When I was studying my A levels,
one of the subjects I had the misfortune to choose was Biology.

It was okay - there were only 7 of us in my class, which meant that on last period on a Friday our teacher found it easier to take us down the local and lecture us about photosynthesis, the myelin sheath and acetylcholine over a few games of pool and a pint...all was well.

Towards the end of the A Level, the entire group of Biology students (my class and three others) had the misfortune to have to go to a study camp in Wells-Next-The-Sea in order to study marshland flora and fauna.

We were strictly grouped into boys and girls dorms - heaven forbid we should try some Biology practical...

The boys' dorm was a series of four rooms, three of which contained three beds, one containing two. There were ten of us. One lad, whom I shall call David, for that was his name, took it upon himself to claim the two bedroom room for his own...which was fine with the rest of us, as he had all the personality of a small, elderly and rather startled looking daschund.

The first day went fine - much scouting about for small insects, samphire and easy local girls.

I tend not to sleep well in strange places, particularly when inundated with the night farts and sweaty feet smell of two other teenage lads, so got up early and went to the newsagents to buy a paper. As in those days I was a pretentious cunt, I bought a copy of the Times. This was when it was only in it's broadsheet incarnation.

After reading said paper, I wandered in the hallway to discover that the door to David's room opened inwards. Out of sheer boredom and buggerment, I decided to paper his doorway with the Times. 40 minutes later, a small group of us stood outside to listen.
The door opened. A small voice did cry forth "You bastards!" and a finger poked it's way through the gap.

Day Two, Same Thing. Fist punches through.

Day Three - Ditto.

Days four to nine - Getting progressively braver, David has gone from punching to kicking paper doorway, to marching straight through.

Days Ten to Twelve - Marching has been replacing by the pattering of feet not unlike Scrappy Doo and his puppy power, before David leaps head first through paper like a birthing superhero.

Day Thirteen - I get up extra early and sniggering softly to myself, unplug the Drink Can vending machine from the hall way and wheel it this side of the paper.....

Cue sound of running feet. A brief silence as David goes airborne.
And then a sound like a watermelon being dropped from a height.

We cleared away the detritus.

The teachers found him nearly 40 minutes later, spread-eagled on the floor of his room.

He spent the next 3 months having physio and traction.

I have never admitted it was me until now. David - for what it's worth, I'm sorry.
But you were a cock.

/length, sorry etc.
( bennyhillslovechild, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 22:35, 5 replies)

Excellent!
I admire your 'can-door' attitude.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 23:07, closed)

Brilliant!
Cruel, but definatly click-worthy.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Tue 3 Feb 2009, 0:19, closed)

I salute you...
good sir, well done!
( difficultchild, Tue 3 Feb 2009, 0:58, closed)

Pre-meditated genius. I salute you!
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Tue 3 Feb 2009, 6:02, closed)

hahahaha
classic prank!

are you sure he has fully recovered? :)
( c_kick or, as some people call him, Wed 4 Feb 2009, 8:46, closed)