The Law of the Playground
the letter b
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Racist song, presumably sung by Africans to Indians. Shame on your batty, 'Cos your batty smells of curry. Let me smell (sniff sniff) Bloody hell!
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Pete Moore
Also consider "Shame on your batty when your batty get fresh". Not sure what it meant, but rolled nicely off the tongue (not that an actual batty has ever rolled off, or on, my tongue you understand - that would be hideous).
approved Nov 17 2003, submitted Nov 11 2003 by Dust Sheets
In my primary school it was the slightly less racially motivated:
Please Mrs Murray,
Does your bum smell of curry?
Let me smell (sniff, sniff),
Bloody hell!

The sniff wasn't pronounced, you just inhaled sharply through the nostrils. We had a teacher with the surname Fettis; his bum may have smelt of lettuce. Which isn't much of an insult, really.
approved Nov 18 2003, submitted Nov 11 2003 by Dust Sheets
A weeble-shaped physics teacher with a voice as camp as John Inman. His trials included, but were not limited to;
  • Simulation of gas leaks by blowing through a bic biro, leading to regular evacuations of the class.
  • When told to stand outside, it was essential that you actually went and stood outside the school and wave at him through the window.
  • Whistling in class until he ordered the whistling boy to get out. Then, every boy would stand up and stand outside the school and wave through the window.

Baz Bucklow has since died of a heart attack.
approved Apr 28 2003, submitted Apr 12 2003 by Adam Brown
Ultra lame girl group formed to counter "The Freds" (where everyone in the group was called Fred) and the less-cool "Hermans" (same deal). No girls were in either club, so they decided to counter with "The Be-Yourselves," which was laughably pathetic, really. One guy hawked up a bunch of snot onto a piece of paper, wrote "The Be-Yourselves" with an arrow pointing to it, then showed it to the head girl of the group. She cried.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Doug Simpson
What fun it must have been to write your name in shit on the toilet wall of infant school! And yet how sad that you spelled it "bean" instead of "dean".
approved Apr 1 2004, submitted Mar 24 2004 by anonymous user
A simple game. Push all the desks together in the middle of the room, close all the blinds and doors, and jam chairs in all the gaps at the sides of the desks and stuff.
Nominate the beast and give him a heavy ruler. The beast begins captured under the desks. Everyone else (the beastkeepers) would try to stop him escaping by holding the desks down, all the chairs in the way, and so forth.
When the beast finally did escape, he'd run around hitting everyone until we got bored.
approved Apr 25 2003, submitted Apr 16 2003 by griff .
It may not sound like a good idea, but when I did it, nothing happened. Probably because, living in Bromley, there were no gangsters.
approved Nov 4 2003, submitted Nov 3 2003 by anonymous user
Game played with two teams of four or five. One team would pick a password or phrase, and then peg it off. The other team would hunt down the opposing individuals, catch them, and beat the password and shit out of them. Two matching passwords from two (usually badly hurt) individuals, and the game was won.
Often phrases like "fuck your mum" were chosen by the running team - knowing that the weakest and saddest members of the team would get caught first. The only way they would therefore be able to stop the beating is by shouting fuck your mum at the attackers, which obviously sounded more like a spirited defiance, and left you five times likelier to get your nose broken.
approved Feb 26 2003, submitted Feb 5 2003 by Jeff Seaward
Also the name given to a retaliatory attack following a fart. A cry of 'beats!' would be the call to arms for those nearby (the fartees) to quickly deliver painful blows to the farter's face, chest and lower torso, and so the previously disrupted moral equilibrium of the playground was restored (although the amount of 'beats' were probably never entirely proportional to the offensiveness of the fart).

More devious students would carry out controlled, easily transferable farts in the company of an individual for whom they concealed intense and sinister hatred. This would allow for a beating to be administered without revealing any dark, evil intentions/repressed sexual feelings to the victim.
approved Nov 12 2005, submitted Nov 10 2005 by anonymous user, matronboy ngggg.
In Croesyceiliog School during the 60s and 70s retalliation for guffs took the form of shouting "Sixes!" and raining blows down on the farter. UNLESS, that is, he or she had immunised themself from the violence by shouting "Taxi!" immediately post-chuff. Insofar as I can remember, said protection was strictly observed, although no taxis ever actually turned up. Tuh, taxis, eh?
approved Nov 19 2005, submitted Nov 19 2005 by Eleanor Matthews
As God is all-powerful, the reason for anything bad ever happening to anyone has to be because God wants them to suffer - this is plain logic. All got a bit out of hand when a lad called Tim Tranter died of a heart attack and someone shouted that it was because "God Hated him." Come to think of it, that was last week. How distressing.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Graham Kett
The justification for being He-Man when an impromptu Masters of the Universe game broke out. The key would be made of lego, which would mean anyone could have the key given 30 seconds.
approved Mar 10 2003, submitted Mar 2 2003 by Pink Widdler
A game / pastime for seven year olds based loosely on the Ghostbusters phenomenon. Find a girl and drag her the field to show her a bumble bee on the grass. She would become scared. Sensing her fear, we would shout Beebusters! and jump with both feet onto the bee.
Having been saved, the girl was then allowed to go back to doing handstands against a wall.
approved Mar 28 2003, submitted Mar 19 2003 by Burt Burton
A: Would you rather eat beef stew or poo?
B: Beef Stew
A: What if the beef stew was made with poo, would you rather eat the beef stew or just the poo?
B: Beef Stew
A: You want to eat beef stew made with poo!!!
approved Feb 22 2003, submitted Feb 18 2003 by Name Withheld
"CAN YOU BEES?" screamed Henry as he sat on fellow special needster Alan, "CAN YOU BEES?"
approved Feb 10 2005, submitted Nov 30 2004 by jon james
Punchy tune composed apropos of nothing, by Jason La Torre. The lyrics ran thus: The beetroot song, da da la da da da, The beetroot song, da da la da da da The beetroot song, da da la da da da, The beetroot song, da da la da da da, Eat the beetroot! Eat the beetroot! Eat the beetroot! It makes you turn...PINK! The song ended abruptly, and in curious triumph.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by SR Davidson
The highlight of a 1984 edition of the Acland Burghley secondary school's 'Weekly Bulletin' was the 2nd year football team being congratulated by the headmaster after a particular good cup run. The picture revealed an assortment of 13 year olds wearing Pringle diamond-cut pullovers, Lyle & Scott roll necks, and Farah's slacks looking for all the world like Brucie, Tarby, and friends at the Bob Hope memorial Pro-Celebrity Golf Tournament.
approved Apr 7 2006, submitted Apr 4 2006 by Derek Moseley
Take a Philips school atlas and find where you live on it. Show your friends what youre about to do. Bring your thumb down on your home town, and you should hear all your mates screaming with terror as a 50 mile wide thumb descends upon them and crushes them like red mites. Try gobbing on the map and hear them choke and drown. Best of all, turn round and fart all over the East Midlands.
approved Feb 18 2003, submitted Feb 13 2003 by shaun andover
Using the laser printing technologies available in some schools, it is relatively easy to print out fifteen life-sized copies of your French teacher's grinning face, and for the whole class to be wearing them when he enters the room.
If he says "that's a waste of resources", simply reply "what's a waste of resources, sir?"
approved Feb 11 2005, submitted Nov 19 2004 by The Boy Tucker
Many years before children became properly aware of childhood illness issues we were sat down by our teacher and told we 'have to be nice to Craig as he has something wrong with him'. This, naturally, led to much speculation as to what it actually was, until the conclusion was reached that he had been born without a cock. This established, following craig into the toilets to see what he pissed with became something of a group activity. In retrospect possibly the only thing wrong with Craig was the fact that he didn't lash out at the oggling cock-staring pervos in his class. We never did find out as he didn't come back to school after the summer holidays. Maybe he just filled up with piss and burst.
approved Aug 5 2005, submitted Aug 2 2005 by Tony Green
Our PE teacher often made everyone who was shit at football (me included) compete against the actual football team. It's never been clear to this day, what he was actually trying to achieve by this.
I remember one day, I made a woefully feeble yet heroic attempt at a goal, which was easily deflected by our opponents. Taking his job seriously, our captain explained to me about the taking part being rather more important than the winning.
My response to this was to run around the pitch, attacking members of the non-shit team with my bare fists, tears in my eyes and roaring at the top of my voice. It still hurts now. Hurts bad... So bad...
approved Feb 3 2006, submitted Jan 3 2006 by rob smith
This refers to the practice of playing at being a rock band in a rainy lunch hour in the art room. Using window poles as mike stands, scrubbing brushes as drumsticks, and so forth, we took the whole 'tennis racket/bedroom mirror' phenomenon to its logical conclusion when we actually invited some boys to watch our show. Drunk on celebrity, giddy with hormones, during the last song we decided to smash our 'gear' up a la The Who, causing untold damage to said window pole, some jamjars full of poster paint and Jason Miller's head. It was at this moment that the trendy art teacher showed up and - to our mind - reverted to facist type by sending us to the deputy head. Our potential punishment was as nothing to our sheer bloody embarassment when asked what we were doing. One of our band - I'd like to think it was me - muttered meekly 'we were just being The Who, sir'. The utter surrealism and fuckwittedness of this was such that the deputy head crumpled inwardly at the strain of not bursting out laughing and sent us away with some vague demands about clearing up the mess.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Lee Fisher
In my infant school, the standard punishment for being naughty was spending playtime facing the wall under a large and incredibly heavy Victorian brass bell. The inevitability of the bell falling down and striking Andrew Lynn's head was rendered less slapstick by the severe hospitalization that ensued. By the age of 13, Andrew was reading at a rudimentary level.
approved Jan 25 2003, submitted Jan 20 2003 by Peter Marshall