P.E.
A repost, but relevant:-
Now physical feats of speed or endurance are not my thing. PE teacher never did learn my name. Not a bad thing. I'm more of a brainy type. Of course this means I had my fair share of bullying but I like to think it was jealousy based. I can see some of you are nodding and some want to punch me already.

Aged 12, at a selective boys grammar school, I'm trying to make my mark with a new load of 30 class mates. PE class warms up with the usual running around exercises until Sir sets one particular task.
"Everyone in the middle of the gym, now run and touch every wall and return to the centre"
This is the cue for every boy to immediately scatter to the middle of the nearest wall before turning around and running fast as their little spindly legs could carry them to the middle of the opposite wall (some unfortunately meeting another boy coming the other way) before returning to the middle of the gym, turning 90 degrees (or pi/2, as I like to think of it) and repeating with the last two opposite walls.

Now I really don’t like to do more than I have to; one of life’s natural slackers perhaps. I thought for a moment and proceeded to jog sedately to the corner of the gym where I touched two walls at once, ambled to the opposite corner, touched the last two walls and returned leisurely to the centre of the gym arriving way before the speediest of my peers.

I had singled myself out to staff and pupils alike as too-bloody-clever-for-his-own-good.
(Rich T has a clever and witty sig, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 23:57, 2 replies)

bullying... I think?
I had a curious incident during my last year of school. I was living in South Africa at the time, though I went to an English-speaking school in a large town. There were two guys, in a couple of my classes, who were always hanging out together, and seemed to think they were hard. They took a dislike to me: I was a bit geeky at the time: glasses, listened in class, more interested in what I was learning than any "pecking order" I was supposed to observe.

I think one of them elbowed me in the ribs at one point, though I wasn't paying attention. Then, as History class was starting, he tried to push me over. The way I heard it later, I whomped him on the nose, breaking it, and he ran out the class. Blood everywhere. The teacher, an old Afrikaner, said... nothing. The guy tried to "have it out" later, but I couldn't be bothered.

I mean, what the hell were they thinking? Despite the glasses, I was bigger than either of them. I think they mistook my absent-mindedness for passivity, and that made also me a target. It was the last year of school, the local version of A-Levels, and I was past all that crap. I have no idea what happened to either of them, but I could probably have done a better job at bullying, had I been that way inclined; psychological warfare is fun, if the target is deserving. 8)
( bnt what, me worry?, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 23:54, Reply)

Suicidal Sue
A bit of a cruel nickname for someone who was apparently suicidal, but fitting at the same time for obvious reasons. Couple of things that were said about her, all of which are probably lies, but kids will be kids and they were taken as the truth:

She apparently tried to kill herself byy jumping out a second storey window and failed (hence the same)

She stuck a test tube up herself and it shattered.

For some reason, a bunch of people pelted her with rotten fruit. That one is actually true. Don't know why though.

I'm just glad I kept my head down. Better getting the response 'who?' when my name was mentioned than being tormented by everyone in the school
(Stu in the hat is frothing at the gash, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 23:26, 1 reply)

won't somebody please think of the animals?
Our art teacher - with her students - put in the quite outstanding effort to produce a life-size model of a rhino made out of paper mache. I think it was an attempt to highlight the dwindling gene pool of this animal.

It sat proudly on the front lawn, and made the local papers.

Cue much patting of backs and feelings of smugness.

Until someone saw fit to sneak in and saw off its paper mache horn.

That made the papers an' all. Kids can be so cruel.
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:49, Reply)

Pearoast from the Captain - again!
Those were the days
Back in the days of real chemistry teaching, I found the delights of "vigorous exothermic reactions".
Having made my "vigorously exothermic device" I found the ideal place for it, a 6" pipe which ran under the school pond which was a 3' square concrete affair, shunned by all aquatic life due to the cleaners regularly tipping their mop buckets full of bleachy water into it. With the delay set at approximately 10 minutes I waited, watching from my chemistry lesson, for the gout of flames from the pipe I was expecting.


There was a deep thud, felt through the floors of the whole school followed by a VERY loud bang as the whole pond blasted off into the air, over the chemistry block, over the main hall, over the swimming pool and landed on the all-weather pitch, some 150 yards away. I was impressed, my teachers and the bomb squad less so.

This was merely one of the incidents that prompted my headmaster to brand me "a charming, witty and erudite thug" in my final report.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:48, 1 reply)

Racist Taunts Recieved and Understood...
Picture this. Large bully, complete with his two backup thugs, corner little skinny funny-coloured kid. With only a small amount of prompting, the large bully manages to get a standard racist epithet out. Little skinny funny-coloured kid (OK, me) asks if he has any more. OK, that's the mental exertion for the day, and he decides to continue the conversation through the medium of fists. He accelerates towards me, leaking noise as he approaches. As he gets there, I step smartly aside, leaving him to faceplant the tarmac. It would seem I left a leg in his way. Oops.

He climbs to his feet, blinks until his brainstem is ready, and decides to swing a fist. It connects, hard. With the concrete pillar I had been standing in front of, until I ducked. Tragically poor pattern recognition meant that he had another go with the other hand. That went equally poorly, so he decided to try a headbutt. You know where this is going, don't you? I grabbed his arm, pulled him past me, and straight into the pillar again. He went down like a sack of potatoes. I looked at his wingmen (wingnuts?) and watched them walk away. There was no-one around, so I awarded him a bonus kick in the happy sacks and walked away too.

He spent two weeks in hospital, and never went near me again.

Teh funniez? He claimed he'd been set upon by six people, who'd beaten him up in an entirely unprovoked attack. Due to how badly he was battered, they believed it. I never admitted it to anyone other than my brother, and it's been my secret until now.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:33, 6 replies)

Phantom 'shatter'
In my primary school some unknown kid* used to shit in very unusual places.

Some kid in my class found a 'baked loaf' in his p.e bag and another turd was found on the stairwell. Great days.

*I hope it was a kid.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:31, 5 replies)

More-Evil Teachers
Mr. Kerekes- Gym teacher last year. Strange, round bald man that Dionne and I used to constantly make fun of behind his back. And then he got caught having a 'relationship' with a 16 year old girl (The US version of a chav called Jerika) and arrested. I do believe he's still in jail...
There he is. And for some reason, a lot of girls seem to like his replacement, Martinez. That won't end well.

Mrs. Edwards- Old Italian woman who adopted because she couldn't have kids. 7th/8th grade maths teacher. Who couldn't teach. No matter how many times I went for extra help, I ended up with Ds and Cs. She used to yell at us in Italian if we didn't do our work. At the end of 8th grade, last day actually, a friend and I went up to her and started saying simple sentences in Italian like 'I like toast.', which she found funny. She was a genuinely nice person outside of school, a lot of fun on field trips, etc. I think she's still teaching at that school.
( Killerkitti Like my coffee black, just like my metal, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:26, 1 reply)

"Who blew up the fish?!?"
Me and my year had done some Chemistry. You know, potassium in water, that kind of thing. That night, someone broke into the Chem lab and stole the jar of potassium. It wasn't me.

That weekend was the sponsored walk. Someone (it wasn't me) chucked the bottle of potassium into a local river, killing quite a lot of fish.

This got blamed on me. I was called in to see the head of year, who demanded to know why I'd done it. I said I hadn't. He said that my friend had said I'd done it. I said that I knew he'd said no such thing. He asked if I was calling him a liar. I said that I wasn't, but he was a rotten bluffer, and that he should try something that was somewhat believable next time.

He went utterly batshit. I sat there and relaxed as he went madder and madder. In the end, he threw me out of the classroom, frothing at the mouth.

I laughed no end (when I was at a safe distance).
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:22, Reply)

One of many - "Prefect Abuse"
I was one of only 3 non-white kids at one school I went to. One day I was busted for something or other by a prefect (or "jumped-up little twatbracket" as I think of them now).

After some thought, he grunted some kind of enquiry about my name. I replied with my actual name, like what my Mom calls me and everything.

He answered "You must think I'm stupid!" Well, couldn't argue with that one. "That's not your name!"

I suddenly cottoned on. I admitted that I was no match for his mighty brain. I sheepishly confessed that I was William Shakespeare. "That's more like it, Shakespeare!" grunted our mobile zitstand, and waddled off triumphantly...

At the time, we were getting a lift to school and back with a my brother's friend's brother. Who was also a prefect. A couple of days later, he and his friend got in the car, both laughing out loud. They explained that someone had busted William Shakespeare, and put him in detention. They thought this was the best gag ever. I admitted it was me, and they laughed harder.

I win!
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:17, Reply)

On the topic of substitute teachers
We had a trainee teacher for year 8 physics. The head of science was a terrifying guy, but this trainee was nervous as hell. His most flattering habit was leaning against the whiteboard with one arm raised in the air, displaying his massive sweat patches.

We called him Bo-Man.

Anyway, one of my classmates made it his mission to give this guy a nervous breakdown. The closest he got was when he took the rubber tubing off a bunsen burner, attached it to the gas pipe, and lit the end. This created a flamethrower. If you squeezed the melting rubber tubing, orange flames would fly ten feet across the classroom.

Bo-Man obviously doesn't know what to do. He's standing paralyzed by the board, dripping sweat, as Flamethrower Boy starts trying to set the plastic desk on fire.

Unfortunately, he decided to do it when the head of science was teaching in the adjacent lab. I don't think Flamethrower Boy was ever allowed to do anything more exciting than dissecting leaves with wooden sticks for the next few years...

Interestingly, Bo-Man got a job at my college teaching physics when I started my A-Levels. He didn't recognise me, but he gave Flamethrower Boy an incredibly dirty look every time he saw him.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:16, 1 reply)

Our school had a riot
In my first year a lad was suspended for having a shit haircut (I think it was awful, but most haircuts were at the time).
His mates organised a protest at lunchtime, the headmaster then chased them around the football pitches, some people went and ran amock around town, the press got called, headmaster twatted the reporter and he was never seen again!
( thistle, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 22:06, Reply)

Acid, Pot, Whiskey, Brew
We're the Class of '82

Pretty much sums it up I think...
(tingtwatter Eating loads of red meat since, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:59, Reply)

The smell of burning hair...
So, it's an A day (our school schedule works on rotation, A day then B day, round and round, with 4 classes a day) and I'm at the lunch table with some mates, including Arielle, Shiah, Casey (a boy), Chunky, Emily, etc. My friend Dionne comes over to the table. She's supposed to be in class, but whatever. So we're all joking around, and Dionne pulls out her lighter, which she holds, lit, a few inches from Shiah's head. Can you see where this is going?

Shiah is a vain little fucker, with very curly hair that he straightens. He also uses a lot of hairsprays and gels. That particular day, he had in that kind of spray on colour, that washes out the same day. Well that stuff is very flammable. The whole back of his head catches, and Dionne doesn't know what the fuck to do. So we start smacking him on the back of the head to put out the fire.

The smell of burnt hair is GROSS! The whole troop of us, plus kids from the neighboring table (Chelsie, Jeff, Frank, etc.) rush out of the caf to escape the smell. There was about 5 or so minutes until the block ended, so we just stood in the alcove between the two cafeterias, crying with laughter, while Shiah yelled at us and fussed over his hair.

Oh yes, oh yes. He's never lived that one down.
( Killerkitti Like my coffee black, just like my metal, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:54, 4 replies)

Pain in the wrong place!
At my old comprehensive we used to play a torturous game called Softball: the name is a complete and utter misnomer. I should know! Picture the scene:- playing this hellish version of rounders one fine northern day and there am I a little kneecap standing at base bored rigid. Now you may not be aware of this, but the ball in softball is about three times bigger than a baseball and twice as hard.
Anyway I'm standing on base and suddenly I hear a shout: "Hoi kneecap catch!"
I turn round to be greeted by a softball hitting me straight in the primaries. I was in agony for about four hours afterwards: and to this day my former school compadres delight in describing in acute detail how funny it was!
Twunts!
(The Yongy Bongy Bo brought to you in glorious monochrome, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:42, 1 reply)

Once upon a time....
We had a chemistry lesson back at GCSE where the normal teacher was away and was replaced by some halfwit supply teacher. About half way through the lesson a sudden flash of light from about the 3rd row back and the sound of electricity.

Once the smoke had cleared, we found Calvin with ink all over his face/hands etc, hair all over the place and the rest of the row rolling on the floor laughing.

He'd decided in his wisdom to poke a paperclip into a plug socket (as you do), followed by the cartridge from a pen and various other implements, before flicking the switch and letting hilarity ensue.

Of course the supply teacher hadnt got a clue what had happened so went off to fetch someone else. What followed were 2 bolluckings by first the head of chemistry and then the head of science. Apparently all the lights into the entire school flickered for a few seconds when he flicked the switch as plenty of fuses nearly, er, fused. And then to top it all of a Biology teacher a few days later simultaneously crying (we were a nice group and she couldnt believe we'd do it apparently) and yelling at us for trying to kill ourselves.

Fun times!
(nibbles, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:41, Reply)

Weird QOTW premonition
Wow! Last night, sitting in a cafe in Belfast, a vaguely funny story from school dropped into my head, and I had the compulsion to text it to a friend. So i claim a moral first post!

*Wibbly lines*

In sixth form General Studies drama, which I wasn't doing but was an excuse to hang around with people with a "props budget" that was almost entirely spent at off-licenses and tobacconists, we were doing a production of a David Brenton play.

Now this was an all boy's school but we'd teamed up with a nearby all girls school to do the show. Inevitably, being directed by schoolboys who were really interested in rehearsing the smoking scenes and impressing the boys/ girls that had caught their eye repeatedly meant it was a bit of a half-arsed production process.

Much to the irritation of our child star. Yes, at our school we had one boy who'd been in a children's TV show for a few years, and had pretentions that he was some kind of artiste.

After one particularly shit scene rehearsal, we decided to bicker and blame one another. And then the lad exploded - into tears - he bowled up to the director and just laid into him, through a torrent of tears, saying that we would never understand how exhausting this was to him, how emotionally draining because he put everything into it, he was a professional.

And then flounced out. I can't remember if he came back to the production. but we had a great after show party ... ah, school days...
(cheesehead, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:40, Reply)

Hugleikur Dagsson is a genius


and the above is less disturbing than Mr Crawford who liked to watch the boys showering while fiddling with himself through his trouser pocket.
(Falco, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:34, Reply)

I knew this kid
who pooed is pants for attention...

if emo's did that instead of cutting themselves, they'd b less suicides..
(Lord Chode, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:27, 2 replies)

haven't read them all yet . .


so hope this one hasn't been done yet , but twas a common enough prank back in our old school... basically she flies like this . . .

One takes a roll of cling film incognito into the teachers toilets which were placed sporadically through the building... The 'agent' would then lift both the lid and the seat from the crapper exposing the white shiny rim of the bowl. From here, Bond, James Bond, would, and with great precision and care place a tight film of cling film over the rim and sticking it to the outside of the bowl sides. The seat and lid would be replaced, one might even wash ones hands with the nice soap was one feeling particularly 'on top' of the situation.

The trap set, Mr. Smart would depart cleaning finger prints etc. From there it was simply a matter of observing the trap and waiting for your unsuspecting teachery type prey to show up. When one of the dopey fucknuggets would enter the WC a small crowd would quietly gather outside... The following sounds would indicate with great accuracy the events unfolding inside....

repetetive drum roll followed by liquid splashing on tiles : Male teacher taking a piss..

quiet short drum roll followed by utterance of foul language and some surprise : Female teacher having a whizz

and god help the poor soul whoever needed a dump...



mind you they were a good bunch of teachers in my old school and would get their own back. Normally by completely miseducating us and ensuring lives of low level gruntery employment to those who crossed their paths - I'm a snout scrubber, recently promoted...
(The Cats Twat, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:21, 1 reply)

lovely man....
Had a 'lovely' Science teacher in year 10. Perhaps by lovely I mean a slimy greasy perverted wanker who looked rather too much at my then-gfs (well as much as you have a girlfriend when your 15) chest...
One day was sitting at the back of the science room with my mates, playing eye spy..... he walks along (its a chemistry lesson remember), and randomly starts talking to me about erections and why they happen. Completely randomly. And then revealed that he had 'problems'...
Naturally I made an excuse up to go quick - and went to move down a set!
Needless to say the bastard was sacked about a month after this...
(macomateo is procrastinating on, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:14, Reply)

Off topic somewhat but.....
.... Mr Bin and I both work in primary schools.
Yesterday he was cleaning out the cupboard in the computer room when he found two boxed Big Traks!
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 29 Jan 2009, 21:09, 2 replies)

Freddy Krueger Poo Fear
This is taken from some e-mail correspondence concerning embarassing shit stories. I know all of you here at b3ta love shit, and it just so happens that it happened while I was at school.



I was five years old and in the first year of proper school. Nursery was filled with turd stories, but this was when I was beginning to be a real boy.

The night before the day in question, I had foolishly sat down and watched Nightmare on Elm Street. This was not wise for a sensitive five-year old. The following day I was tormented by visions of murderers with pizza over their faces and really long nails.

Then, about ten-thirty am (I remember it so well), I felt the need for a shit. However, I could obviously not go to the toilet, because OBVIOUSLY Freddy Krueger was in the adjacent cubicle, waiting for my child's arse to be displayed before murdering me on the job. (I am in no way insinuating that Krueger is a paedophile.)

There was one option - to shit myself. I vividly remember gurning and straining the turd out and rising a good two inches off my seat because of it.

(Aside - I am very short sighted, but this was not found out until I was six. As such, everything my five year old mind remembers is a shambling mess of blurry colours. I am trying to remember the reactions of the teachers of fellow pupils, but alas, I could not see them.)

So then, there I was, cack in pants, happily continuing my work. I remember the teacher coming over to me, about an hour after the ejection of faeces and asking 'Robert, do you need to go to the toilet?'. I also remember my chiming reply: 'No thank you miss!'

I also remember one of the other boys, Christopher, who was sat next to me and believed he was confiding in me about the terrible smell somewhere in the classroom. He was all like 'That smells been following us around. Who do you think did it?'

I feigned ignorance.


Anyway, home-time came. That makes it a stunning four and a half hours sat with caked-on shit in my pants. As I was walking home, holding my mother's hand, she said to me 'Have you stepped in dog poo, love?'

'No.'

'Are you sure? It smells terrible here.'

'No, I haven't, mam.'

'Are you positive?'

'Yes. I've shit myself.'

I remember saying that last sentence with a fair amount of glee.


I also remember my mother running home in order to prise the shitty kecks off me.


I don't remember much after that, apart from my father coming home from work, and me running over to him completely nude and shouting 'I SHIT MYSELF IN SCHOOL TODAY'. All the while, my mother was at the bathroom sink, chipping at the now solid mass of child-excrement.

Needless to say, the pants went in the bin.
(Hernandez Fiendish probably won't be here until at least, say, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:41, 6 replies)

Just stating the obvious, really...
When I much smaller TMWW, I attended a rather posh and very new elementary school, fully equipped with up-to-date computers in almost every classroom.

The best, though, were the ones with the wonderful clicky keyboards, where everything you wrote sounded like the furious typings of a mad scientist. Most of the good ones already being claimed, I headed to the rarely used spare classroom during recess to play some Oregon Trails.

The normally empty room was occupied at the time by a rather strange looking boy, sitting alone at a desk, doing nothing. Ignoring him, I sat down to a nice clacky keyboard and went at it for a while when I noticed he was breathing heavily. Panting, really, like an overweight dog.

I being the blunt little kid I was, after a few minutes of staring and panting, I turned to the kid and asked, "are you retarded or something?" to no response. I soon left, thinking nothing of the odd boy.

Of course, it turns out he actually was retarded, and quickly tattled on me to his caretaker when she arrived.

I was lectured severely, then had to explain to my mom why I was making fun of retarded kids and was forced to write a paper on Tourettes Syndrome.

Apologies for shit first post, pop, length joke, etc.
(TheManWhoWas SlightlyKnackered, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:33, 2 replies)

I have the pleasure
Of currently attending a school for teenagers with mental health issues (I'm 17, but what with me being an in-patient at the unit in question I am lumped in with the rest). You think your school was funny?

We have the small squeaky little twat* from hell, who squeals with delight at anything to do with fairies, Disney or kittens (OK fair enough I too let out a little bit of wee at kitties) and howls like a banshee whenever things don't go her way. Probably weighs all of about six stone soaking wet, roughly five foot tall and has picked a fight with me on no less than five occasions - I am 6'8". Has also punched me in the face. Hilarity level: 8/10.

The token mentalist is a sixteen-year old black girl who is indescribably rude and generally horrid to all and sundry. Regularly pushes people aside, either talks to people like shit or totally blanks them and jumps queues (personal pet hate - as in, really can't stand it). She hit me around the head with a chair once for no reason whatsoever, and then screamed at me for having no manners and being in her way. Hilarity level: 7/10.

But the icing on the cake shall be known simply as Sleepy. He's a genuinely lovely lad, wonderfully funny and pretty wicked at footy. Due to his medication, he likes to sleep a lot and moves at a relative snail's pace. Regularly lies down on the floor in lessons and drifts off. Has brilliant ways of winding the people who are dickheads* up, such as following them round flicking the back of their head, throwing wet paper towels at them and once poured a whole (plastic, no less) bottle of milk over squeaky twat's head, causing her to release a staccato series of shrieks that has left me with permanent hearing damage. Hilarity? Off the scale.

Apologies for lack of real funny. I don't really feel comfortable going into full-on examples at the moment, lest somebody stab me to death with a pair of round-ended scissors.

Length? Three months and counting, one of them under duress.

*Anyone who is about to badger me with "It isn't their fault, they have problems" - Get fucked. They'd be cunts without any issues. Shut up. I'm nuts. I'll kill you.
(hypnoticme is an anarcho-syndicalist commune, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:33, 7 replies)

I think this QOTW will make me angry.
I hated school. Fucking loathed it. Aside from about six people, everyone I knew was an utter cunt.

I do have a few small anecdotes about the weird, strange and special world of public school, though.

- There was the time the music teacher (who pretty much ran the school; even the headmaster was her lapdog and it meant every bit of funding we got was channelled directly into the music department when every other area desperately needed funding: I hold her responsible for the school dropping Latin A-level, the spiteful menopausal bitch*) decided that the best way to keep 50 hormonal fifteen-year-olds out of trouble and stop them all either having sex in the practice rooms or cunting each other in the fuck was to form a compulsory gospel choir.

You won't be surprised to learn that Stalker Boy was involved with the organisation of this, mainly because at the time he was obsessed with the Sister Act films (and probably still is), but also because he was "gifted" at music and Mrs Bitch loved him. I was less than happy to be made to sing publicly and I was even less happy that I, the most miserable and would-be goth if I didn't think my parents would have crucified me, which defeated the object somewhat - member of the year, would have to do happy-clappy singing about Jebus with a straight face.

The only thing that made it worth the effort was the early manifestation of Stalker Boy's cross-dressing fetish (something I'm told he fully embraced at uni), when, after it had been arranged that we would butcher Oh Happy Day at the Summer Concert (an excuse to trot out the same old songs and for Mrs Bitch to receive another enormous bouquet), Stalker Boy decided that, to finish off the effect, he would dress up. The rest of us would be in our tacky George at Asda choir uniform, and he would be ... in something else.

On the night, we get to the last chorus of Oh Happy Day, and Stalker Boy enters, stage left. In a dreadlock wig from the joke shop that reaches down to his saggy chest, a long spangly frock thing and I do believe he may also have blacked up. Clutching a tambourine, he approaches the front of the stage and says: "One more time! Hit it!"

Of course, he did get the piss ripped out mercilessly afterwards.

This was the same year that his best enemy Tris had decided he had the loveliest singing voice in the world and, while the fact he was a flaming gayer wasn't yet public knowledge, he may have let it slip in his choice of first public recital song.

Hero. By Mariah Carey. In baritone. He also had the strange habit of holding onto his cuffs for dear life when he sang, giving the strange appearance of a man doing an aeroplane impression wailing "Loooooooord knooooooooooooooooooows, dreams are haaaaaaaaaaAAAaaaaard to foolloooooooow, don't let anyone teeeeeeeaaaaaaar them awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay..." at the top of his voice over a tuneless piano accompaniment.

* Stalker Boy was the one following me around and yet I got called The Attachment. Cow.

- Then there was the time in GCSE maths, when our usually absent teacher (who looked exactly like Austin Powers, though before the films were released he was known as Carlos the Jackal) was present and explaining the complex theory behind the quadratic formula or something. We didn't like him, because he was one of the few teachers you couldn't distract with a certain subject. And he had told me if I got below a C in GCSE maths I would have to retake it, when a C was seemingly impossible. I was crap at maths and still am (I put customers on hold to calculate their refund totals).

Anyway. Picture the scene: Austin Powers is writing on the board, droning away about x and y and all those other things I didn't understand then and don't care about now, and the chavvy girls around me are writing notes to their mates, texting the ones who aren't in that class, flicking ink at the boys, daydreaming, all except one.

Becky, the new girl, is sitting in total silence, carving at her wrist with the rather blunt point of her compasses.

This wasn't the shocking part; the shocking part was how the other girls in the year (who had already decided she was not to be trusted after she flirted with someone else's boyfriend) reacted. Jennie, the elder daughter of a reasonably famous cricket commentator, bursts into hysterics and stands up: "EEER MY GOD SIR! Have you even SEEN what she's doing, it's disgusting and what are we going to do?" This reaction spread like a Burberry Mexican wave, and before Austin Powers could react, there were ten or so crying and bleating teenagers, illegal mascara pouring down to join the illegal foundation on their cheeks.

Austin Powers simply says: "Well, she's disrupting the lesson, so can someone please take her to the sick room?"

- A few years earlier, and again in a maths class, he had reacted utterly explosively to another compass-related incident, this time involving my mate Pete and a can of Mountain Dew. Bored in Austin Powers' class, as we all were (though as Pete is a mathematical genius, he was extra bored) he is poking around in where his inkwell used to be with the end of his new super-accurate compasses.

A fountain of Dew erupts from the desk and liberally coats the ceiling in toxic yellow slime. Austin Powers explodes in a very un-Christian way, and proceeds to try and de-yellow the ceiling with a paper towel on the end of a music stand.

- In the same year, Stalker Boy and Pete - well, mainly Pete - concocted a glorious scheme to deprive the insane, herb-obsessed Home Economics teacher, who cooked with mouldy onions and who hated Pete with a passion, of electricity. They did this by removing every fuse from the school fuse box one evening after school, and were only exposed by History Teacher and his secret lover the English teacher when they were sneaking out after school (after possible classroom sexytiem, I'm sure), which kind of shot them in the foot. A week's suspension for Pete (the head knew Stalker Boy was too thick to do anything on his own) and he and Stalker Boy never spoke to one another again.

- The time Luke, the utter cunt who made my life a misery from Year 7 to sixth form, somehow nearly won the 100m on another horribly cold and rainy Sports Day. I say nearly, because he turned around five yards before the finish lane to wave and mouth "I'm brilliant!!" because he genuinely thought he was. Splat. Enormous graze on his arm, last place. I was the only one who laughed my arse off and got called a heartless bitch.

- Balancing the wastepaper basket on the door closer and dropping it on History Teacher.

- Locking our pervy and horrible German teacher out of the classroom with our form teacher's key, and of course the infamous shite incident.
( Maladicta, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:33, Reply)

I had a great story all prepared...
but when I went to get the piece of paper I'd written it down on, I realised that the dog had eaten it.

Apologies for truly shit post.
(Charlietron Still can't think of anything witty to put here, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:21, Reply)

Oh the good old days...
At high school
It was a lunch time and I was a fresh faced year 10. We (me and my mates) got slightly bored one day and so (been fresh faced year 10's) we started to dare the others to do silly things...

I was told to throw a rock at one of the old buildings (the school was [and still is] a shithole... good teachers, but CRAP buildings)... which wasn't much of a dare to be honest, but a teacher came round and told me to stop anyway.

I dared the person who dared me (lets call him Sam... for that is his name) to drop a sizable chuck of waste concrete down a manhole (bearing in mind there was a gas pipe down said man hole). He managed it, but the concrete hit the pipe. And it hit HARD. There was a gas leak of epic preportions and we got 2 days off as it was very dangerous.

Great thing is, he managed to get away with it... the cheeky bas***d!!

We still laugh at that now
(one-winged-angel-616 isn't as depressed as she sounds, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:16, Reply)

My headmaster from primary school
was drunk with power, he banned 'Pogs' 'Tamagotchis' yo-yo's and other crazes round that period

...ok fair enough, but it got ridiculous when he started banning crisps and sweets with artificial flavourings, and hair gel.
He even disallowed 'conkers'- unless your wearing protective gear, ie. goggles, shin pads, etc
(Lord Chode, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:04, Reply)

back when I was an acne covered teenager
In my school days

I wasn't exactly the most popular kid, so I decided to try and look cool by hanging around with the minority of other not-so-popular kids.

Nevertheless it was always fun and we'd often decided to do really random activities at break/lunchtime.. our favourite was a game which we called 'running away from Nutbrown' (Nutbrown was a mate of ours)

The game was pretty much based on the standard school playground game 'tag' or 'tiggy', however Nutbrown was always 'it', so yea, we spent our breaks running around the school grounds/corridors/etc like a bunch of freaks.

However until one day...whilst playing 'Running away from Nutbrown',we was running down the corridors at full pelt with teachers screaming at us, one guy called Danny in our group wasn't paying attention to the road ahead and 'BANNNNGGG!!' right into the special needs teacher, he knocked he clean off her feet and flying into the wall.

We came to a halt to find a teacher curled up on the floor foaming from the mouth and performing some sort of spazzy fit, with Danny at the side trying to apologize to this jibbering wreck.
'sorry miss, so sorry miss, im really really sorry miss...'
oops

No major harm was done however, he had to write her a letter of apology, and he spelt her name wrong on the envelope...this was the same guy who stuck his thumbs up on the class photograph...
(Lord Chode, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 20:00, Reply)