From my mate Alex

I'd like to tell you about a childhood friend of mine, who upon reflection was very strange, but at the time was the best friend a child could have.

His name was Andrew and as well as the psychological peculiarities, he had several strange physical traits as well:

1: His air grew at exactly a 45 degree angle; every hair on his head pointed in the same direction.
2. He walked using toe-heel instead of heel-toe
3 . In times of distress he took comfort by biting his knuckles.

Andrew would only eat boiled carrots peas and mince, and had that for dinner every single night of his life. His parents let him watch 'The Exorcist', 'Predator' and 'Terminator' when he was 11. He shared a bedroom with his older brother, who always slept nude and Andrew nicknamed him 'The Master Blaster'. His bed had bricks under one end, and was covered with a rubber sheet, to allow easy drainage for the frequent times Andrew would piss himself in the night. He said he had a pond in his garden but it was really a Walls ice cream tub filled with rain water and shit where Andrew used to squat over it. He believed the Terminator lived in his dads tool shed and would never go near it. He must have had some mixed up DNA, or given off some kind of pheromones as dogs would chase him wherever he went.

He had a number of trademark phrases that would make Bruce Forsythe ashamed. We all remember them to this day, especially the unique tone and cadence he used when he said them.

In the canteen he would order a "jack-podado...budder 'n' cheese", alternating from a very high to a very low pitch after every 2nd syllable. When excited he would bite his knuckle and sing "ne-ne-ne-ne-neeeeee" repeatedly for hours on end. When he saw a woman with big boobs he would shout "breasts so big as I am". We had another friend whose surname was Keane, and who was a bit chubby, so Andrew used to call him 'Juicy Keaney'. Andrew would sit in class, rubbing his thighs and rocking back and forth, saying with his slight speech impediment 'Juishy Keaney... Juishy Keaney' over and over. One day Juicy Keaney came up to Andrew and said 'if you call me Juicy Keaney one more time, I will rip your arms off and beat you to death with the soggy ends'. Andrew said in a remorseful tone 'don't do dat Juishy Keaney......oopsh'.

Andrew was once indecently assaulted in the alley way behind his home, and I was round his house when he told the police officer about the 'white stuff coming out of the mans willy'. This shouldn't really be funny, it just is.

Andrew genuinely believed he was a ninja, and that it was his destiny to slay the troll population that lived underground in the park. He made a costume which consisted of a pair of swimming goggles with the red and blue lenses from 3D glasses sellotaped into them, black pyjamas, and black gloves, with a big cardboard sign stuck to his back that said DDD. He made this up to stand for 'deadly, dark and dare-some', and he arranged a kind of secret handshake with me, only it was more like semaphore, where we would make signals with our hands and arms whilst saying "triple D". This was the only way to be sure our bodies hadn't been possessed by the spirit of a troll. He frequently used to run around the park trying to find the secret entrance to the troll cave, until he got too scared and pissed himself.

Eventually he moved far away, but I went to visit him years later, wondering if he would have changed at all. When I got to his house he had his pet rat in his pants. Nope, same old Andrew.
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 10:54, Reply)

Frank Spencer
.
Actually, I'm with Frank and a few others on this QOTW. I wasn't going to stick a reply in as a lot of these tales are pretty much just bullying stories and I'm not much of a fan of bullies.

So I'll tell you about the weird kids in my village.

We used to have a care-home in the village that took in young-adult Downs Syndrome kids. These were typical Downs Syndrome kids. Big heads, flat faces and slanted eyes. They would often be seen around the village helping old folk out in their gardens or clearing litter up on the beach. A few of them used to come to the pub every Thursday night with one of the carers. A couple weren't allowed alcohol as it messed with other drugs they were taking but the majority were allowed a couple of pints. They used to like to watch the sport or watch us locals play darts. One of them was actually on one of the local darts teams - he wasn't very good but he enjoyed being part of a "normal" darts team and, being the village, winning didn't matter too much - it's the social aspect why most of us play darts up here. He was treated pretty much the same as any other team member. We'd cheer when he got a decent score. Call him a pratt when he missed really badly. He loved his darts.

These kids had been part of our village for years and a lot of them had grown up together in their care home. Either abandoned by their parents to didn't want a "mong" living with them or given up by parents who really couldn't cope with a "special" child. Whatever the reason they were part of our daily life and everyone kept an eye out for them and made sure they were OK.

But then the care-home closed down. A lot of money was need to upgrade the place to new standards and the owners didn't have the money and couldn't raise it. So our kids were split up and moved all over the county. It was a bloody crying shame.

I still see one of them occasionally. He's bright enough to use public transport to get here from about 30 miles away and every couple of weeks he comes down for a couple of pints and a gane of darts. We make sure that he gets the last bus home and the local bus drivers all know him and they help out as well.

I can remember talking to him when the home closed down. He was pretty upset at being split up from all the people he grew up with and he knew he was going to miss the village terribly. You see - we didn't take the piss or call him names the way others did in other towns. I can remember him looking at his old home and saying:

"People call me stupid for having Downs but I'm not as stupid as the bastards who closed my home down."

Aye - he might have been retarded but he wasn't stupid.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 24 Jan 2007, 17:23, Reply)

Crippled Kev
Crippled Kev was a bit slow. His parents had both been killed in a car crash and he came to school from a local orphanage. At first, we took great delight in such quips as, "Hey Kev, how's your mum?" - which would reduce him to a blubbering wreck.

Though not actually a serious cripple, he had a dodgy hand like Jeremy Beadle and was slightly cross-eyed. He also had a lazy leg. This meant that when we played football, he couldn't run properly and we continually tackled him just to watch him roll in the mud.

The whole school knew about Kev, and people had different names for him. For some, he was "Spack Boy", while others preferred "Whiner" (because he always seemed to be crying). At the end of the fifth year - in the last week of school - someone gave him a few whisky and vodka miniatures and he got so drunk that he passed out. An opportunity too good to be missed...

We stripped him naked and left him lying on the floor of the girls toilets with a porno mag by his side. Dozens of people went in to have a look, and shortly afterwards photographs started to appear on noticeboards.

Kev never recovered from the shame. He cut his wrists a month or so later. He didn't die, but he was obviously very unhappy. It was about that time that people realised Kev was nothing but a satirical device made up by Frankspencer to illustrate how the whole concept of the 'weird kid' was a deeply suspect one of victimisation and the darker side of human nature
(frankspencer, Wed 24 Jan 2007, 8:59, Reply)

...
There was a kid who, though not in my class, he was a friend of mine. The poor sod has Spinobifida and one of the operations he had to correct his spine when he was young left him with rather poor bladder control. It just so happens that if you made him jump or scared him enough, he would wet himself. Now I'm a nice person so I kept the fact that he was a walking piss bomb to myself, but one day there was a knock on my door. I open the door and he's standing there in a puddle of piss. I look at him the way you do when someone is standing in their own piss - and he looks up and says:

"there was a bee"
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 17:41, Reply)

PIGEONS
A story one of my primary teacher told me of one of her ex-pupils back in the day.

There was a special needs kid that was getting moved to a special needs school a week later or so, and she was killing time by asking the class what bird was native to an example she was giving.

"Name a bird that is typically found in the Amazon jungle..."

Special Kid's hand shoots up, "PIGEONS!"

"Name a bird that is found in (whatever other place).."

Again, special kid goes "PIGEONS!"

So the teacher decided to let him have his moment...

"What bird is typically found in Trafalgar Square?"

"BUDGIES!!"
( ThunderThrust, Sat 20 Jan 2007, 16:22, Reply)

Think of the internet as a class.
There are clever smug hard-workers who always do well and everyone else hates (www.bbc.co.uk), tough kids who just make trouble and everyone is scared of (www.cia.gov), and sexy but rather dim girls who spend their time combing their hair and giggling (www.sex.etc). The weird kid in the corner, dressed in a T-shirt with a skull on it, who has a collection of dead beetles in his desk drawer, who once pierced his own ears at breaktime, who fantasises about shooting all of his classmates, well, that’s obviously www.b3ta.com.
( vladimir, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 10:57, Reply)

Not very funny story
In junior school I became friends with the class weirdo - mainly because I was a lovely girl and did't like the idea of this person having no friends. She had dirty blonde hair that looked like she cut it herself and she was short and fat. Her name was Marilyn and she would wet herself in class and swear at the teachers. Now this was in the 70's when swearing at teacers just wasn't done. Her mother died when she was a baby and she lived with her father further down the road on our estate. I can't remember the details but she commited suicide a year or two later. Imagine wanting to die when your only a child and having the guts to carry it out. I can still see her chubby face and remember the awful clothes she used to wear. And I still wonder if there was more I could have done to stop her.

I remember you Marilyn.
( girlinthehole, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 11:44, Reply)

I went to school with a superhero
The story starts back when I was in grade nine, the final year of Canadian middle school. There was this big fat kid a grade younger than me who was one of the many laughing stocks of the school. Matt was easily the fattest person in the school, spoke with a lisp, and had a high temper. It was pretty often you'd see him fighting someone, though he always lost and always looked like a fool. Once I passed by the wrestling room and saw a kid half his size wrestling Matt. The guy was winning simply by staying out of Matt's reach and taunting him to chase him around the wrestling mat. Oh, did I mention Matt was so heavy, he had to use a walking stick to get around? A walking stick being unavailable, he would often use a ski pole or fishing rod.

Let's fast forward two years. I've switched to high school and already finished off one year, so now Matt is entering my high school.

People started talking around the school about "Powerman." They all had stories like "Powerman ran into my science lab today and threatened to punish all evildoers" or "Powerman made me pay homage to his superpowers." I heard these stories for a month before I finally saw him for myself, and yes it was giant Matt, wearing a (Canadian) football helmet, welding gloves, a cape, and a crystal visor. He would waddle through the school coming out with all sorts of comical phrases, "Up up and away! Oh yeah, forgot--can't fly!" Everyone in the school had a story about him.

Around that time I decided to approach him for an interview. I found him in the lunch room, and when I asked him, his eyes lit up. "Is it for the student paper?" I shrugged. "Sure." Later I took the interview to the student paper, but they refused to publish it because it would encourage him.

Powerman was a great person to interview. He told me his weight and all his speech and social problems are due to some ADHD prescription drugs he's on (maybe Tom Cruise was right). He used to get beaten up every day of his life, but since he started wearing the Powerman costume, nobody had touched him; they must have all thought he was doing a good enough job of humiliating himself without their help. He told me "Power Day is coming," which the guidance counsellor stepped in and told him he could never do.

Powerman and I became friendly toward each other. I still laughed my ass off at him, but that's what he wanted. He graduated a year after me, and I heard the teachers were planning on not letting him walk across the stage for his commencement because they were afraid what he would do. After he graduated he went through a series of job placement programs for the physically disabled. He got a job at a lollipop factory or something and I didn't see him for a while.

Then he tried to become a street performer at the annual Fringe festival. He revealed to the world that, despite being enormous, he is extremely flexible, and billed himself "The world's fattest contortionist." A year later, he got into stand-up comedy. The only two times I saw him on stage he cracked me up so hard ("Do you think a dentist dies a little inside every time he gets a gummer from a hooker?") Shortly after he was voted "funniest working man in the city."

With his contortion abilities, he was recruited into the Jim Rose Circus, a famous American travelling freak show. He has toured England, Ireland, Iceland, Australia, and all through the US. Today, he is probably the most famous person I know from school. You can have a look at his website here. fatbend.com/

So I want to take the time to say "Hey guidance counsellors! You were wrong!"
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Tue 23 Jan 2007, 2:36, Reply)

Weird kid...
Apologies in advance for length, this was one very strange boy...

I went to school with not only the weirdest kid , but quite possibly the weirdest thing in the world... ever. Even compared to those fish that the BBC doco crew discovered.

We shall call him Paul, for that was his name. At my highschool on our first day, all the new kids were given their network access details, with a default password of "hello". Now being kids, we all thought that by leaving our passwords as "hello" we would thwart the dastardly hackers that have a slavering need to access 14 year olds rudimentary email programs and banned versions of D&D rip off text adventures... This little security flaw became apparent to Paul very early on, and he quickly learned that he could log on to many many email accounts with very little persistence. Did he use this knowledge for evil? Well, that's in the eye of the beholder.

Enter, the head of IT. A crazy afro'd barrel of a man who had his detention giving priveleges revoked for giving 65 in one day. This made him into a big impotent laughing stock, but still to be feared. He just looked like he'd punch your pubescent nose in, and to hell with the consequences.

So what does Paul do? He sends the head of IT an email every week from a different email account... weird, not overly. He did it every week for his entire time in high school. Six years! Still not weird enough? The email read exactly the same every week from year dot, and it gets weirder. The text in the email was as follows; "There is a staff meeting today. Dirty bottom."

Need another couple of examples about our young friend?

He had a thing about naked people, in that they made him freak out. So life drawing classes were a nightmare for him and he managed to avoid every single one for the three years we had them. Eventually the teach got sick of his excuses and said "Paul, whatever you say or do today, i will not let you leave. You are staying for the whole class, I don't care if the principal has a meeting with you or you haev to go to sickbay. Nothing will make me let you leave". So Paul begged, pleaded, lied. nothing worked. He even dropped an easel on his foot. To no avail.

So the frumpy middle aged model waddles in and disrobes and we all get scribbling. It was then a strange thing happened. Paul seemed to be into it. He was feverishly working on his drawing and didn't seem too upset by the whole experience. As the class went on, he even started to look pleased as he stepped back from his work to admire it. The teacher starts to look incredibly smug, and holds him up as an example of maturity, etc, etc. So the end of the class comes and we all rotate our easels to admire each others work.

Paul, with some encouragement, reveals his masterpiece. A perfectly rendered drawing of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Last one; and it'll be quick. On a school camp out to the wilderness we were all responsible for our own food. We were given lists that suggested what we should bring, but it was up to us to buy and carry it all.

Sitting around teh campfire on the first night, the instructors quizzed everyone about their menus for the week. Paul proudly announces that he has managed to bring a lot of fruit! bananas, pineapples, strawberries and cream. The instructors are intrigued and ask him to show them. He pulls out a bag chock full of sweets, but sure enough, they are candy bananas, pineapples and strawberries and cream.

That was the strangest week of my life, because Paul wasn't allowed to have his medication with him (out of fear that some kids would steal it and get themselves high). Apparently he was on some very strong stuff. Go figure?!
(lessmiserable, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 11:19, Reply)

One, Two and Three
Were I kid you not the names of three kids at my old school.
The CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST parents believed that they should not give their children names and that they should be able to choose them themselves.

Of course they forbade the children from being allowed to name themselves until they were 16. i.e. they were of age to have decided on a good and sensible name for themselves.

As of yet only One has a proper name, which shall not be mentioned here. Two and Three are still, Two and Three.

They called themselves different names at school sometimes but officially on registers passports, birth cirtificates and other oficial documents, they are, in order of age.

One, Two and Three.

(I believe they are fairly normal apart from the shit that they had to put up with in school)

~If you click I like this and PM me I'll give them your suggestions for names~

/Obligatory length joke
(Arse Biscuits The question is not who, but why?, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 19:59, Reply)

Richard put a rather hefty live spider in his mouth.
After about a minute of facial contortion and unpleasant breathy noises, he grinned broadly as the spider emerged unscathed from his nostril.
(wellgroomedwookiee is a filthy-minded hobgoblin, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 17:13, Reply)

Jessica
She was a bit more mature than the other girls, which is to say that she had the body of a woman and the libido of a hell-cat on heat. I used to long for the PE lessons when she habitually wore no panties and jigged about so we could see her pert arse and shaved parts (this in the day before waxing was so common.) I was behind her during an aerobics lesson and almost shot my wad when she did the splits.

In class, she was an outrageous flirt. fellating her pen, rubbing her oversize breasts against the arm of the boy she was cheating from, or stroking guys' crotches with her red-painted nails. But she wasnt easy by any means. People said she had a 25 year-old boyfriend somewhere.

Then one day we were both in detention (I had set fire to a desk in chemistry). The teacher had us copying out the index from a book when Jessica nudged me and indicated her book. She had written "I want to swallow your jizz" on it - with a graphic image of how said act might look.

I immediately sustained a raging boner, as she had no doubt intended. Checking that the teacher wasn't looking, she reached down to squeeze the rigid club with those slim fingers and made a sound of encouragement. Before I could pass out with increduilty, she was unzipping my fly and reaching in to grasp my hot flesh.

And we sat there, apparently copying out the index, as her hand worked my tool with agonising slowness, up and down. I felt as if it would explode, rupturing the skin and leaving little Frank like a spent banana skin. I felt as if her fingers would drive me insane. My hands began to shake.

Then the teacher left the room for a moment and Jessica's head dipped to take my molten bulb in her mouth, working at it with her tongue and lips until I felt the sub-spinal eruption building with apocalyptic power.

"Do it" she said, removing my glistening head for a moment from her hot throat. And I let forth a geyser of pent up jizz from the caverns of my adolescent lust. She gulped it all down with practised ease and sat back up ... just as the teacher re-entered.

I'll never forget the dainty way Jessica licked at the corner of her mouth as she skipped off at the end of detention. She sure was a weird kid.
(frankspencer, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 11:07, Reply)

...
How many b3tans are sat around hoping that a story doesn't get posted about them?
(Chav In A Box? Was busy stealing your Vauxhall Nova on, Sat 20 Jan 2007, 14:16, Reply)

My brother
And no, I'm not going to post some hilarious story about him.

He had at the time what was called "behavioural difficulties" - eventually diagnosed many years later as mild autism. By then it was far too late to actually be able to do anything.

My school were complete twunts to him. They:

- Got him to expose himself to a load of people when he was 13.

- Constantly asked him idiotic questions designed to trip him up and say something that wasn't true, then constantly taunt him about what he'd said. Running jokes seemed to be about the suggestion of incest or that he wore a certain type of pyjamas. Sounds silly, but he really didn't understand so he just got the frustration and hurt and nothing else.

- Egged him on to dance at the school disco on the stage, laughing at him as he did it, jeering.

- Put paint in his bag - wtf?

-Threw all manner of hard objects at him, including pens, pencils, bricks, stones, twigs, anything really.

- Surrounded him in a big group, and proceeded to beat the crap out of him. FOR NO REASON. Quite a few times. He hid that, but I managed to catch them one day :S

- Yell at him and call him fat (he wasn't) during the cross country run.

- Blocked his exit to the schoolbus so he couldn't leave to go home, and wouldn't let him off until he was at least a few miles from home

The doctor took one look at him when he was in year 9, and signed him off school sick for 6 months to give him time to recover (almost all of his hair had fallen out by then). My mother then set about fighting the council and getting him in a proper school.

There is fuckloads more that they did to him. Some of it was just completely bizzare. So he wasn't the weird one. He was a kid with mild autism. The sadistic fuckers at his and my school were the weird ones.


Sorry, you can go back to looking at nerds going "yes I was the weird one lolz"
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 23:01, Reply)

my friend the weirdo

I've known him all my life, but he started to weird out particularly in high school.

Generally an overly sensitive, soft kind of character, he'd decide to prove he was hard at the most inconvenient moments. It didn't help that he was egged on by two nuts who were inseparable from him.

He could talk me into just about anything, and generally got me into trouble.

I'm still attached to him though. I must admit I have had some good times with him.

My friend, my downfall - Mike Ock.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 17:38, Reply)

surely
other peope note the irony
of asking about the wierd kid in class...
on a messageboard where
rape
goatse
AIDS
magenta cocks
cancer
paedophilia
necrophilia

...amongst other things
are the height of amusement?

...maybe it's just me. i'm wierd.
(quibble, Sun 21 Jan 2007, 11:10, Reply)

Vocational qualification perhaps
On reflection, I am wholly perturbed by the sheer number of unwashed, malnourished 'tards at our school.

It's a real challenge to pick just one wierdo for this comp when there were such luminaries as the apparently homeless Dean, who used to sleep in a skip and fondle the earlobe of the boy sitting next to him during lessons. Or Roy, a pansy giant of a boy who could never be wrong. Roy had to take a week off once after he publicly burst into tears when some girls proved he was wrong about something, his excuse afterwards being that he ate an 'off yoghurt'. Aren't all yoghurts technically off? The psychoanalysts must be laughing all the way to the bank.

And yet, amongst this crowd of halfwit inbreeds, there is someone who stands out as exceptional: Wesley Webb. What a name! At the time I thought his heart was in the right place, despite the blubber, that terrible greasy side parting, the awful stink of unwashed, unhousetrained boy, those dubiously stained trousers and that off-white, half-tucked in shirt. Despite even the all too plausible stories from the boy's changing rooms at PE time: Sir had to force a vehemently unwilling Wesley to shower after Games only to discover he had shat himself on the quiet and was caked in the stuff. At the time, I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and was loathe to take the word of one halfwit over another.

No, it's in retrospect that I saw him for the vile boy he really was. At age eleven, a square in the making, I sat at the front of the class. A few times a day during lessons, say three or four, there would be this rhythmic grunting sound from behind me, accompanied by pungent odours. I shudder to think that I didn't actually know what he was doing. An innocent such as myself could turn round in fact to see a sweaty, red-faced Wesley with his hand under the desk, furiously masturbating. I mean you could look him in the eye, it made no difference to his wanking regime whether it was an empty room, a room full of us, a room full of nuns even. And this several times a day to its obvious conclusion without leaving the classroom at all.

I literally had a moment one day when I looked back on my school days and thought: Wait! That boy was WANKING!



You loved the length, stop complaining.
(Dr Wee is rummaging through the spare kidneys on, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 14:29, Reply)

Bobby Poo Hands
As a prefect, part of my job was to go round checking the toilets at lunchtime to make sure no one had snuck in for a crafty fag. One particular lunchtime, my mate Steve had gone to check the boy’s loos. He came belting back round the corner with a look of abject horror on his face. “You HAVE to come and see this…” he spluttered. I followed him with a sense of foreboding.
When I went into the toilet, I recoiled gagging. For there across the wall was writing, exquisitely rendered in human excrement. Huge letters, each carefully formed by a hideous turd pen.
“We have to report this,” I stammered, and went upstairs to the staff room to have a quiet word with one of the more sympathetic teachers. He agreed to go and get the boy in question and talk to him about it.
So this foul tyke was brought to the teacher’s room and Steve and I were invited to be present. The teacher chatted to the lad, asking him what had possessed him to do such a thing. “Dunno sir. Just did.” No amount of cajoling could persuade him to explain the reason behind his actions. Exasperated, the teacher shouted “Look boy, this is just not normal behaviour, have you ANYTHING to say in your defence?”
“Yeah, actually. How could you be so sure it was me?”



“You wrote your name, you fucking cretin…”
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 15:25, Reply)

College Spacks or "out the window with political correctness"
At college we seem to have an overwhelming amount of spacks. They vary in age, from about 15 to 60.
And my collection (rubbish past QOTW reference) of friends and I have named them, based on their twitches, voices, cognitive skills and features, so I bring to you my top 10 list of college mongs! (Ranked by how hilarious they are)

10. The leg slapper - he slaps his leg and then cries because someone is hitting his leg.

9. The screecher - ginger, massive overbite that may cause some to say "oh my! what a huge overbite!" and a voice that sounds like a banshees throat being rubbed over corregated iron which is then amplified via megaphone.

8. Lucy's boyfriend - this one fancies my friend Lucy, she's 17, he's 40ish, balding, with an eye off centre and feels the need to collect all the rubbish of everyones tables, put it in his bag (which I can only assume contains all his work) and then chuck the bag in the bin. Also likes to cruise around p-diddy style in the trailer of the College lawnmower.

7.The monkey - This LOL (little old lady) bears a striking resemblence to a monkey, albeit, an overweight monkey in a blue anorak. She also has the whole bottom jaw thing going that is best illustrated on the picture of Sir Trevor Mcdonald which currently resides on the front page.

6. El Gigante - Big. Absurdly big. Big like a whale. She's big and always opens doors the wrong way, giving it the appearence that she is somehow trying to spite a door. Hilarious.

5. Mister. S. Pack - He waddles around with a permanent look of disgust and elation on his face. He'll join in anybodies conversation no matter what the topic matter. Even if it's a conversation filled with anti-mong sentiments.
Also likes to rub himeself in a manner of ways on the bollards outside reception.

4. GingerJames - Big, very ginger and called James. Like Mister S. Pack, he'll join in any conversation. Unlike Mister S. Pack he adds unintentionally hilarious topics into the conversation.
"HAY! I thfink theresf too muchk adult materi-ull on the inter-nnnet. Do you likeuh scroo-fix direct?"
"But James, isn't that adult material?"
That was a very stupid thing to say... he got angry... Incredible Hulk angry.

3. Mr. Videogame - About 30 and everyday comes in convinced he is a videogame character (which character varies from day to day).
By far the funniest have been the day he was convinced he was some sort of World of Warcraft warrior (in which he took a used roll of wrapping paper and ran down the the canteen screaming in what some believe to be elvish.)
Better than this was when he was convinced he was Solid Snake from the Metal Gear Solid series.
He spent the entire day sneaking around with a sock-bandana on his head, in the sneaky hunch postion doing various snake mannerisms which consist of:
Hiding under a box and walking around.
Crouching under the tray rail of the canteen, back against the wall and sliding along it, only to stop every 5 metres to sneak a peek at what might be hidden under every short skirt
And crawling about on the floor.

2. Mr. Muh? - His grasp of reality can only be described as 'poor'. He has half a beard presumably from when he got distracted shaving. He also appears to make up where the entrances and exits are. For example, last Monday he walked into the same wall twice and then asked someone nearby why the door was locked. This happens frequently.

1. The Entertainer/47/So-ja Boy! - Some days he comes in dressed in a similar manner to Agent 47 from Hitman, other days it's in complete army fatigues (complete with march and salute to the canteen workers.)
But, when he's in entertainer guise, it's magic.
He practically becomes Frank Sinatra, just without the vocal talents.
I-pod in hand (and ear) He does dance routines, and sings along to music such as Frank Sinatra, The rat pack and the Big Bopper.
Defining moment? When he tries to lay his version of Ole' Blue eyes' charm on any lady in the vicinity.

There you have it. My top 10.
Some may say this was harsh, I merely consider it rating natures entertainers.

Also, they nick all the tables at lunch. Bassards.

Apologies for length n that. But I do bereave that they deserve their ratings.
(Good Looking Deity Grew a magnificent beard on, Sun 21 Jan 2007, 11:15, Reply)

Peter - What's in a name?
Oh, Peter.

I'd met a few weird kids before (and I am fairly sure some of them regarded me as the weird one) - but Peter took the biscuit. The biscuit, the cake and the whole shooting match.

We met one fair September morn in 2000, at the induction for our degree course. I was there with my new roommates, when Peter came along. Yes, he was a tall, dumb-looking arse with a ridiculous smile plastered across his face; but it was the first day of Uni and who were we to shun someone just on appearance? We're Bohemian, don'tchaknow?

Oh, how wrong we were. Demonstrated by Peter's opening gambit:

"Hi 'lads'! I'm Peter. This is my 3rd attempt at my 1st year! I keep having to leave because I have severe depressive tendencies!"

O-kay then. Back away, back away. From the smell of stale fish and chips, mainly.

So Peter ends up in my class for the first year. Joy of joys. Now, being actory types, every lesson began with some kind of warm-up excercise - and one teacher was particularly fond of massage to the sound of whalesong, or some other such hippy bullshit. We were instructed to get in to partners, and I just didn't move quickly enough. I was with Peter.

I lay on the ground, and spent the next 10 minutes trying no to flinch as Peter moved through the massage process as called out by the present lecturer. Far from being relaxed, I have never felt so tense - looking at his face, seeing his eyes close and hearing the gentle "ooh" sounds coming from his spotty gob.

But the pain does not end here, dear friends. Bear with me though, my story is nearly done...

We swapped. Peter lay on the ground, and I set about the unenviable task of massaging him. I say massage, my fingers barely touched him as I hurried through, desperately trying to get out of this hell. I heard his breathing get slower and heavier - and then I heard the whole class go silent. With the trepidation only given to someone that knows something is about to go horribly wrong, I scanned the room searching for the cause of the tense silence.

I looked at Peter.

I looked at his jogging bottoms.

His boner looked back at me through them.

I leapt backwards. It was at this point he opened his eyes. This, I swear as gospel, was his next words:

"Er, I was thinking about my Grandma..." (which didn't make it any better), and he gathered his things and left.

We didn't see Peter til the beginning of the next year - harassing some scared looking 1st year girls. He didn't make it through that year, either.

Length? I don't want to talk about it.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 12:33, Reply)

Wierd Alan
would you believe that this was at university when surely 13 years of bullying should have weeded out this sort of thing.

University halls had a communal IT suite. one night, alan got his cock out while looking at pron. this being in a crouded room.

Boy next to him: "Put it away Alan"
Alan: "Ok" alan keeps it out

Grils on row behind: "Alan! Put it Away!"
Alan: "ok" Alan keeps it out
Girls call campus security

Security Guard: "Alan mate, put it away"
Alan: "ok" cock stay out
Security Guard: "I don't have the training to deal with this, I'm going to have to call the police"
Alan: "ok"

Police Officer: "Sir, Put it away"
Alan: "ok"
Police: "sir, I'm going to have to arrest you"
Alan: "ok"

they did infact take alan away.

EDIT: after all this, he didn't get to squirt
(Stonkwood Pipes made me do it, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 11:51, Reply)

Problem Child
In a school of inbred weirdos there are too may to list them all. But one in particular Jonathon Plant aka “problem child” due to his (not all that, I realise in retrospect) unusual family background and being a mentalist. Yelping at the moon and chewing carpets were entirely normal for him.

Prob’ as he was more usually known, would stand naked on the headboard of his bed (it being a boarding school) saying there all night in return for a Fruit Salad in the morning. Would – for more or less the same fee – walk up to the biggest and most terrifying bully in the school and shout “you’re a cnut”, before being beaten to a bloody pulp.

He once tried wanking into an old-style milk bottle having greased the inside of the neck with Vaseline. In his ejaculatory frenzy, he created a vacuum, causing his knob to swell and become even more firmly lodged in the bottle. No amount of cold water or pulling or thinking very hard about ugly people would get it off, so he had no choice but to break the glass…. one of the gutsiest actions I have ever seen.

During adolescence he developed a single zit. Just one. Right in the middle of his right cheek. He claimed to have nurtured it and massaged fatty substances into it so as it wouldn’t pop. When eventually it did, in a French lesson as I recall, it squirted a putrid jet of pale green and foul-smelling liquid clear over the classroom to the squeals of all those caught in the crossfire.

After leaving school he had a clock-face tattooed around his gentleman’s area, so that when he laid supine and naked on an east-west axis, and thought very hard about ladies, he could tell the time from the shadow cast with astonishing accuracy.

Last I heard he was living with three model-stylee beautiful Latino women in a menage a quatre – which probably goes to show that having an impressive cock/sundial makes up for much maddity.
(bastardboy loves his mummeh, but hoo is daddeh?, Tue 23 Jan 2007, 14:28, Reply)

oooh, Betty....
Once, when I was but a mere slip of a boy, I am ashamed to admit that I was a frequent visitor to certain nameless Internet sites. You know the sort of thing, bandwagons to jump on, shameless exploitation of kittens, over enthusiastic use of poorly drawn cocks etc. As I sit here now, the IT director of a reputable and substantial group of companies, those days are well behind me.

Anyway, there was one such frequenter of said site that was extremely wierd. Each week, strangely after QOTW was posed to the eagerly awaiting masses, he found it necessary to indulge his secret shame.

His face would redden deeply as the blood vessels in his cheeks were gorged in the fury of oxygen being pumped around his rapidly excited body. Small beads of salty sweat formed on his furrowed brow, the expectation almost too much. The beads of salty anticipation would run down his cheek into the corner of his slightly open mouth so he could taste the intensity and pleasure of his own sick excitement. he new it was wrong, and one day he would be unmasked for his shame, but he just couldn't stop. For him, it was like a drug and he was a slave to his addiction.

His small, fat fingers would pump furiously at the keyboard, each keystroke becoming more frenzied as he got closer to his literary orgasm with every sylabal. Finaly, he would let out a stifled moan as he gripped the keyboard tight and furiously clicked the left mouse button in a desperate attemt to pleasure his electronic rodent like never before and transmit his creative juice to the world.

Spent, like a thousand sterotyped memes before him, he would slump back in the chair and slowly fill with satisfaction as he surveyed his seed that had been so pleasurable to release on the unsuspecting world.

All I can say of this sorry episode is, cheers Frank!
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Mon 22 Jan 2007, 17:08, Reply)

my parents stayed together, my girlfriend wasn't pregnant, and I had no crippling injuries

Yes, I was the weird one at Degrassi Junior High.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 23:10, Reply)

I've never told anyone this before

But all throughout high school, I had a 'thing' for underage girls in schoolgirl outfits.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 22:55, Reply)

ssshhhiiiIIIIIIIiiiiiittttt
His name was Paul. While not technically in my class, he was in my year in middle school. So when the year goes on a school trip to Lyons, France, the rest of us have to put up with him and his strange odours.

Now, the dorms we were staying in were arranged so that there was a long corridor, and the dorm rooms were all down one side. At the end of the corridor were two toilets. One morning we are all getting ready for the day ahead in the rooms when we hear (with full doppler effect):

_....ssssssssssSHHHIIIIiiiiii_iittt......

and we look up to see Paul legging it past the doors looking somewhat panicked. Naturally we all stick our heads out the doors and watch as he legs it down the corridor and out the doors at the end. We look back the other way to see what could have spooked him so, just in time to see one of the toilets...bubbling over. A brown liquid was pouring out the top of the bowl accompanied by the odd bubbling and gurgling noise. Then it surfaced. The mother of all turds rose out of the water like an alligator stalking its prey, then promptly slopped over the side with a wet splat. It was then carried by a small wave of brown water along the length of the corridor as we all scrambled for higher ground. The turd sailed, almost gracefully past the doors before butting up against the exit doors at the end of the corridor. Oddly I can't remember how we managed to get out of the dorms that day. I must have blocked that experience out.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 17:20, Reply)

Kid in our class
... once got caught having a wank in the back of an English lesson.

Later he became the best tennis player in the school. It's all in the wrist action.
(><(((">, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 10:46, Reply)

There was this girl
PROPER fucking mess. She had this crazy poodle hair that sort of used to be a bob but had grown out too far for its own good, big black circles under her eyes, hooded eyelids, teeth so crooked and crowded they bore little resemblance to a human mouth at all - plus they were yellow and fluorosis stained. She had chronic eczema all over the palms of her hands and when it flared up really badly she actually left little flakes of dead skin and pus on EVERYTHING, and she had acne on her forehead even though she was only 11 but she had a fringe that virtually covered her eyes so you couldn't see it most of the time. She was so minging that nobody wanted to touch her, never mind be friends with her, and as a result she was really moody and antisocial because she assumed that if someone wanted to get to know her it was only so they could find things out to use against her and make fun of her. The lads drew cartoons of her and passed them round, then one day she totally lost it and attacked one of them and nearly scalped him so after that even the few people who had been friendly to her avoided her like the plague. When her first pet died everyone made fun of her for it, suggested she'd killed him herself because she was crazy. Her desperate attempts to be nice to the other girls in her year and make friends were rejected and she was branded a "minging lezzer", thus cast out even further.

And worst of all?

That little girl was me.

Still, as it often goes, I more or less grew out of my ugliness and by the time I left school everyone thought I was great. Plus I ended up with a wonderful boyfriend who thinks I'm sex on legs, so it wasn't all bad.
( Spazzcat jam out with your clam out, Sat 20 Jan 2007, 18:30, Reply)

My last school was quite religious.
One weekend, we all went off to a retreat in the countryside for a weekend (basically a spiritual centre run by God-loving hippies, but hey even if you were atheist you got to paint rocks).

This one kid had the 'hilarious' idea of bending his arm back into his t-shirt, so only a shoulder length stump was just about visible (whereas in truth it was so bloody obvious he had just doubled his arm back on itself.)

He kept this going the whole weekend, playing the 'one armed disabled person' role with great aplomb, throwing in the old 'mmmng' noises for good measure, much to the annoyance of the people running the weekend who obviously didn't see the funny side (and, come to think of it years later, spent years dedicated to real disabled people).

In the final mass, this kid went up for a blessing with holy water. The moment it touched his forehead, a ripping sound could be heard and - LORD HAVE MERCY! - the arm was full length and back in place. It was some kind of mid-summer MIRACLE! :D

Turning to face the rest of the class with both a mixture of fake awe and mirth, I went to sit back down, happy my arm could now stretch properly. Not one person saw the funny side though.

Nobody sat next to me on the bus ride home :-(
( TIAL Four capital letters, written in gold., Sat 20 Jan 2007, 1:41, Reply)

most of these kids..
were probably abused by their parents


you fucking cunts
(milk_explosion, Fri 19 Jan 2007, 14:28, Reply)