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This is a question School Days

"The best years of our lives," somebody lied. Tell us the funniest thing that ever happened at school.

(, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 12:19)
Pages: Latest, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Conversational gambit: fail
A couple of years ago, at a rock night in a pub in the town where I went to school, I ran into some of my younger brother's friends. They'd attended the same secondary school as I had and were a pretty good bunch on the whole, so seeing as I was plastered I joined them for a chat. Shortly, they were joined by another of their friends, and it was then that my evening began to go downhill. Unfortunately, this poor chap had, in his early teens, attempted to bully me. While being several years younger and considerably smaller than I was. To make matters worse, his mother taught physics at the very same school we had both attended, and was a notoriously unpleasant, shrewish woman afflicted with a distinctive aroma. The final nail in my coffin was the rather unsavoury rumour about his sexual proclivities that had circulated endlessly around the school for a good two years.

How did I decide to break the ice when he wandered over to the table? What did I think would be the best way to show that we could put past differences aside and enjoy a few friendly drinks?

"Hello there. I remember you from school. I always thought you were a cunt, but I guess I can give you the benefit of the doubt if you're hanging around with this lot. I still hate your mum though, she reeked like a bag of dead fannies. Hey, is it true you fucked your cat?"
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 18:52, Reply)
French Teachers
Me and friends in about Year 9 (aged 13 or so) sitting in the bottom French class (We weren't think, we just couldn't be bothered with French, honest!). Now we weren't the general trouble makers who sat around making stupid noises, we were the ignorant fuckers who took the piss instead.

I can't remember what made our slightly alcoholic, neurotic, mid 20's french teacherscream this at us and run out the classroom crying one day but it went like this...

HER: 'YOU LITTLE SHITS ARE THE REASON THAT I DON'T EVER WANT KIDS!'

US: 'AND...?'
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 18:46, 2 replies)
School bully wanker
I'll never forget the day the school's dimwitted bully got busted having a fine knuckle shuffle under the desk in English class.

Later that day I couldn't resist the urge to call him a massive wanker. Right to his face. He promptly had me in a headlock, having a right go about it. But then I calmly pointed out to him that he was, indeed, a wanker, having been caught in the act in class. He let me go, and duly had to agree, that I wasn't so much calling him names, as making an observation. Incredible how easy it is to talk yourself out of trouble when faced with a dunce of a bully.

___

The other funniest thing that happened at our school, is still shrouded in a bit of mystery. A kid called K was the son of one of the teachers. He was at a house party, where everyone was very, very drunk. One guy was passed out in the living room, and everyone else went into the garden. K stayed behind with the unconcious bloke, and proceeded to undo the guys trousers, pull down his pants, and start felating said unconcious bloke. The rest of the revellers returned to the living room to find the disturbing scene, and awoke unconcious bloke.

K came into school the next week with both his arms in plaster casts and supports. Apparently he broke them during gymnastics practise...I'll let you decide if that's the truth.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 17:59, Reply)
BigMac
I was lucky to be in the last English class that Mr A J MacTavish, aka The BigMac taught before headmasterly duties took him out of the classroom.
A touch eccentric (he once abseiled off the school roof at the end of term and listened to recordings of steam engines in his car), he treated all the kids (12 to 18) as adults and helped set many a moral compass. I still recall his way of showing the power of words: writing the names of the class on paper, then tearing it up and bining it (well it made an impression on me at least).
A few years after I left, he turned up as the head' on some TV show that put modern kids into a mock 50s environment. On it he made a chav hold two big wooden skittles out in front of him as a punishment. The kicker for the chav whose arms started to drop after 2 mins was that BigMac had already done it himself for 30 - he could be harsh but wouldn't give out anything he could not take himself.

Anyway, here's the funny bit: BigMac had his old cane mounted in a glass case in the corridor outside his office for the whole to see on the by to assembly. One day we all file out to see someone had stuck a post-it on the bottom.

"Break glass in case of emergency"

Brilliant!

Sorry for only small funny at the end but the earlier tribute needed to be made.
Length? About 4 foot before bending back on itself.

/re lurks
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 17:24, 1 reply)
Clumsy Science Master
Our science teacher Mr Bannister was one of the “nice” teachers at our school.

He was however extremely clumsy! He sprayed us with dilute acid when demonstrating how a fire extinguisher worked. For weeks afterwards our clothing and books gradually fell apart!

There was also the time when he dropped 3 (or was it 4?) beakers one after the other – the class was half paralysed with laughter!
Mr Banni’s finest hour though was part 2 of “How to put out fires” Having showed us how to make a fire extinguisher and put out a blazing sheet of paper or two in the sink, Mr Bannister took it upon himself to show us what not to do. In the case of petrol or other flammable liquid we were told not to put water on it or “This happens...”

Mr Bannister poured a beaker of petrol on his bench and struck a match – VOOM and a small conflagration ensued. “Now I’ll pour on some water” and he did, unfortunately at that precise moment his elbow knocked over the rather large metal petrol can!! He had not replaced the lid and at least 4 large glugs of petrol spilled out before he was able to right the can!!

The now large quantity of petrol floating on a bed of water spread out all over the workbench. The flames spread out and caught the un-lit petrol fumes. There was a GIGANTIC VOOM! The flames reached up to the ceiling and Mr Bannister disappeared from view! A rather horrified class stood up, but none of us had the courage to approach the teacher’s bench!

Gradually the flames subsided and as they did Mr Banni slowly came into view! Dear old Banni was trying to look calm and collected which was difficult with singed eyebrows!!
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 17:20, Reply)
School...
"trees do not give out carbon dioxide at night"
...yes they do
"no they do not!"
...okay what does this proper science book say?
"oh that must be wrong"

It was a big proper book of science... after that i never listened to anything a teacher said and got B's and C's - pfft

On another note _ bullies - name calling etc - I was bullied but I fight back!
I also put my mates head through a window trying to get to a bully... he was inbetween me and the bully... oops
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 17:19, 6 replies)
Am i?
In year 7, our form tutor allowed us to say anything we wanted in reply to our name, which was definitely asking for trouble. Most people were surprisingly well behaved however, mostly answering with "here" or "yep".

Until one day, when the rule was removed forever because of one person... lets call him X. On hearing his name, he replied with "Am i a dildo, or am I a dildo. I'm a dildo!"

There was a stunned silence. The female teacher was the first to break it.

"X, do you actually know what a dildo is?"

"Ummm...no."

She made him stay behind and copy the definition out of a dictionary 50 times. I still have no idea why anyone would ever say it.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 17:17, 2 replies)
Peter - Fucking - Billing

Please, please, please...

Does anybody have the Panini football sticker from 1989 of the squinty-eyed, greasy haired, Coventry City donkey extraordinaire, Peter Billing???

I need it to complete my collection.

You can gladly have all of my worldly possessions in return.

And a kidney.

You can even have a go on my girlfriend.

Or on me, if you'd prefer...

Thank you.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 16:56, 20 replies)
me n me mate
called john gregory a cunt everyday over n over again for seven years when we started school. he had to leave school then after he cracked up and pissed himself in front of everyone. ha!
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 16:34, 10 replies)
One social message too far...
For those b3tans not of these shores, the BBC television programme Blue Peter is an institution. Generations of British kids have been kept busy building models made out of washing up liquid bottles, cotton reels and paper cups or have been dutifully collecting old stamps and toys for various charities at the prompting of this experiment in teeny television socialism.

The programme also had a great line in wholesome, milfy presenters too (think Janet "much more shaggable than her daughter" Ellis) but I digress.

Pre-teen viewers were requested to put their immature prejudices aside as the subject matter would appeal to our "better" judgements. By and large it worked, social stigmas such as poverty and homelessness were addressed by this groundbreaking programme. However, by 1982 one social barrier remained.

"Mmmmmmmmnnnnnng, mmmmmmmnnnnnmmmmmf!" spluttered the poor, unfortunate man on the television. Nothing less than sympathy was expected from the hordes of eight year olds gathered round TV screens across the nation. The subject matter of course, was learning difficulties and the battle of one Joey Deacon to make himself understood to the world via the medium of his slightly less flaky mate Ernie.

"Joey would like to thank you for all your support" translated Ernie.

The very next day it was obvious that the message got through loud and clear.

Overnight "Mmmmmmnnnnngggg! Deacon!" became the standard playground response to any kind of suspected mongyness. We weren't alone, across the country millions of cruel children belmed "Mmmmmnnnnnnmmmmmfffff! Joey!" at their less than fortunate peers. Anyone caught withso much as a vacant expression was insulted in this fashion. The slightly more learned comrades of the class mong were rewarded with the chant of "Mmmmmnnnnggg! Ernie!". A future b3ta legend was born.

Never have high hopes of appealing to children's better nature been so badly misjudged.

What of Joey Deacon himself? Some say that fame became too much for him, for he sadly passed away soon after. In no small part I blame Ernie. If ever there was a man hanging onto someone else's coat-tails of fame it was him.

Here's to you Joey and Ernie, to an eight year old, you were the most hilarious double act ever.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 16:30, 13 replies)
A Very Short Effort
No not my willy. This:

In the early 90's coming off the back of the huge success of Oasis, all my friends were obsessed with all things Brit-Pop. This entailed going back to the roots which many believe was the Stone Roses. (For the record I was into Radiohead and the Pixies around this time...) The group of friends were discussing how amazing the new CD 'The Best of the Stone Roses' was. One such impressionable friend, forever trying to fit in decided he would get involved in the banter and purchase said CD. In fact I can just picture him in the local music shop, picking out the CD and whispering "this is the one".

The next day in registration, the lads were discussing particular tracks. "OH isn't 'She Bangs the Drums' a treat!" "Ooohhh Waterfall is AMAZING!" etc, etc. Our impressionable young fella Squeak, who was keen to be adored pipes in with: "I think track 17 is the best.. What's it called now.. 'Paint it Black'. Cracking track.."

The group did not respond as Squeak expected. In fact you might say the silence was made of stone. As the silence and bemused looks within the group continued, Squeak knew that something was burning, but he thought to himself don't stop.. "Yeah, that song Jumpin Jack Flash is something else as well.." and again the silence continued. It was clear he was going down.

The group of boys burst into raucous laughter. "You fucking spastic!" one shouted. "You only went and bought the Best of the Rolling Stones!!!!"

Squeak never did recover from that rock and roll faux pas. In fact once we left highschool we never saw him again. Think he lives somewhere in Aberdeen now....


Never know though, might be a chance of a Second Coming....
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:58, 12 replies)
I went to school in Medway
so enough said really. Busting at the seams with shit for brains chav scum we were.

Anyway the first Headmaster I had was an uber boring monotone northener whom I'm pretty sure had a breakdown of some kind and he was replaced with Mrs M; a rake thin Roald Dahl baddie with peroxide blonde hair in a croydon facelift and painful colour co-ordinated suits.

She was pretty damn scary. Anyway one afternoon every single girl was called into the hall for an emergency assembly and there stood Mrs M, glaring at us with her beady raven eyes. This was all pretty strange and there was a huge buzz as to why lessons had been interrupted and it was only the girls being summoned.

It turns out that the problem was that some grotty little swine had smeared shit all over the girl's bathroom mirrors at break time. Yes, thats right, someone actually had the audacity to grab a piece of their own excrement to wipe on the mirrors. Talk about sticking it to the man.

Thankfully I hadn't seen the incident but the culprit turned out to be a nasty little pissweasle in the year below me who obviously thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Mrs M did not. She fumed at how 'disgusting' the whole thing was which was quite understandable. I can't remember/didn't find out what the punishment for the girl was. Maybe she had to write lines using dog shit. Although she probably wouldn't have minded.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:50, 1 reply)
The detention…and what followed...

My school days were generally horrific. In fact, one time I actually thought about ending it all…I brought a gun into school and everything. Unfortunately it was a flare gun and it went off in my locker, making me look like even more of a twat…and scoring me a detention into the bargain.

My teacher at the time was a right hardnosed arse-banana, (who looked just like 'Duane' the nob-end policeman from ‘Die Hard’) and he continually did the ‘Heavy metal’ \w/ hand gesture because he thought it looked cool. It didn’t.

What made matters worse, however, was not only that the detention was on a Saturday morning – (oh the humanity!) – but I was stuck with a right motley crew of misfits…

There was:

The criminal (from a rough upbringing) who had set off a fire alarm.

The wrestling ‘Jock’ who had taped one of the other nerd’s arse-cheeks together

The spoilt 'rich-bitch' who had skived off lessons to go shopping.

The 'weird girl' with dandruff issues who was there simply because she had nothing better to do...

Anyway, we were all sat together, and despite our different social cliques meaning that we got off to a rather shaky start, we soon became firm friends.

We danced about a bit to some 80’s tunes and even smoked a bit of dope together! For the first time in my life I really felt like I belonged

After a brief discussion, we all realised that our parents were to blame for everything, and before I knew what was happening the two ‘odd’ couples had copped off together! – Leaving me with nobody to shag…Just my luck!

Still, at least we learned that day that we were independent young people, and that you can look beyond your usual social circle to find friendship.

As we left that day, I was reminded of a song…’Don’t you (forget about me)’


‘Hey Hey Hey Hey…OOOOOOOOOOOoooooooh-Woah!’



Unfortunately, by Monday, everybody had forgotten about me, and I was back with the geeks, being ignored by the ‘beautiful people’ and the ‘Criminals’ wouldn’t let me share any of their stash…

Bunch of fucking conformist stereotypical bastard cunt-wipes.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:26, 8 replies)
Peashooting Extreme
Once upon a time in first year of high school, we used to terrorize the teachers with hollow pen tubes + little bits of chewed up paper. Everytime the teacher turned his/her back, we'd pull out our arsenal and go into a frenzy of barraging said teacher with little wet soggy bits of paper. It was hilarious, but me, being the one who always went/still goes that one step too far, decided to chew up a full sheet of A4 paper for around half an hour. After half an hour i had what can only be described as a warm soggy snowball, I waited for the teacher to turn her back, and launched it as hard as i could (aiming for either the back of her head or the whiteboard - although head would have been funnier). Mid flight, the teacher turned back round facing towards the class, and gets a face full of runny paper and spit, splattering all over the place. Only this time she knew who the culprit was because I fell off my chair howling with laughter.

Result? Suspended for 3 weeks.

Bonus.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:23, 3 replies)
When I'm bored at work
I post messages 3 weeks late
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:19, Reply)
There's always one
At around that age when young ladies start to develop their busts, there's always one girl at school who has a considerable start on her peers. At my school, that girl was called Gail.

In Biology one day, we were discussing hormones. As part of the class discussion the teacher asked if any of the pupils could tell him where mammary glands were.

Gail's hand shot up.

"I know, I know!" she said smugly. "They're in your neck, just below your chin."

And the whole class, teacher included, dissolved into hysterics.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:11, Reply)
Humpy Kids
Howdy. Long time lurker, first time poster, so be nice (and apologies for ensuing length/girth)...

Anyway, I took part in something called the student associates scheme last year. This boils down to working in a high school for three weeks and teaching your uni subject - in my case physics - to all the evil little shits that attend.

I have many terrible stories about this 3 week patch but here's the one I think is the best:

From after about the first week I am given the job of taking the kids for regestration. This is good because it gives me a chance to get to know them and have some practice at crowd control while they're all still lethargic and sleepy.

Pretty much every morning runs the same way; I stand at the front all sleepy with my coffee, wait for everyone to get in and then take the register and wander round having a chat. Ocasionally I yell at someone for being late/chewing gum/being a dick and so on.

This goes on for all 3 weeks until my penultimate day in school. As usual I stand looking hungover with my coffee. Everyone gets in, bar the usual few late kids. I am in the middle of taking the register when the door slams open. One of the lasses comes running in, hands on arse, stage whispering "Fuck off, fuck off you twat". Behind her comes one of the lads from the class. He comes jumping in, giving a good solid hump in mid air for every jump, and continues chasing her until he's stood in the middle of the class. He is holding the *biggest* dildo I have ever seen pressed against his nuts. It's about 2 feet long. I realise this about the same time he realises I'm stood there.

He stops air humping, slowly turning to face me in abject terror, his humping hip motion slowly dying off. There is a bit of calm while I try not to piss myself laughing, then "Come here, you little...". The little bastard dives under a table while I'm lumbering over to him and stuffs the dildo into his little drawstring bag so by the time I collar him he's going "What sir, dunno what you're on about, dint do shit", the picture of injured innocence. With a pink knob poking out the top of his bag.

I guess the worst bit is that I really didn't know what the fuck to do with him. It was a bit disruptive, but essentially a victimless crime. And I sure as hell didn't want to touch the dildo (mums? sisters? nasty shit). I eventually settled for getting him to stuff it in a draw in the office and never mentioning it again.

I think it must still be there.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:09, 3 replies)
Sadistic Woodwork Teacher
Our woodwork teacher in the first year was “Mr Clough*” a truly twisted and sadistic individual. Mr Clough used to delight in humiliating pupils by telling them off in vastly exaggerated, sarcastic John Cleese as Basil Fawlty type of voices or whacking them with a lump of wood called “Fred”. Fred was mysteriously found damaged one morning and was replaced by “Joe”.

I was struck on the arse once by “Joe” for the heinous crime of holding a set square the wrong way. After hitting me I was then humiliated for 15 minutes. Yep, he was a bastard!

A boy in my brother’s class suffered an even worse fate at the hands of Mr Clough. Instead of telling him off for his supposed misdemeanours Mr Clough forced the lad onto the low shelf under his woodwork bench and proceeded to nail strips of 2”x1” wood at regular intervals around the perimeter of the bench.
Having thus imprisoned the boy in a cage he carried on with the lesson and only released the boy at the end of the lesson. The next week the boy was too scared to go to woodwork and was found hiding in the toilets! I think Clough realised that he had overstepped the mark and fearing being reported was actually nice to the boy.
If there is such a thing as hell, I’m sure a special place is reserved for Mr Clough.

*(Not his real name as the bar steward isn’t dead yet and I am mindful of slander and libel!!)
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:08, Reply)
Our region's computer system.
It stored usernames in the format $firstname+$firstthreelettersofsurname, so John Smith would log on as "johnsmi".

Feel sorry for the child my dad taught whose name was Ewan Kerr.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 15:03, Reply)
Wayne King
We had a person named Benjamin King in our year, and somehow it was revealed his dad was called Wayne. It didn't help the fact his first name was Ben(jamin).

This lasted 6 years and NEVER got unfunny, especially when done at the most in-appropiate times:

Someone in the room will shout, in an annoying voice "Wayne" (emphasising the -yne bit) and someone in the opposite side of the room will end it with "King". Or someone one will "B.J" and then someone will go "King".

Often if people need to speak to him, people will go up to him and say his name "Wayne (or B.J) King" really fast and then proceed to mock him or take the piss out of his other spots.

I totally do not blame him if he comes in and shoots us all in a reunion event if it happens in the future.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:59, Reply)
The funniest thing?
Probably when my chemistry teacher, a man known for his old fashioned punishments* set himself on fire, and ignored us when we tried to tell him.

Elbow extended to his side while he mixed up some potion, he failed to notice the lit Bunsen burner (he'd missed his own advice, perhaps, and left it flaming blue not more visible yellow), and he failed to notice the flames licking around his ancient lab coat, and he shouted down our initial warnings. So we stopped and and sat and stared in open mouthed fascination as the fire took. His Welsh woollen jumper underneath would have protected him - it seems impervious to most disasters, which is probably why Welsh sheep wear it. But still - he was on fire.

The bit when he noticed and threw himself onto the floor and shouted a lot was funny too, but the image of a wild haired, wild natured man, with fire creeping up his arm, utterly oblivious, is still with me.

*example - if you rocked back and forth on your wooden stool, you were a 'stooligan' and got laid out on a bench while someone got to sit on a stool, on your torso and rock back and forth on you. It was hideous for pretty much everyone
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:44, 1 reply)
Schooldays? Not for the likes of us who were schooled the 1970's
We don't need no education
We dont need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.


thanks, Roger.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:29, Reply)
An epic prank, so please excuse the length...
As a teenager, I had the joy of attending a rural secondary school, with beautiful big playing fields and a metric shitload of nasty chavs bussed in from a number of downtrodden suburbs on the edge of town. These kids were seriously evil: in my first ever home economics class, a charming young gentleman called Barry threw a pan of boiling milk over another pupil’s head because he wanted to share the cooker. Another time my sister witnessed a gang of bullies pin a kid to the floor and say to him “We’re going to twist your ankle until it snaps,” and they did. The most sickening thing was when four guys from my school nicked a car, but then two of them double-crossed partners in crime and made off with the stolen car, wanting to keep it just for themselves. When the other two kids caught up with them, they beat them until they were unconscious, placed their heads on the kerb and then drove a car over them. One of them died instantly, and as far as I know the other is still in a coma.

The reason I have recounted the above is so that, when I tell you that the worst thing about the school was not in fact the kids but the management, you will have some perspective on the matter. It was not their sheer incompetence or their complete lack of control which got to me, but the way in which they actively promoted a policy of “attackers and bullies are victims too”. Whenever something bad happened, the management would attempt to create a dialogue between those involved and do their very best to make the victim of the attack or bullying realise that it was in fact mostly their fault: violent attackers and bullies apparently can’t help what they do, because they are the victims of their own making, and need understanding, patience and respect. Wrong. What they need is six shotgun blasts to the chest, but I digress.

So, anyway, when I finally left the school, a couple of friends and I decided to perform a prank of epic proportions to give the management a major headache. It was the time of the Foot and Mouth epidemic, and there happened to be a large farm bordering the school premises, so you might be able to see where this is going. We hacked into the school computers in the Design & Technology department and stole the school letterhead, before writing an extremely convincing letter, explaining to parents that because Foot and Mouth had infected the neighbouring farm, the school had to be closed for two weeks of decontamination. We made it as realistic as possible: we copied the headteacher’s pompous style, highlighted the urgent need to find alternative teaching venues for exam yeargroups, and finished it off with a photocopied signature. Having created our masterpiece, we printed off over a thousand copies between us and placed them in the school registers at lunchtime, so that they would get handed out by the register monitors after lunchbreak.

To say that chaos reigned would not even describe the half of it. All of a sudden, kids began to burst out of classrooms, whooping for joy and running home, gleefully clutching the letter. The staff reacted in a number different ways: some laughed, some ran around desperately trying to stop kids from leaving, others called the police, and more than a few saw the opportunity to skive a few days and legged home it themselves. About half the school failed to turn up for afternoon lessons, and the senior staff spent the rest of the day going around every remaining class to try and debunk the hoax. The headteacher ended up having to write another letter to inform parents that the previous one was fake, and even made an announcement on the local radio station to inform people that the school was definitely open and that there was no Foot and Mouth in the area. In short, it was absolutely brilliant!

However, soon enough we got caught, and it looked bad: the first thing that the headteacher told us when he saw us was that we were all going to be expelled for having committed forgery and fraud. However, he didn’t know who we were at that point, and when he found out that we were among the few good students at his school, and that by expelling us he would probably halve the GCSE pass rate that year, he backed down and instead gave us 24 hours litter duty each. However, the really great thing was that some of the teachers were on our side, including my absolute legend of a French teacher, Sprakey. The first thing he said to me when he saw me picking up litter on the first day of the punishment was “I knew it had to be you! There are only about five people in this whole school who can actually read and write, and that’s including the staff! Good job!” He then let me empty all the bins in the French block into my litter picking bag so that it would look like I’d done several hours’ work, and let me stay in his office for a chat while it pissed it down outside. The second day was even better: at the time there was also a huge epidemic of myxomatosis, and the playing field was littered with dead rabbits. We loaded up the bin bags full of dead rabbits and took them back to the teacher who had been designated to oversee our punishment. She demanded to check the contents of the bags so she would know we had really been picking up litter, but that was a mistake, because all she found were dozens of dead half-rotten rabbits. She gagged, and then told us that she did not think we needed to report in for litter duty again because we had learned our lesson. And that was that. Good times!
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:07, 1 reply)
Lunchtimes in the cafeteria (part two)
Among the group we lunched with was an awful, awful girl. She was a nasty, vindictive little bitch who liked nothing more than to be right where someone else was wrong.

One day we were talking bollocks, as you do. Someone mentioned a fictional disease called "Uncontrollable falling down syndrome".

Nasty Bitch angrily interrupted the conversation with "That's not funny, my uncle has that!"
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:05, Reply)
Lunchtimes in the cafeteria.
My friends at school loved rock music. One band we were all virtually obsessed with was Nirvana.

"Heavier than Heaven", the Kurt Cobain's biography, had just gone on sale. My friend Paul had bought a copy on the day of release and was waxing lyrical about how good it was.

My other friend Paul chimed in with "Oh, that. I've read it already. He dies in the end."
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 14:03, 1 reply)
My friend Chalky.
Probably the nicest bloke I know, and for this story alone he qualifies for legendary status.

There was a completely incompetent English teacher in my high school called Mrs Cook. Standing at all of four foot nine, she was known as "The Little Chef".

Chalky's register class was held in her room. She was typically late, and one morning our hero spotted the classroom keys on her desk. He swiped them and hid in wait in an adjoining corridor. As she entered the classroom and closed the door, Chalky locked it, trapping her and the rest of her register class, and wandered off to his first class of the day.

She set off her rape alarm (to quote a physics teacher "As if.") and eventually somebody came to free the hostages.

Word got round that Chalky was the perpetrator of this heinous crime, and he was called to the headmaster's office. Naturally he denied all knowledge and claimed that he'd been late in that day.

The headmaster looked him in the eye.

"Very well. We'll have to call in the police and fingerprint the keys. If we find your prints on the keys sitting on this desk, you are going to be in a lot of trouble. If I were you I'd own up now."

Chalky considered his position.

He reached across the desk, picked up the keys and asked "You mean these keys?"
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:59, 4 replies)
Standard Grade English
I was in the second class(out of four). What this meant was we were capable of achieving credit, but were little gobshites who couldn't give a fuck.
I was sat at the back of the stuffy old classroom (It had a blackboard and everything!) with my friend, James (name changed) and spent lessons either not doing work or 'subverting' the assignments i.e. taking the piss. One of our favourite things to do was the lyrics game, where you write out short story sticking as close as possible to the lyrics of a song. As this was 2004-6 this entailed songs about matinees and disbelief. As a cannibal corpse fan my friend strayed closer to the line with stories about rape and mutilation.
The real star of the class however was the teacher, Mr Mac (name shortened to protect the innocent). He was just a few years from retirement, but had lost none of his enthusiasm. He clearly still enjoyed teaching and the English language itself. Unfortunately his style clashed with our arrogant laziness. Often he would still be receiving essays a month after deadline. It was rare for him to receive a piece of work on deadline. The usual excuses were repeated;
"It's at home sir".
"I saved it to floppy disk sir; none of the computers here can print it".
"My computer's got a virus sir" (Viruses were surprisingly common the night before deadline day).
A month before folio was due (The work that constituted 25% of your grade) he had finally had enough. The face that was usually so accepting of our excuses began to flicker with disbelief.
"It's one month until your work has to get sent away." A tone of despair in his voice. "Not one of you has enough to get you a good grade. I'm not doing this for my health. I'm doing it for you. I can help you get your work up to scratch but I have to see it, I can't do anything if you haven't done anything."
Our illusion was shattered. He had known all along. There was no point lying now, just nod and look down at the floor.
"Now tell the truth, who has their essay ready to hand in." Three hands went up. "Yes I know about you two." He said waving away two whose essays sat on his desk, "Well, where's yours?" he asked James,
"Like I said, i left it on the table." Of course he hadn't, he'd not even started it.
Mr Mac paused for a moment.
"Well, go get it."
"What?" James clearly hadn't thought of this.
"You live just next to the school?"
"Yes."
"Well then it'll be know trouble to get it. We'll just be working from this sheet, you can easily catch up. Go on just tell reception where you're going, they can ring me if they don't believe you."
James was stunned. But did he come clean? No. Off he went.
Half an hour passed before he returned.
"You took your time." Mr Mac chided. "Well, where is it?"
"Didn't do it." came the mumbled reply.
"I thought as much. Take this to the rector's office." he said as he handed James an already prepared punishment slip for failure to return homework and the far more serious offence of deliberately misleading a teacher in order to skip class.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:55, 4 replies)
The School
My school was great. I never knew my parents, so school was the first place I really felt like I belonged. It was one of those 'modern' type of schools with not much structure to the day. The emphasis was always on sticking together and looking out for each other, rather than academic achievement. We never did much work, in fact I can't even remember any of the teachers - it was just halcyon days of playing with my mates and going wherever we wanted in the big wide world. Until one day we all got eaten by a big whale. Bloody mammals.
(, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 13:49, 11 replies)

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