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This is a question School Naughtiness

The B3ta Confessional is open. What was the naughtiest thing you ever did at school?

(, Thu 8 Sep 2011, 12:55)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Comparative religion
RE at my school was learning about other world religions. Nowadays I find that interesting: as a child it was very dull. One day our teacher brought in a prayer mat, held it up and asked what we thought of it. Silence, until I said, "Well, it's very pretty", and the class erupted into laughter.

"Pretty? I'll give you pretty", yelled the teacher and hit me with the mat several times: cue more laughter. The entire class got detention which involved drawing a mosque.

The next year I wrote a story about a young Hindu man being killed by a herd of stampeding sacred cows. I got a D that year, for 'lack of sensitivity to other religions'.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 15:38, 2 replies)
Hiding the evidence of crafty boozing.
Not school, but still in edjakayshun, so sod it, I think it counts.

At college went on a trip to Europe, ended up in Freiburg in Germany, staying in a youth hostel with a strict "no booze in the rooms" rule. Of course we ignored that and smuggled in cans and bottles, trouble was what to do with the empties?

We all agreed the brightest idea was to lift up one of the ceiling tiles and stuff them up in the roof space. Me being tallest was given the task of doing it. So I pick a likely spot in the middle of the room, stand on a chair push up a tile and peer into the roof space. Only to be confronted with empty cans and bottles piled about two feet deep all over the ceiling tiles. We weren't the first people to have this idea, and it seemed everyone lifted the same 4 tiles to do the deed.

I reckon the weight of that building must have been greatly increased by all the extra cans and bottles it was supporting, it was 4 stories tall after all.

Wonder if any of the ceilings ever collapsed.......
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 15:30, 3 replies)
Cocks, cocks and more cocks
Having gone to an all boys school, it was pretty much a given that I and many of my classmates would draw a lot of cocks. Some people drew them in text books, some drew them on desks, some were happy to have crudely drawn variants while others would produce extremely detailed works of art.

They even had a nickname that people would use to discuss them without any of the teachers getting wise - "Marios". This came about when someone was trying to doodle Super Mario onto a notebook, but was having little luck. Someone came along and said "Mario? I'll draw you a Mario" and whipped up a crudely drawn cock before they got wise.

However, the worst instance came when a new block of the school had been built and someone took it upon themselves to "Christen" it with an extremely large, crude cock. This thing was at least 3ft by 6ft and covered most of the wall.

I don't know if it was the oversized, almost "industrial" marker, the paint used on the wall or the solution they used to try and clean it, but all the school managed to do was imprint the outline even more permanently onto the wall. The paint was stripped away in the exact shape of this massive cock and due to the new block being over budget as it was, it would remain this way for quite some time.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 15:03, Reply)
Asbestos related high jinx
When I was in the 6th form, our common room was one of those pre-fab classrooms (we called them rabbit hutches I think) which were supposed to last 5 years but were normally used for about 30.

One day these 2 machines appeared in there that were sat on tables and seemed to be sampling the air. Without thinking about it (which in hindsight would maybe have been a good idea) a friend and I broke some small pieces from a board that sat behind a radiator and looked just like the asbestos mats we used to put under our bunsen burners in chemistry lessons and proceeded to crumble them into the intake parts of the machines. Once nothing happened (not sure what we expected - alarms maybe) we got bored and went off to our lessons and then I went home to lunch.

About an hour later I got a frantic call from the friend. He had come back from lunch to find the door to the common room boarded shut with yellow 'hazard' tape plastered all over it. There was a sign warning us not to enter the building otherwise due to the detection of hazardous materials.

Due to the lethally high levels of asbestos that had been found in the air, the building had been immediately shut and condemned. Over the next few weeks, all 6th formers were tested for exposure to asbestos and the authorities were amazed that no-one had been affected seeing as there were such high levels in the atmosphere inside that room.

A week later the area was cordoned off and demolition began and within another week there was no trace of it left apart from the bare patch of earth where it had once stood.

I spent the next 6 months convinced we would be found out and slung into juvy. Luckily no-one grassed and we got away with it (despite the presence of lots of pesky kids).

After I had left I found out that they had then built a brand-spanking new common room so everyone was quids in (ok apart from the tax-payer maybe).

That was pretty much the most stupid thing I did at school.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 14:54, 1 reply)
The headmaster's privileged son
Being caught with (massive) drugs on the school premises. That was a great day.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 14:46, 8 replies)
It's a well-known fact that when people become teachers they lose all technical knowledge
and so when presented with a TV and video machine (these days I suppose it would be DVD or Blu-Ray, whatever that is) they end up floundering in front of the class, pathetically trying to make the damn thing work.

Imagine that, but one of the kids at the back of the class has got one of those watches from Argos that doubles as a TV/video remote control.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 14:35, 1 reply)
Sticks and stones....well stones mostly....
Primary school, a while before my 10th birthday. During lunchtime one day a group of 4 boys decided to throw stones at me, I went and told the dinner lady, she told them off, they waited a bit then started up again. As I was walking away from them a particularly accurate throw by one bounced off the back of my brain case. The red mist rapidly decended, I picked up a stone and hurled it with all my might at the boy in the centre of the group. It was a beautiful throw (although in hindsight a vastly stupid thing to do) and it hit him square in the middle of the forehead. He keeled over backwards and lay on the ground with his eyes spinning in opposite directions and blood running from a cut on his head. No permanent damage done, but of course they denied they had provoked me and (despite testimony from the dinner lady that they had been throwing stones at me earlier) I received the full weight of the punishment.

Thankfully my dad believed me when I told him what had really happened.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 14:34, 1 reply)
More stupid than naughty
We were taken on a trip to see a technology fair, lots of stands with massive laser-cutting machines, robotic this and that, men in suits, and lots and lots of reading-material, shiny catalogues, glossy brochures, tonns of the stuff. Every one of us came away with several plastic bags filled with promo material. On the bus back, we quickly picked over our haul, saved the few useful/cool bits (Rulers, pens, pencils, keyrings and so on) and proceeded to rip all the paper into stacks and stacks of postage-stamp size bits. When it was all ripped up we chucked the entire lot out the top hatch and out the windows. All at the same time. On the motorway. Turns out, we had done such a good job with the ripping up of paper, they had to shut the motorway down. We knew nothing, until the police came to our school the next day. Teachers were not impressed, not the principal either. Appoplectic, incandecent fury describes their reaction to our idle fingers quite well. I remember denying flat that I had anything to do with it. I guess they knew I was lying.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 13:48, Reply)
The college prankster
I was involved in several pranks etc whilst at school and college. But here is the one of the best:

It was Mark the college pranksters birthday. This guy got up to everything, if it was your birthday you avoided him like the plague and we decided to get our revenge.

He always arrived at college at 8.30am and made for the common room. 10 of us decided to make sure we were in before this and waiting in the common room for him. Our sixth form common room was in the oldest part of our college. Huge doors, solid frames etc. and we'd discovered that you could lift the door off it's hinges. So we're there at 8.25, door off it's hinges and balanced over a couple of chairs and several roles of gaffa tape. Mark arrives and is immediately grabbed and gaffa taped to the door and the door is rehung with him hanging about 6 inches off the floor.

We decide to leave him there until after the first lesson of the day and I got tasked to stay there (as I had a free period) to make sure no one let him down.

9.05. Mark still hanging from door (and no longer seeing the funny side). Noises are coming from the corridor and getting closer. The door opens slowly and one of the maths teachers walks in, they never came in the common room. As the only person in there (other than the prankster on the door) I think I'm in for a bollocking. The teacher walks in and turns and looked at the door, the next words made me nearly cry with joy.

Teacher: "Morning Mark. Got told you were here. Happy Birthday. I didn't want you to miss your class so I thought we'd have the lesson here."

In walk the other 20 members of Mark's stats class.

I had to sit through a boring stats lesson for an hour but it was definitely worth it.

Apologies for the length but he was up there for two hours.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 13:32, 8 replies)
Well would you?
Primary school, about 8 years old, stinging nettles, a few of us were "playing" with them. I got stung, but it wasn't the first time and knew it would fade, found a dock leaf and rubbed it on it. A girl a bit younger than me comes up and speaks:

"Sting me"

"No, you'll run and tell teacher"

"No I won't, sting me"

"No!"

"Sting me, sting me, sting me, sting me, STING ME!"

Sting, cue screaming, blubbing, running off..... Next thing I know a teacher is stood before me waving said girls arm towards me and demanding to know why I did it:

"She asked me to"

"AND IF SHE ASKED YOU TO PUNCH HER, WOULD YOU DO THAT TOO?"

..............

Apparently I paused a bit too long before answering and my parents were called to discuss the issue.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 12:45, 1 reply)
Shell Shocked
First Year of senior school way back in the mid seventies saw us being taught RE by this very old bloke who had lost an arm in the war and simply tucked his other jacket sleeve into his pocket. He was a bit jittery and doddery to say the least, so of course we used to torment the poor fellow something rotten. All the usual stuff - swapping seats whenever he turned to write on the blackboard, moving his stuff around when he wasn't looking, inventing spurious messages from other teachers.Nothing too bad at all until one day as he was in the middle of telling us something, out of nowhere, one of the lads shouts out

"Sir, Sir, theres a cow behind you"

He literally jumped forward a foot, flailing his one arm in the air and yelling "Get it out, get it out" before reason took over and he just stood there staring at the lad who had done this till he got his breath back and we had finished collapsing with laughter. He then simply carried on with the lesson.

The thing is that after the hilarity had died down, we all felt really bad about it, and although I wouldn't claim we were angelic from that moment on, he got virtually no grief off us for the rest of the year, and some long overdue respect.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 12:41, 1 reply)
Fart Machine
Does anyone remember those remote controlled fart machines you could buy from Argos (or still can) where you have a speaker and a button to activate the device from afar? Well two of my 'friends' had smuggled the device into an RE lesson with a particularly animated and old-school teacher. One of my friends had the activation device and one friend had the speaker.

The teacher was going through the usual RE drivvel and no one was paying much attention - until a short, loud fart left the speaker much to the amusement of the class with the teacher getting slightly angry.

Now I remember that the machine had alternating frequencies and density. The second sound was about 10 seconds long and the volume was considerable. My friend was still laughing as the fart was varying in volume and frequency.

The teacher couldn't get his head around this and ordered the boy out of the room whilst the sound continued (he suspected nothing). What ensued was him shouting at the top of his voice about how outraged he was and that the boy should see a doctor about his bowel movements.

Completely worth it and I would suggest this trick to anyone forced to sit in a pointless lesson with an aged teacher.

Apologies for lack of theasarusian descriptions.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 12:36, 2 replies)
Open day
The night before our sixth form's open day someone swapped the signs on the toilets in the sixth form centre.

On the open day a female prospective student was seen walking into the common room looking confused and saying "they've got urinals in the ladies'"

It was a grammar school. I do hope she didn't get accepted.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 12:35, Reply)
Happiest days of my life
As I got older and went to big school, I found there were certain teachers who would hurt the children in any way they could. They poured their derision upon us, highlighting any of our 'weaknesses' no matter how well we tried to hide them. The only spark of light was the knowledge that, being a small town, we knew their obese and nasty wives - all of them - would thrash them to within inches of their lives.

Ooooh oooooh ooh, oooooh oooooh ooooh, oooooh ooooooh oooh, ooooh ooooh oooh ahhhhhhhhhh screech
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 12:22, 1 reply)
Pyrotechnics
In the 5th year (thats whatever the last year of school is for you young people 11..12 something like that) our group got into fire making. We used to fill garden sprayers with petrol and then with a lighter make our own flame throwers and much fun was had. One day I had the bright idea that if we made the spray like a mist, we could create a great fireball. Unfortunately it backfired and set light to the plastic bottle containing all the petrol. With great forethought it was lobbed away and came to rest under one of the portacabin classrooms..still on fire underneath it, with all the dry grass etc.
With no thought for the possible consequences my friend and I dove under it to despertately try and put it out. How it didnt blow up I still dont know but we managed to put it out without the building burning down only to spot a teacher walking up the path. So we were stuck under the building with a hot bottle of petrol waiting for the teacher to either go into the building or walk away...which they did eventually. Suffice to say we carried on but not with a mist.
And I got my first blow job in the bike sheds at the school disco.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:44, Reply)
THAT Teacher.
I had a lot of fun at college with one particular tutor. Every school has one, or at least SHOULD have one – that utterly useless twunt who knows a little about their subject, but has such a complete lack of teaching skills to make it irrelevant, and such an utterly abhorrent, obnoxious, backstabbing personality that removes any slight feeling of remorse that one might feel during the ongoing torment of their mortal soul.

We had one. Her name was Miriam. She taught history. Badly. She had enough trouble controlling the shy and unsure year seven students – by the time we were put under her “control” we were year ten, and had developed into an evil group of children, thinking and acting as one unit.

I will fully admit here that we were not a fair group – the majority were quite intelligent, but unfortunately knew it. There was only one real swot, and even he took it upon himself sometimes to rile her. Amongst other things, we:

- Continually referred to her by her former (married) name, or simply by her first name.
- Instead of throwing the odd paper-ball around the class, we would tear up books of A4 and have all out wars every time she faced the blackboard – and continued to do so when she turned around again.
- When learning about the atrocities of WW2, the entire class (led by yours truly) goose-stepped into the classroom and proceeded to give her a Roman Salute whilst shouting, in incredibly loud and bad German accents “Heil Herr Moronov” (a bastardisation of her surname)
- Regularly held “poster time” – any person in the class would shout out “POSTER TIME” and the entire class, as one, walked to the side of the room and started stroking a random poster. Strangely, the most popular poster was of the island of Lesbos.
- Regularly querying her about the history, politics, demographics, economic structure, religion and “other points of interest” about said Island of Lesbos.
- Continually and as un-subtly as possible passed around notes of folded A4 paper with the word “Nothing” written in big letters and laughed copiously at the contents until she grew so irritated that she would chase it down and react angrily to its contents. Every time.
- Managed to goad two students, one a very large athletic type and the other a very wiry, very confident hard-man into having a full-blown fist-fight.
- Goading said former combatant to throw his chair across the classroom at the other combatant when they were separated.
- I have a very irritating ability to whistle through my teeth, negating the necessity to purse my lips. I would whistle loudly and tunelessly at every opportunity, only stopping when she was conversing with the one swot in the class, thereby convincing her that it was he who was whistling continuously.
- Stole her glasses mid-lesson by crawling up to her desk when her back was turned. Handing them into the school office two weeks later.
- She had the habit of writing our names down in her diary for a detention list at every opportunity. Stole said diary. Laughed when we realised it contained nothing more than the date, underlined several times.
- Having the entire class write her name in said diary with their left hand & returning it to her desk.

These were but a few of the acts that we carried out in an ongoing battle of attrition against her over a two-year period, though the one that got to her the most? Acting impeccably during a visit by the new Head Master, answering questions correctly, offering insight and intelligent thought and studiously getting down to work when she asked us so to do. From our behaviour over the last year before the new Head started, she had assumed that we were, almost without exception, fuckwits.

Oh how I miss my school days....
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:44, 11 replies)
The other side
Let us turn to an Edinburgh school in 1981. It is cold and grey outside. The classroom is old fashioned and a balding, tweed-suited man in his late 50s is trying to control a class. All is fine until he turns to the blackboard. As soon as his back is turned a chorus of "ongs" breaks out - a reference to his speech impediment. There are projectiles. Yet, as soon as he turns to face his tormentors peace breaks out. There's no respite at home, piles of dog shit with bangers lodged in them come through his letter box, among other things.

Mr Gilray, you were the first teacher who actually believed I was more than a messy fuck-up, who saw that there was a brain beyond the scruffiness, awkwardness and dysgraphia. Thank you. And fuck those vicious wee bastards who made your life hell. τὸν κρατοῦντα μαλθακῶς θεὸς πρόσωθεν εὐμενῶς προσδέρκεται.

Apologies for off-topic
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:42, 2 replies)
When end of term treats were handed out
I took TWO fun size Mars Bars when we were only supposed to take one.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:38, 16 replies)
I sparked one of my primary school teachers right the fuck out
Mr Planer seemed to have it in for me. The Head Master (NOT head teacher, oh no) in a small rural primary school, he ruled his fiefdom with an iron fist. He wasn't exactly nice to anyone, but despite the fact I was never any real bother and always did well in class, he seemed to take a peculiar delight in meting out undeserved and disproportionate punishments.

Having the crap kicked out of me by older kids? My fault - a week of lost lunchtimes, standing outside his office. Having a gerbil fall off the table whilst I was cleaning the cage? My fault - immediate cessation of all gerbil/axolotl-related duties, two days of lost lunchtimes, writing lines outside his office. Playing with a drawing pin on his desk whilst queuing up to have some work marked? Immediate public bawling out for 'thievery', three days of lost lunchtimes standing outside his office.

The worst occasion was when my friend and I were having a chat, and said friend was idly booting a brick wall. Now, the wall is fairly sturdy - it's an old school, and has survived countless generations of careless kids - but apparently, this was 'vandalism', and 'wilful destruction of school property'. Of course, my mate didn't get in any bother whatsoever - but I was immediately removed from the day's trip to find aquatic specimens in the local brook, and taken into his office. He started off by shouting, but it became relatively clear that the man was losing the plot - the louder he became, the closer his face came to mine - mottled with unthinking rage, each over-emphasized plosive sending a spray of foul-smelling spittle into my face as he detailed every imagined defect with my character. Then, mere words clearly being inadequate for his purposes, he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled sharply upwards - shouting all the time, pulling and pulling, until I was on tiptoes, and almost crying. Even at eight years old I knew this wasn't exactly right - the injustice of it all slammed home in a moment, and I felt my first experience of pure, unadulterated rage - without any conscious input from my brain, I could feel my hands balling up into tiny, ineffectual fists...

Which is all quite besides the point. The teacher I *actually* knocked out was kindly old Mrs West, in a freak bell-ringing accident.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:18, 1 reply)

When I was in Junior School we used to have to file into assembly to classical music and in the last year a rota was run to delegate the privilege of setting up the teachers chairs which were metal framed with a canvas seat and back.

Even as a 8 year old I had a very accute sense of justice and felt that the chiding I had received from Mrs Lee, Head Teacher and professional fat ass, for doing handstands, was completely unjust.

As I and a few others dragged chairs across the parquet flooring of the gym, I thought about how much I hated Mrs Lee and wanted to give her a chinese burn. I lifted a chair from the stack and noticed that it had a long rip in the middle and was quite frayed around the edges. A plan began to formulate....

I put it front and centre where Mrs Lee would usually sit and lent on the canvas with my elbow, I heard a faint tearing noise and the plan was crystalised. I would let Mrs Lee do the rest.

Soon the time came for us to march into assembly to Tchaikovsky's 1810 Overture and with bated breath I waited for the music to stop and for us to be seated. Mrs Lee started her monologue but I didn't hear it, I was waiting for the moment and then it finally came.

She sat.

The canvas gave way and she plunged arse first through the metal frame, arms and legs waving frantically as the skirt she was wearing colourfully framed her dimpled hairy thighs and greying pants. 200 7-11 year olds and a few teachers giggled hysterically as two male members of staff reluctantly came to Mrs Lee's rescue and removed her from the fram by bracing one leg on the chair and pulling her out by her arms.

In my mind, I hear her POP as she is freed.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:01, Reply)
The Line
I grew up in Northern Ireland, although my family is English, and I spent my first years at primary school there, at an establishment that had lovely teachers but a fearsome, furious headmaster. But I was a good little boy, bit of a swat, did as I was told and had no great fear of him. Eventually my parents decided to move back to England and put the house up for sale and all that stuff which went over my head a bit since I was seven at the time.

During this period at school I happened to be in a classroom that was about the longest distance in the entire school from the library - it was all the way down the other end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs. But we used to be sent their regularly, in pairs, to get a book for the week.

Once on my weekly trip to the library I took a pencil with me, for reasons that now escape me. What I do remember is that on the trip back I held it in between my fingers in the hand that was gripping the bannisters on the stair, and then - as children will do - stroked the fingers along the wall. Just before we got to the classroom my companion turned back, looking shocked.

"Look what you've done" he said, in awe.

I turned and looked back to see that I'd unwittingly trailed a pencil line along the wall all the way from the library back to my classroom. We thought it was mildly amusing and went in and read our new books.

Next day in assembly, our furious fearsome headmaster devoted the entire thirty minutes to that pencil line. Of how he'd discovered it at home time. How he couldn't believe someone in his school could do such a thing. How the janitor had had to spend hours extra after school had closed and he was supposed to be at home scrubbing it off the walls bit by bit. But he spent most of the thirty minutes describing what he was going to do to the perpetrator when he or she was caught. Before the assembly, the sorry criminal was to have his or her trousers lowered and be caned in front of the entire school, a punishment of such severity that it had never before been carried out in those hallowed halls of learning.

It was the first time in my life that I ever got THE FEAR.

I spent the whole day in a complete, abject panic, unable to perform even simple tasks or respond particularly to the outside world. I ran it on autopilot, inwardly wholly consumed by terror. Only one other person knew that I was responsible for that line and sadly for me he wasn't being drawn on the subject of whether he'd dob me in or not.

That night I got home from school to be told, suddenly, that the house was sold and we'd be moving in two weeks.

It was the longest two weeks of my life. Every day going to school wondering if I'd been discovered, and was about to be thrashed in front of all my peers and, worse, have to go home and admit it to my parents and probably face another thrashing and weeks of being grounded.

But I made it. We left and as soon as we shut that front door for the last time, closing on an important chapter of my formative years and upbringing and leaving behind me all my friends and favourite haunts I felt no sadness at all, only a profound relief that we'd be going somewhere far enough away that the headmaster could never get me.

I still wonder sometimes if he ever found out, and fumed impotently in his office knowing that his quarry had got away clean.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 10:41, 1 reply)
Old and techy meant for not a great amount of fun at school.
My school was rather behind the time with computers. No one touched a computer until Year 10. No one had mobiles either. As computers were my life, and the only thing I was good at. You can imagine that school was somewhat boring:

However, I did enjoy a few technical exploits at school:

1. The remote control watch. Oh how I had great fun messing with the TVs when we were watching boring educational videos in geography. "Ooh the TV has turned itself off!". Teachers were very confused!
2. Typing speed test in Office Studies. I broke into the program and made it add 100 words per minute to my score. Teacher believed it and recorded that I could type at 190 words per minute. (I am a fast typer anyway lol)
3. Found the timer with the bell system, started messing about with it.. put it back 10 minutes and the whole school ended up leaving late :)

Now college however, I hit my element when we got our new Windows 95 network:

1. Internet access was restricted to just certian PCs. Didnt take me long to install a proxy to one of these PCs and set myself up so I had the web everywhere.

2. Hacked into a teachers account and got a spreadsheet detailing all the student IDs, what course they were on etc. For some reason, emails were sent as your student ID, not your name. So people were mass mailing all over the place thinking they were anonymous.. well not to me they weren't :)

3. Deltreeing windows on many computers and leaving a text file in C: saying it was a virus.. The IT techs thought they had a virus. (not proud of this one, as it was a bit of a dickheadish thing to do)

4. Installing Back Orifice server on every PC and taking control of the entire network. Logging onto peoples disks, opening their word documents, making some changes.. saving it back.. all from the other side of the college. I could write another post on the stuff we got up to with the Back Orifice Server trojan :)

5. Sending fake emails from the tutors to students. Just reconfigured Outlook Express and changed the from name and email, and their dumb SMTP took it.

6. Abusing the internet connection, downloading games and putting on zip drive (this was 1998 folks!)

Plus loads more!
Was great fun :)
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 10:40, 2 replies)
A sly ciggy behind the bike sheds, bunking off, sneaking out ten minutes early, a bit of a fumble with a girl in 5th year...
I fucking love being a caretaker!
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 10:22, Reply)
It was me...
In year 8 (or 2nd year,or aged 12, it's up to you) Me, & my mates Rob & Zhi Li (See, one in three people are Chinese) were walking to school via the field at the back, when we chanced upon a dead field mouse. It couldn't have been dead long, as it was still warm & limp (Wahey!) Rob instantly got it into his head that he was going to use it to scare some girl or other. So, he took it into the school grounds, but said girl was no-where to be found & all of a sudden, we where at a loss with what to do with said dead field mouse, & now the bell was ringing. Why we never just threw it somewhere I will never know, instead, we took it into the boys toilets & I placed it on top of the hand dryer...

*20 minutes later*

Emergency assembly. Whole school taken out of lessons. Our old P.E teacher Mr Fallows' veins bulging out of his head, scarlett faced, demanding to know, "Who put the dead vole on the hand dryer in the boys toilets"...

COMPLETE SILENCE.

In my defence, I never left a dead vole on the hand dryer, I left a dead field mouse on the hand dryer. I still didn't tell anyone 'til about two years ago though!
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 9:59, 2 replies)
More burning, this time initiated by a teacher
During a science lesson the teacher was trying to explain different ways of dispersing oil from the surface of water. Each table was given a large margarine tub part filled with water with a layer of oil on top, along with this we were given either fairy liquid, kitchen roll, a spoon or a bunsen burner. The teacher obviously hadn't thought this one through as given 14 yr olds a bunsen burner and a plastic tub filled with water/oil isn't the best idea.

Oil catching on fire, melting the tub and covering the desk in burning plastic and oil is a lasting image I'll have of my time at highschool.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 9:44, Reply)
Burning wardrobes and general shenanigans
On a skiing trip with the school (must have been around 14/15) a group of lads decided to leave their mark on the hotel, or more accurately on the door of the cupboard in their hotel room. 3 full cans of Lynx Africa later and the door was dripping with liquid from deodorant cans, flick of a lighter and WOOOOOOMPH up goes the deodorant. The inevitable fire alarm ensued but the door was completely unharmed due to the flame burning the scented shite rather than the door itself.

Later in the same holiday we discovered that the balcony that ran across between the rooms allowed us access to another group of lads bedroom. They hadn't bothered to lock the door when they went to sleep and were greeted with skiboots filled with snow the next morning.

*not the best stories I know, but it's all I can remember at the moment
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 9:29, Reply)
I paid my friend to eat part of a cow's eye
b3ta.com/questions/stupiddares/post96866
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 9:13, Reply)
School days..
Funny really, for the majority of my education, I was, to put it mildly, a bit of a swot.

Then when I was 13, moved on to an estate and started hanging around with lads from the area.

General piss-artistry ensued, however the daftest thing I did when I was at school, was to provide some lit firelighters which some bigger kids, honest guv, decided to lob into the open windows of the science block. Nearly got expelled for that one.

Also spent many a German lesson drinking voddy out of them old orange tango bottles, happy days. Incidentally the first (and only) class I succeeded in getting an A*..

In retrospect, stories are a bit shit, but c'est la vie and all that.

As you were.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 8:50, 2 replies)
The unholy truth of it all
My sin goes beyond mere scrawling pornographic doodles on the chalk board whilst the head masters back was turned.
It was certainly a hundred times worse then sneaking out to the bike sheds and choking down some illicit substance into my underage lungs.
It pales in comparison to the time where several cakes had gone missing from the kitchen and my hunger had mysteriously been furfilled.
What i did was the gossip and accusation of many students , i was never caught and i was inclined to hang my head in shame at the people who sufferd from my actions.
For you see, my beloved B3ta ,it was i that took a shit in the urinal.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 8:43, 3 replies)
Not my story, my dad's
When he was in secondary school, too pass the time when bored in lessons, him and a few mates used to try and throw a ball of blutack to each other across the room without the teacher noticing. Cue the nerdy kidding wanting to join in. So before throwing said ball of blutack to the nerdy kid my dad stuck a few drawing pins to it then lobbed it over. Lets just say the blob stuck to the nerds hand, and not because the blutack had got warm
(, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 5:09, Reply)

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