Pearoast
I assume my school was not particularly unusual in the fact that everyone always spent hours talking about what jokes they were going to pull on the last day, but the plans never seemed to materialise. All previous ones that had been done, had occurred years ago, masterminded by a friend of a friend of a guy who someone had once met.

During one of these conversations the idea came up that was just too good to not do. While we still had a year before we left, we decided that this could be used to our advantage: we would both get to see the full effects as they unfolded, and would evade punishment as it would be blamed on the students that were leaving. The dastardly plan was to create a piece of artwork on the front lawn. Being highly sensible, mature students of an all boys school, the subject of the art piece was never in any doubt.

One maths lesson later (the actual work being cast aside in an unusual show of enthusiasm for geometry) we managed to calculate the appropriate dimensions and therefore the surface area of grass that would need to be killed. Sainsbury's was visited and enough weed killer to kill 50 times the calculated area of grass was procured. The mission was all set and ready to go.

We returned that night. While a few of us mixed the weedkiller with water, someone scaled the security fencing, climbed up the side of the tech block and turned the PIR on the security light to face the wall. By this time the rest of us were ready. Some took up watch positions, whilst others created the actual artwork. Nails and string were used to mark out the outline and the weed killer was applied. We went home happy in the knowledge that the mission had been accomplished without a hitch.

The library happened to be on the first floor and had windows overlooking the front lawn. Over the course of the next week or so, it was periodically invaded by a dozen or so teenagers running in, laughing at a slightly yellowing patch on the lawn then running back out. After a while the reason for this became slowly more obvious.

The caretakers first plan to return the lawn to its former glory was to simply get some blokes from the council to mow a rectangle around it to the mud, then replant it and let it all grow back. He had not accounted for the amount of weed killer used. The artwork slowly reappeared, this time a bare dirt cdc where before there had been a yellowed grass cdc. His plan B was brought into action- dig up the grass and re-turf aforementioned rectangle. Lets just say that pathclear applied at 50 times the recommended concentration doesn't give up that easily.

After a few months of making it more and more obvious, he finally succeeded. This was managed by digging up and replacing not only the turf, but also the mud underneath.

We thought that it was all over, but little did we know of the Microsoft plane flying silently overhead.

A couple of years later a story suddenly appeared in the local paper. Being a teenager, I was of course invincible and keen to get my 15 minutes of fame; I decided that I might as well phone them up and give them an interview. The next day I was on page three of the local rag, with a picture of my massive cock.

The police did eventually phone me up and arrange a convenient time to arrest me. After a few hours, that consisted mainly of the police and my legal aid solicitor cracking knob gag after knob gag, I was officially reprimanded- a stern looking sergeant sat me down and told what I had done was very naughty and I was not to do it again.

The thing that still makes it for me is that it got into one of the most distant newspapers possible: the Sydney Morning Herald
(madsporkmurderer, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:09, 1 reply)

Bellemoor?
It's a wonder you can write, dear boy! I remember the story in the rag. Good work.

A Spud.
(Tighthead, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 8:29, closed)