to one side lying in the snow howling and looking thoroughly miserable. Intrigued, she sidles over. She notices we have someone laid out in the snow with part of his arse on show and we're huddled round him.

"Boys! What on Earth are you doing?!?" Asks Claudette in her inveigling French accent, like honey wrapped in silk and tied up with a little pink ribbon.

We stop howling, look up at Claudette...

"We're playing Alive, Miss..."

She went back to France after a few months...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:22, Reply)

Im a total perv and a teef
Me and my buddies were the tech guys for the drama and music shows at school. We handled all the sound and lighting stuff. None of the school staff knew how all this stuff worked so we would milk lots of time out of lessons to 'Set up' the equipment.

One day we were up in the lighting gallery at the side of the stage and saw a loft hatch above us. We got the ladders out and went up to have a look.

The hatch lead to a room above above the stage which was full of quite expensize lighting equipment which had never been un-boxed and had a thick layer of dust on it. We slowly liberated the stuff, a bit every day then sold the lot to the local amature dramatics group for £2000. WINNER!!

Not only was £1000 in my pocket awesome but while we were up above the stage we found another door which was an access onto the roof of the school. When opened this door gave a perfect view into the showers of the girls changing rooms.

Life was good. :-)
(Generalhammond, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:22, Reply)

Not quite bat and ball
Whilst I viewed the majority of my secondary schooling like the only job I could get when I was skint (hated it, but did well because I needed to), there was one particular moment that sticks out as funny/enjoyable (I'll have to decide which is more appropriate).

One of the sports we played during PE was softball; the weird bastard child of baseball and rounders that involves a fairly sizeable bat. We had a rotation of teachers handling the less demanding sports (never worked out if this was a slack off, or a punishment), and on the event in question we had the inimitable Mr.Rodgers, a real twat of a science teacher, who nobody liked, even some of his colleagues.

Anyway, it was my turn to bat and after sending the ball off on a good trajectory, I released the bat on the back swing, preparing to run. What I hadn't counted on was Mr.Rodgers proximity to me when I was swinging, and I sent the bat straight at his ankles, managing to hit both of them with a nice thick wallop.

I'd ran about six feet before I realised that something was wrong, and I turned round to see a grown man on the floor clutching both ankles, quietly sobbing. At this point I got an instant hit of guilt, then humour and then, remembering the twat level of this man, pride.

He did eventually get up, nothing was said and I received no punishment, however I did appear to trigger some kind of trend. As, a subsequent two times, Mr. Rodgers managed to get hit in the ankles, by different people on different occasions.

Some people, they never learn.
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:11, Reply)

A demonstration of gravity
Ever make a rocket from an air valve, a bicycle pump and a big plastic bottle? My physics teacher did, and demonstrated it in the middle of the playing fields.

It went up remarkably high - at least 150m. Then it came down. Our teacher had failed to think about this - but that said, so had we. So we ended up legging it as the thing hurtled back towards the dear old Earth.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:05, Reply)

Faking the deputy head's death
It was the last day of the school year, some time in the mid-1990s. A bunch of sixth-formers had decided to have a bit of fun before everyone else had come in.

They had pushed the boat out a bit, to say the least, compared to the usual japes.

When I saw it, I almost pissed myself laughing.

Around the deputy head's office was a load of police tape (apparently genuine). Behind the police tape was the outline of a man, sprawled out, Police Squad/Naked Gun style. Beside all this was a notice board, appealing for witnesses to the murder of the universally-dislked Mr Holingham, a former butcher.

Sadly to say, it didn't last long after he had a look at it.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:02, Reply)

Just remembered being a total shit...
My mate spotted a teacher we both heavily disliked (and I'm sure hated us by this point) smoking in town one day. Every time he passed us in the next three weeks involved us either coughing insanely loudly or talking very conspicuously about cancer and death.

Until he snapped. It scared the shit out of me - he leaned in until he was about an inch away from my face and just screamed and screamed (words. Not just "aaaarrghhhh!". That would be really odd). No punishment, just the distinct feeling that if I ever spoke in his presence again he would rip off my head and shove a bomb down my neck. All highly (well, slightly) unfair as it had been my mate's idea in the first place...

His breath did reek of ciggies, mind.
(HarryTheMole whatever's on my finger is going in your mouth, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 9:44, Reply)

Possibly should go in the ‘Top Tips’ section…
Hey kids! Got an exam coming up that you haven’t studied for? Fed up with school in general? Take advantage of the ‘War on Terror’!

Simply take an old transistor radio, rip it apart, then attach bits of it to packed lumps of plasticine and an alarm clock, before placing it in a bin in the playground.

Then call the school, speaking through a ‘Darth Vader speech synthesiser’ and affecting a crap Muslim accent, to warn of the ‘impending bomb threat to the infidel westerners’.

You can then enjoy the afternoon off while half the netball court is destroyed in a controlled explosion. Good old Al Qaeda :)

Of course, in my day you had to use the IRA – but the result was much the same...not that I ever did anything like that...ahem
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 2 Feb 2009, 9:35, 1 reply)

Good times
Heh. The normal high school I went to was great, getting drunk with the homeless people that lived in the park next to the school during lunch. Smoking flowers from the field cause we were bored and out of weed. The hall monitor that was fired for doing coke in the parking lot with a couple of kids. Oh and the one day that a kid brought a kilo of weed into class and passed it around behind the teacher back.

Then there was Comp. Sci. In my Comp. Sci. classes all the machines had basic admin with full* network access. We found the image for the background that was loaded from the network, this was a cartoon image of our school mascot "Old Reb" a confederate soldier. First modification have him give everyone the finger took 2 weeks before it got fixed. Next up was to replace his belt buckle (confederate flag) with a swastika, this one stayed in place for 6 months before the teachers caught on.

Some of the other things we did included creating a DOS script that opened its self again and again, and placing it in the start up folder of students we didn't like or sending messages such as "your gay" this way. The IT department got a real kick out of these. Also we found a NEO GEO emulator buried in some networked folder that couldn't be deleted.

*Except for the fiber network we were a hub for which was stolen in broad daylight before I left and ended up in Libya.
(seshmarls, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 8:32, Reply)

Da Punk
In my final year at school we were occasionally allowed to come in wearing what we wanted rather than the school uniform. So a mate of mine, one of the softest lads in the school, came in dressed as a punk and wearing bondage trousers.

This didn't go down well with the Neanderthals who decided to beat the crap out of him for being different.

Sadly, I couldn't help him as I was crying with laughing.

Ever seen a punk wearing bondage trousers trying to run? - It's funny as fuck.

For those of you too young to recall what they looked like there's a pic in the replies.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 7:22, 1 reply)

my teacher became obsessed with recapturing his youth.
Which was fair enough, because the youth ended up going to the cops.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 6:18, Reply)

I went to high school in Canada.
I don't know if it's like this everywhere, but...God, it was like there was a drama every half an hour! Teenage pregnancy, anorexia, kids getting kicked in the head, one kid's parents dying...

Truly, everybody wants something; they'll never give up.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 6:12, 2 replies)

I worked in a pet shop during high school
As you would expect, we sold crickets for the keeping of various insect-eating lizards. Another lad working in the same shop as I also went to the same school. One day, we worked out that the cost of an entire box of 1,000 crickets was actually quite reasonable, if purchased wholesale and split between two students.

We duly asked the owners of the shop if he could order an extra box of crickets the next week. His answer? "Yes. But I really don't want to know what you're doing with them."

Crickets purchased, we dumped the lot into a plastic bag, put it into a rucksack, and went to the top of our three story school early one morning before classes started, and released the lot.

Hilarity, as you might expect, ensued.
(herbivorous, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 4:54, Reply)

awkward
I really didn't fit in at my school, as is probably the case with many on here. Not that I was smarter than average, just a prime target.

As is to be expected in a modern British school, the disruptive children were given utmost attention, to the point where they got holidays, trips to Alton Towers and so on. The kids with real problems, such as depression, self-harm, bulemia etc were pretty much ignored by the staff, as were most of the best teachers.

Mr Kiddie, for example. Bob Dylan lookalike, taught history. All the kids loved him, and therefore most of the teachers hated him. All apart from Mr Sutherland, his only mate. Made it harder when Sutherland found him hung in his classroom one Monday morning. The one decent teacher in the school was driven to suicide by the other teachers constantly trying to get him suspended, although the others were horrid (yes, the typical PE teacher perving on young girls in showers sort of thing.)

So we subtly got our own back. Most of the people who knew Mr Kiddie well were in my year, and proceeded to drive as many of the teachers who were mean to him to tears, as they had done him. They made him insane, now it was our turn.

As we were second years there wasn't much we could do that was drastic, so we did little things. Got the whole class to sway till the teacher felt seasick, switching keys and so on.

By 5th year we were smarter and more malicious. Successfully made quite a few teachers take early retirement. I think one got sectioned after we stole her shoes, house keys and car keys and deposited them on top of the portakabins. She didn't notice till school was done, apparently she was found in her room weeping. Didn't come back after that.

Some teachers sorted themselves for us. The pervy PE teacher came in pissed, had to be escorted off the premises and was suspended for a year. sadly he's now back and perving on my sister, none too happy about that. The best was one of the geography teachers who'd treated Kiddie like scum, because she was all middle class and he was a hippie who lived in a caravan. She moved schools, and has since been suspended when her phone was stolen, and all her dirty videos of her vag were texted and bluetoothed to every school rector and most of the pupils in Dundee.

Apologies for the rant, and lack of funnies, just needed to show that some teachers are worth a lot more than just what they can teach, and are worth respect in a system where pretty much everyone is against them.

On the plus side, my 4th year maths teacher was amazing. Imagine a jeordie version of Hulk Hogan, who without fail will be wearing tartan trousers and mismatched neon socks, with an insistance that maths without Zky, Judas Priest or Black Sabbath belting out of his homebuilt sound system was not maths at all. Most maths lessons consisted of a bellowed "get ya booooks owt" followed by "ahm off for a bit... if there's a mess when ahm back, it's East 17 for the lot oh yas"
(DonMorte Cake is a made up drug, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 4:24, 7 replies)