Endangering life and limb
God, these are starting to come back to me a bit...

As a child, I had literally no sense of danger at all. For example, we developed a fun game, which was to climb out and move from window to window (a good two storeys up) along a ledge about three inches wide. I got very good at this, and eventually did a run of about twelve windows, ending on a windowless alcove, where I chalked some large words.

Shortly afterwards everyone was called in for a little talk. I managed to miss it, so I understand it went something like this:
'It's come to our attention that some people have been climbing outside the windows. This has to stop... Where's Flatfrog?'
'Out on the window ledge'

Further window-related japes were to be had when I discovered that sitting outside the window with a gown over my head after dark, I was completely invisible. This particular prank came to an end when our teacher (wonderful man) came in and looked around.
'Where's that frog?'
Shrugs all round. Then he notices a disembodied head floating outside the window going 'Wooooooooo'

I was briefly a god after that one...
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:43, Reply)

Grey Socks.
I remember this astonishingly clearly, despite it being 25 years ago.

Spring 1984. A miniature Whiskers is playing, alone, in the playground in her first year at infant school. I have a late August birthday, so was younger and smaller than everyone else, but unfortunately I had also committed the henious crime of learning to read before starting school. This made me unpopular with teachers and pupils alike, although telling my teacher on the first day at infants that she'd spelt my surname wrong on the label by my coat peg probably wasn't the wisest move.

'Ah', thinks me, 'I could do with a weewee'. So I toddle off towards the toilets. I am met at the toilet door by a much larger girl than me; she must have been all of 7 years old.

'You're not coming in here', she says.

I wasn't that easily deterred. 'Why not', said I.

'Because, you're wearing long grey socks. Only boys wear grey socks, so you must be a boy. And boys can't come into the girls' toilets', she replied.

My mother, in her infinite wisdom, had decided that long grey socks were the school uniform item of choice for her 4 year old, white blonde daughter. They were a uniform option, our colour scheme being maroon and grey, but of course no other girl wore them. They all wore white.

I pleaded and pleaded with the girl to let me in, telling her that I was a girl, not a boy and needed to go. She said I was definitely a boy and had to go to the boys toilets. In my tiny and terrified mind I was completely stuck.

I think you can see the inevitable outcome hurtling towards me. Of course, I pissed myself, all over the floor. Bully girl quickly made a run for it and my tale of woe wasn't believed by the teachers. The far more worldly wise and cynical me has worked out that it's far more likely that they pretended not to believe me to avoid having to actually do anything about it.

Thankfully, my mother did believe me, and I never went to school in grey socks again.

I'd like to say my school traumas ended with this incident, but sadly they most certainly didn't. Despite her heart being firmly in the right place, my mother's somewhat bizarre parenting ideas, (no sugar at all until age 16 anyone?), combined with my general weirdness led to huge levels of further piss taking along the way. At the age of 29, sometimes I look round me and still can't quite believe I've got real, actual friends.
(grandmaswhiskers, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:42, 3 replies)

“I’m going to kill you!”
That’s what R said to me. I don’t really recall the next few thinking steps I made. I was only 12 or 13 at the time. I just recall the fear I had and the belief that I really did think he meant it. I’m not sure, looking back, if I was just shell-shocked from all the past bullying or if I just felt that I was cornered and didn’t have any ideas on how to get out.

But somewhere over the next few days I made a decision. It is a decision I still think about. A decision made in fear and ultimately, in self-defense against what I felt was an aggressive, strong person. I decided to carry a weapon to school to protect myself.

OK, here’s where you start worrying. It has led to this. He is bringing a knife to school. Well, this was the 1980s folks. I couldn’t steal a knife from the kitchen without my Mum noticing it missing and taking a knife to school was pretty much unknown. What I’m referring to is a sharp file. It had a pointed end, but was a file for filing fingernails. Now I know some of your are laughing, but it was metal and pretty sharp. I realize now I couldn’t do a whole lot of damage, but at the time, I was not thinking that. I brought it every day with me. It sat in my pocket. I was paralyzed with fear.

I decided on another strategy as well. I decided to tell R’s friends that I had a knife and if he came after me, I would use it. Well, needless to say, this back and forth between R’s friends trying to tell me I was dead meat and me telling them I had a knife went on for several days. Then, the day came that I was dreading. I had been walking the path through the woods to avoid being seen. But R had found out about that.

After a 30 minute walk around the path where I tried to hide from the bullies, I emerged at the point where I could see the road. And there, looking down at me was R. I had no choice but to walk up to the top. I could hear him calling after me. I was petrified. I reached into my pocket and put my hands around the file.

“I’m going to kill you”, R said to me, calmly, almost deadly to me. My heart was beating. I didn’t want to fight him. I was tired of fighting. I pulled the file from my pocket. At the top of the path, where it met the road, R immediately threw down his backpack and took a swing at me with his fist.

I slashed with the file. My heart pounding in my ears. I slashed and it made contact with him. I saw the surprise and then the pain on his face. He screamed out in pain. I caught him by surprise. I was sick to my stomach about having done it, but it was done. While I had the element of surprise I ran down the road for the long mile to my house.

I turned and then saw R running after me. He was angry and I assume in pain. I had no idea how much damage I had done. I just ran. I ran out of fear. I ran out of worry about what I had done. I ran because I figured if he caught me, he WOULD kill me. I was 12. I was terrified.

I ran the whole way home. There is no way I could do that today, run a mile. But I did then. He ran the whole way too. I recall my mother was at home recovering from an operation. There was a large driveway up to my house that I had to go up. I ran up that yelling for my Mum the whole way. R was right behind me. My Mother must have heard me, because the door opened just as I got to it and I ran into the house.

There was R outside the door. Yelling into the house. Yelling at me and saying I stabbed him to my Mother. He was still screaming when she told him to leave. I looked at his side and he had a rip on his shirt. There was a little blood and he had a scratch from the file. But for me, I might have well cut him deep. I never wanted to have or use a weapon. I regret having it, but the fear was too much at the time.

Well of course my Mother was freaked out. She was scared at the repercussions from the school, or police. She said "You're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-air"

I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, The license plate said "fresh" and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, But I thought "Nah forget it, Yo homes to Bel Air."

I pulled up to the house about seven or eight, and I yelled to the cabby "Yo homes, smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.
(kebabking - salad and garlic mayo pls, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:32, 7 replies)

PE lesson aged 12..
..we were instructed to make a short sprint accross the PE hall, racing each other in twos in a sort of knock out competition.

Trouble is the finish line was about a metre from the end wall. Not a problem for anyone else but as for me..

I never slowed down at the end in an effort to carry momentum and have an edge over my opponent. I slammed straight into the wall and broke my wrist.

Teacher didn't really care. Think he was trying to play it down as it could have affected his health and safety record badly. Stupid bastard. That wrist is still very sensitive.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:31, 1 reply)

More droll than funny.
Looking back we had some funny buggers teaching us. Went to my kid's parents evening last night and was pleased to see all the teachers there are equally as mad, I digress.

On particular chap we had teaching us, old and welsh, fought in the war, knew every chapter and verse in the bible (in greek). Anyway we were larking about on the top one sunny day. Must have been lunch time. A couple of my cohorts were close by, one lying on his back whilst another seemed to be demonstrating some kind of lifesaving technique by moving his arms up and down and across his chest. Teacher saunters past them, glances down and was overheard to say "Ah Pipkins, too idle to even breathe for yourself now I see" and carries on.

That one sticks out for some reason. Still makes me titter even today.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:31, Reply)

Bollocky Brenda The Nut Nurse
BGB has reminded me of another incident when the school nurse visited to do the cough and drop test on the boys.

Basically this entailed (fnar fnar) the boys stripping down to nobbut a vest. At this point they were asked to bend over and the nurse would gently cup your bollocks and ask you to cough. The cough would cause the said bollocks to rise and fall thereby confirming that normal development was in operation. One poor unfortunate came out of the examination hunched over, clutching his gentleman’s requisites with tears streaming down his face. Obviously the rest of us went white with fear and enquired as to what savagery the vicious harridan had delivered upon him.

“No,” he said. “It was my fault. I thought she said ‘Off!’ and I started to run while she had hold of my nuts.”

I’ll be under the pier all week.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:22, Reply)

Our Biology Teacher - Mr Peters
If you said it quick enough while he was distracted, you could get away with shouting "Mr Penis, Mr Penis" then ask a genuine question

Every week he'd spin around and bellow "WWHHAATT DID YOU SAY?". We never bored of it. I'm sure he probably did.
(TheManofScience, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:15, 2 replies)

Boarding school
I do remember spending an inordinate amount of time attempting autofellatio.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:05, 5 replies)

Biology exams and self abuse
Not my year but a lad in the year below me became infamous for getting his cock out on 2 occasions. I'll call him Anthony, for that is what he called himself and I assume still does.

The first story involves Anthony being bored in an IT lesson and generally dossing about like a twunt. After about 10 minutes he asks to go to the toilet and is allowed to go. He's not seen again for 15 minutes. The teacher goes to the closest bathroom and opens a stall to find anthony cock in hand masturbating furiously.

Incident 2:
This involves young Anthony in a biology class taking an end of term exam. It's silent as expected until about 40 minutes into the exam when there's a thudding noise on the desk. Anthony had decided instead of doing the exam he'd rather smack his cock on the desk.

Length? it made quite a thud.
(Hitler's other ball. R soul., Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:01, 1 reply)

Plasticine
Ah, schooldays. I remember them well.

One incident which springs to mind goes back to primary school when I was all of 6 years old. Now this was a long, long time ago when literacy was stories (later to be English) and numeracy was sums (later to be arithmetic). We also had arts and crafts which was basically playing in the sand-pit or mucking about with plasticine. One of the most endearing qualities of plasticine is that after a few weeks of intensive play, no matter what colours you start with, it takes on a singularly unpleasant purplish-brown hue.

Obviously, dear readers, you will be way ahead of me here but I will endeavour to keep up. One fateful Thursday morning we had finished arts and crafts, tidied up and were all sitting quietly at our desks waiting for storytime (come on, it was 1965, anything other than sitting quietly would have got you a real good slippering: did us no harm ah tell thee) when the teacher spotted some plasticine under my mate Colin’s desk. He was instructed to pick the plasticine up and put it with the rest. He did so and even moulded all the little balls into one big lump. He got back to his seat and was sitting for a while before he said “Can you smell poo?” I said I couldn’t and he then started sniffing to see if he could find the source. Yes readers, it was his fingers.

Mary, who sat behind him, had waited so long to go to the toilet that not only had she baked her turd good and proper, when she shit herself it had come out in little balls which she had flicked from her knickers and under his desk. Colin put this together quite quickly and shouted “Miss that wasn’t plasticine it was Mary’s poo!” Mary was sent to the toilet to finish off and clean herself up, Colin was given quiet instruction in how to be a bit more discreet and the rest of just thanked providence that no-one had spotted the Maltesers under Colin’s desk.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:00, 2 replies)

Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock's post reminded me.
Not really funny but I've been sat here for days trying to remember a little nugget of silliness that happened during my school days. (I'm old so I've been having trouble reminicing that far back).

What I do remember however, with a lot of uneasiness is the School medical. I must have been at Junior school, so any age between 6 and 10, (maybe more towards the age of 10). I have this awful image of standing in some classroom or office and being stark bollock naked infront of a doctor and either a female nurse/ teacher. I remember being told to strip down and getting to my knickers and vest and thinking that was it but then being told to take those off also. I don't even remember being examined, just looked at. I remember having a strong feeling of thinking this was very strange as well as wanting the ground to swallow me up. Now as I said, I am old so this happened in the early 70's and it was less stringent about kid's rights then.

Any other oldies out there who had to get nekkid for the school medical or was I just too damn attractive a kid not to ogle?

I'm beginning to think I dreamt the whole thing up.
( girlinthehole, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:00, 6 replies)

Ogden the board game
(NB: some of these may have appeared in earlier qotws)
In my last couple of years at school, we started amusing ourselves by making up games based on words we found amusing. Most of them were fairly basic - for example 'Beep vs Bong', a game for two players where one person says nothing but 'Beep' and the other says nothing but 'Bong', and the first to get bored is the loser. I played one game for over four hours.

But the crown of it all was 'Ogden the board game'. This was a monopoly-type game where you went round the board collecting 'thrungs' by completing tasks of one kind or another. These varied from the reasonably sensible ('tell a joke that *dull teacher* would find amusing') to the really quite fun ('in mime, be attacked by a household appliance'). The hardest task of all, though, was worth a million Thrungs and so well worth trying to win. When it came up, we would put in a great deal of effort, but no one ever succeeded. And that's why one day a teacher came into my room to find me straining to 'Turn into Barry Manilow'.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:49, 6 replies)

I attended boarding school from 7 to 18
As such pretty much every significant memory is a school memory;

First fight
First kiss
First serious injury
First cig
First time drunk
First Shag (I stress that for both this and first kiss that I attended co-ed schools).
First Drugs
Passing Driving test and first car.

I loved school. To be fair it didn't always love me as I was idle and prone to talking back but that seems to go for most b3tards. When I read some of the stories here it makes me very glad I enjoyed myself as much as I did.

Length? Ten, all too brief years.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:28, Reply)

The Ghost of Dorm 10.
I used to go to boarding school and it was just after lights out and the dorm as pretty empty as a lot of the kids had gone home for the weekend.
I seem to recall that there were only four of us there that night and one of the guy had the bright idea of doing a séance.

As I remember it I was the one that wasn’t interested, where all the others were eager to participate. In the end I bowed to peer pressure and too part reluctantly. First of all we had to agree on whom we were to try and contact and we soon agreed on King Ethelwolf , he had been buried in the 4th century chapel that was now part of the building we were in before being relocated to Winchester Cathedral, I digress.

Anyway the ringleader informs us that whatever we do we’re not meant to break the circle. So we’re all being very sombre and séancing away like good little séancers and one guy suddenly shouts ‘Ow!’ and breaks the circle. No one really wants to continue and we sojourn to bed.
After about five minutes the light comes on. How this isn’t remark able in itself but there is one bunk bed by the pull switch, the top bunk is empty and the bottom is my bed. I know that no one has got out of bed as the floorboards had been there for about 200 years and creak. Not believing that it was not me that turned it on the guys tell me it’s not funny, they’re not falling for it and that I should turn it back off, which I do.

About two minutes later the light turns on, again my dorm mates do not believe that it wasn’t me and things pretty much go as before expect I’m about 5mm from touching cloth. The light stays off and this time a wash bag flies off the shelf by the sink, no one nearby and the light turns on.

This time there we poo ourselves in four part harmony.
We come to a sensible, rational and effective solution to our dilemma and I turn off the lights and dive for the impenetrable fortresses of our collective duvets. Yes again the light comes on and this time from Castle Duvet I see a shirt flapping on the floor and it looks like there’s it’s being pulled apart like a woolly jumper.

Abandoning Castle Duvet I decide the only option is to run into the safety of the dorm next door. There is only one person in there, as I said earlier it was the weekend, I’m shaking like a leaf and babbling semi-coherently about us going a séance and there being a poltergeist in my dorm and that there was no fucking way I was going back in there.

So basically there ya go. Proof such things do exist. It confirm it the guys in my dorm decide that they’ll join me in the dorm but only to tell be that they’d planned the entire event. The light pull cord, the wash bag and the shirt had all been attached to fishing line. The thread that saw being pulled from the shirt was my imagination and was just the line they’d used to move it. They were almost wetting themselves and I was still shaking for about half an hour later. I hadn’t noticed the line as when they’d finished rigging everything up they got straight into bed and when I arrived after my shower they told me to turn the light off as they all wanted an early night. The utter, utter, utter, utter bastards. Still I see the funny side now. What a prank!
( riverghost servicing your mum since, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:24, 10 replies)

And Another Poo Flake
"Can anyone give me a sentence with the word "contagious" in it?

Little Johnny stuck his hand up.

"Yes, little Johnny?"

"My dad was watching the neighbor painting his garage with a two inch brush and he said that's going to take the contagious"

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:19, 6 replies)

Poetry Corner...

“The best days of your life” they say?
Don’t make me fucking laff!
I couldn’t go an afternoon
Without some sort of Gaffe

A nerd without intelligence
Unpopular and weird
‘Befriended’ by the form tutor
With teen-spunk in his beard…

The girls would not come near me
‘cos I was strange and fat
I made up for my shortcomings
By acting like a twat

“You won’t amount to anything!”
The teachers yelled my way
And everything I tried to do
The class dismissed as ‘gay’

I even went and joined a band
To ‘get down with the kids’
Our gigs were always heaving
With the drunken teenage flids

But nobody could understand
The problems that I faced
And nobody would give a shit
If talent went to waste

I still may not be popular
A million miles from ‘Cool’
But my job pays well, and life is good
So FUCK YOU, ASHLAWN SCHOOL!
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:15, 1 reply)

Discussing the war....
Our Primary School class were discussing World War 2. Our teacher asked if we knew anyone who fought in the war.

My mate Tommy put his hand up. "Me Miss. My grandad fought in the war!"

"Did he Tommy? Excellent. He must have lots of interesting stories to tell?"

"Yes Miss. He was injured in an explosion and had a piece of sharpnel stuck up his arsehole."

"Rectum, Tommy."

"Rectum? Nearly fucking killed him Miss."

*Thanks to Pooflake for reminding me of this one*
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:10, Reply)

Assembly and Canings
Assembly at my secondary school was interesting because the hall was tiny and so crowded with pupils and staff that two forms had to stand on the stage with the headmaster Mr Morris. Mr Morris demanded our total attention during assembly – any talking was dealt with harshly. Without stopping speaking, Mr Morris would slowly take a few paces back on the stage and take a flying leap into the crowd! The ranks of boys would part like the waters of the Red Sea leaving two boys isolated and still chatting until the awful realisation that “Mole” was about to descend upon them! The boys would be shouted at and shoved about a bit, but no real violence took place.

Canings at our school were fairly frequent and a semi public spectacle in that a special assmbly would be called and the miscreants would be escorted onto the stage by a teacher. Mr Morris would detail their “crimes” and would rant and rave about the school’s good name being besmirched by these individuals. The miscreants were then lead into the adjoining classroom for caning. The rest of us packed like sardines in the overcrowded hall would listen to the swish of the cane in a state of semi terror grateful that we were not on the receiving end!
( Vambo, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:07, 1 reply)

Just Remembered this one
Year 7, first year of secondary school and our very first term.

We had a new teacher to the school, he came all the way from New Zealand to teach us English. We should have been proud that he felt the need to come this far to improve our grasp of the language and the literary treats it held.

We broke him in less than a 2 months. When I say we, I mean one boy.

He did this in an ingenious way: He would constantly say "Tree" every 2 minutes for a 50 minute lesson. 2 lessons a week.

On the day that he broke he just sat at his desk and cried as the boy still kept on saying tree.

Not the only tale from our year. We got rid of another teacher through stress and another almost left after being chased down the stairs by an angry student. 4 years we were all together and I wouldn't change it for anything. We were known as the worst year to pass through our school in the 20 years that one teacher had been there.

Good to have some achievement from school isn't it?
(Jack the sparrow dodger, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 12:06, Reply)

Like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's House
A lot of the stories in this thread seem to mention that the person writing it was the plump/wierd kid at school, so I don't feel so bad owning up to that myself. Only I wasn't the plump kid. I was the fat kid.
In some ways this served me well in later life; the remorseless bullying of the porky taught me to be quick-witted and funny enough not to get punched, and it eventually gave me the motivation to start exercising and become really very sporty and fit.
But that came later. At twelve, I was the fat kid. So stout, no less, that I used to argue that you should be allowed to weigh one stone for every year of age - and even then I didn't meet my own criteria.

On rainy days, games lessons were usually held indoors in teh school sports hall, where the games teachers would build a sort of assault course from the various kit and ropes and climbing bars and so on and force us to do it. One day, halfway round, I was clambering between a pair of wall bars when I got stuck. My chubby little legs waved futilely in the air and I pushed with my arms but my tummy was firmly wedged.
After a while the kid behind me shouted. "Sir! Davywavy's stuck, sir!" The class went quiet and turned to stare at me as I turned redder and redder and tried to wriggle free. The teacher came over, looked, and started laughing before catching himself and looking concerned instead. He grabbed my legs and shoved hard and I came free, as the kid standing next to me made that finger-in-the-mouth popping noise, like a cork coming out of a bottle. It was then the games teacher lost his composure and started laughing, and everyone else joined in. For years, the sound of cork-popping haunted me.

So there you have it - the funniest thing ever to happen at school.
It was me.
(davywavy, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:53, 1 reply)

Even the staff make mistakes....
My last school teaching job was in the junior department of a large mixed school for pupils aged from six to 18.

Before the term started I went in to sort out my classroom (I was to teach nine year olds) and get ready for the nearing onslaught of smells and noise.

As I was lugging boxes about two very fit blokes about my age appeared - did I want any help?

I fluttered my eyelashes and smiled coyly - I'd love some help!

But really I muttered, "Thanks, I'm fine" while blushing and cursing myself for looking like a mad harridan in jeans, old t-shirt and unbrushed hair.

They helped anyway and we chatted a little bit about me being new....the weather.....er....the weight of the boxes....the crap wallpaper.

It was a normal conversation for three people who didn't know each other but had seen all the pr0nmovie clichés.

All the time I was hoping that we'd arrange to catch up for a drink after work or perhaps a coffee in the staff room. Maybe we could share lesson plans....

"So...um...thanks for your help. I expect I'll see you around school next week, will I?"

The dark haired one (who looked like a normal version of Tom Cruise...in fact now I come to think of it, they reminded me of the original chaps in the Dukes of Hazzard - a big blond soft looking one and a short wiry dark one) nodded shyly and said, "It's fine, no problem. We'll...um....see you around."

"Oh, um...er..."

My weren't we terribly coherent!

I carried on stumbling over words....

"Erm...so, um....what do you teach?"

The blond one blushed deep crimson. The dark one turned slightly pink.

"Oh. Ah. We...um....we...don't."

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you support staff?"

Shit...I've just asked the assistant caretaker if he works here. Bugger. Or maybe they're groundsmen. Fool.

The blond one looks ready to expire from the crimson tide washing over his face.

"Er...no...we're....erm....well....erm...sixth formers"

Oh. Fuck.

"Ah. Good thing I didn't ask you out for a drink then."

Yeah, that's it, make everyone feel worse. Well done!


I saw them again. Almost every bloody day.

They were the head boy and games captain.

Bugger.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:50, 3 replies)

Good old English class
I'll be fair in saying that I went to a school full of nutters and kids that lived for nothing other than disruption. And this little story is the best example of that.

about four weeks into 5th year our teacher leaves for medical reason for 6 months, shame, we actually liked her and she knew how to control a class. She wasn't beyond trying to kill with flying rulers either, which just added to her charm and likability.

However we got lumbered with a new teacher who can't have been more than 6 months in the job and was currently on trial at the school. We'll call her Ms. S and she was quite stunningly beautiful and always wore skirts that started just above the knee or mid thigh. Yes we were horny young teens (and not a girl in our class to oggle over).

Now Phil (one of my class mates) was an outrageous flirt and would pull evey line he could to embarrass her in front of the whole class. This went on for about 3 weeks before the others in the class finally caught on and tried to go even further. It finally escalated over another few weeks to the point where you could see the look of dread in her eyes when our class arrived and within minutes there would be a riot.

After a few days of this one week she finally snapped and stormed out of the class. The class had the victory but it was short lived as she returned with the Head teacher Mr. T (no not the actor) and the main troublemakers were rounded up and and either suspened or given a hefty detention to be carried out over several weeks.

Ms. S left shortly after that and I always feel bad for her because she was actually really nice and gave me a lot of help when I needed it. I was the only one in the class who went to the Head's office after the event happened and asked where she had gone and if he could pass on my and two of the other guys in the class' apologies. Yes I was one of the good guys and while I do have to admit it was funny to see, I do still regret it.

If she'd asked me to stay after class for any reason. I would have, not just because she was hot, but because she was nice too.

Where ever you are Ms. S I hope you are doing well :)
(when_the_tigers_broke_free, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:31, Reply)

Primary school PE
I remember my first day of primary school.

As I'm sure I have mentioned before, I was the weird kid. I had no social or physical grace whatsoever.

It came to PE time. The teachers said "Take off your clothes". (Are they still allowed to make people do P.E in their underpants? I don't think so). So I did.

And around 100 pupils and teachers were treated to the sight of me running around with my cock flopping in the wind.

Length? About 1", back then.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:29, 4 replies)

My first sexual experience... (well, nearly)...

After PE, a boiling hot June day.

Loads of sweaty twelve year olds trudging back towards the school after being forced to hit balls round with sticks for an hour and a half.

I'm not a happy bunny, oh no.

Mr Butcher took a dislike to my sudden and unwarrented rendition of 'The Chicken Song' whilst I was lounging round in goal, enjoying the sunshine. He gave me the shitty task of putting all the equipment away after the lesson as punishment.

The PE equipment was kept in a shed right over on the otherside of the playing fields. I'm busy putting stuff away, when I notice a girl, Terresa slink up next to me. It appears Terresa had been given the same job for the girls, they'd just finished doing their cross country knitting, or whatever sport it was girls did.

Terresa was quite an attractive girl, quite short with a haircut that looked exactly like a shiny black bell end.

She ventured into the shed where I was busy plotting the downfall of Mr Butcher, muttering to myself about the injustices of the fat bearded wanker.

Terresa stroked my shoulder and said:

"Spanky... can I feel your balls???"

I thought for a beat, not really understanding what she meant. Then I replied:

"Sure, Terresa."

And handed her a couple of footballs, turned, and continued putting the rest of the equipment away.

It was only much, much later I realised what Terresa was driving at.

I may have let out a little whimper in science class that afternoon and banged my head on the desk a few times...
( SpankyHanky, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:24, Reply)

Columbine...
...nuff said.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:13, Reply)

The Zombie school bully
Our school was kind of a finishing school for the the local bully population. So one day it would seem I had committed the ultimate in crimes according to the Holly Bully Bible "thou has met my eyeline so you deserve a beating" he aproached me grunting and showing everyone that he was "the man" and procedes to hang round my neck to put me to the floor to give me a kicking (is this still the school fighting tactic of choice?), well there lies his problem, instead of just hitting me and getting his job done, he just hangs round my neck while I kinda of stood their in bemusement (I am tall and quite stocky so hard to pull down) , well I realised that his head was now under my arm so i kinda just started to choke him a little, his face by now was going purple and a crowd had stood round watching, eventually he cries out "if you break my neck I will kill you" the crowd burst out laughing at the thought of the dead rising to have one more go (I had no intention of hurting him, just wanted him to stop him from hitting me), and I in turn let go of my grip and dropped him to the floor, he scrambled to his feet and ran off into the school. Last I heard was that he became a fully fledged wife beater and is now in prison.
(Wavo Did not touch it, it was like that when I got here, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 11:01, Reply)

Been L8
4 school every day for 5 years!
(Errin C, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 10:46, 15 replies)

Sheep shagger
I may well have regaled this story before, so apologies for any unintentional pearoasting.

We begin, of course, in my school days. I was a strange teenager; slightly chubby and far more intelligent than about 99% of the other girls. Yes, it was a girls' school. Yes, it was every bit as bitchy and awful as girls' schools are supposed to be, but without the saving grace of constant lezzing in hot school uniforms. In fact, our school uniforms were hideous blue sack-like sweatshirts with foul, knee-length kilts. All the lesbians were ugly. But I digress.

At the age of fifteen, my least favourite lesson was "food technology". It was a combination of the utter pointlessness of the content (in which we made muffins every week while pretending we were industrially manufacturing them), and the fact that I was sharing an oven with a bunch of complete retards.

In those days we called them "Shazzas", although in today's vernacular, it translates as "chavs" or "fucking common". I had no time for them, though they were somewhat offended by me. Perhaps it was the fact that I sometimes used long words like "contraception".

This all came to a head one day, when chief Shazza, a girl who I have no doubt has at least ten children now, asked in her voice which twenty a day at fifteen had rendered into sounding like a plane taking off: "Oi, are you a virgin?"

Now, not only do I have years of experience of being on the receiving end of this crap, but I also taught in a school for a brief period. Nothing brings more lulz for the common-or-garden chav than posing this question to a nerd. I have no idea why.

In my most crushingly patronising tone--I did a good "crushingly patronising tone"; it was probably one of the reasons most of the school hated me--I replied the immortal line:

"Do sheep count?"

Anyone with a level of intelligence greater than a stapler would see that this was (1) sarcastic in that lowest-form-of-wit way and (2) physically impossible at any rate.

Not Shazza corner.

For the last year at school, it was like they'd put bells on the stupid people. I could hear them approaching me a mile off by the chorus of bleats.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 10:37, Reply)

Mr Button
Got arrested coming back from Amsterdam with a suitcase full of child pornography. All of a sudden that line of his "Mmm Disraeli, vaseline" made sense...

As he was our science teacher, the kind of cool guy who let us play Doom on the class computers, kept a snake he fed on live mice he bred specially (£2 per mouse if you wanted a pet*) and even kept the cutest boys back for a cup of sweet tea and chat if they felt down....he was also the male authority figure chosen to give us 12 year olds "The Talk"

A few excerpts:

1) No matter where you go to buy your first pack of condoms, your parents WILL walk into the chemist/pub toilet during the transaction.

2) Trying to flush condoms down the toilet will result in floaters. Wrap them in tissue paper to solve.

3) Boys, you may notice that your semen is starting to become darker *shudder*



*When the population became too large, he would swing them by their tails against the side of the desk, before throwing the still-twitching brained mousey corpse into the bin. Awwww.
(Caveat Emptor, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 10:33, 1 reply)

I don't remember this
So it's handy that my mum tells me and everyone else about it whenever she gets the chance.

P.E lesson in my first year of primary school. Teacher tells everyone to get undressed, which means strip down to your vest and briefs so we can run around like idiots in the assembly hall.

As I'm sure you've already guessed, I slightly misinterpreted what she said.

Yep, as the day I was born...
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 10:18, Reply)