The Law of the Playground
the letter c
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An intense and moving game for two people. One to stand with their back towards the other, who would recite the following whilst rythmically punching him in the back:

'Mummy's dying, Baby crying
Concentration!
Concentration!
Feel the knife (punch) in your back, feel the blood dripping down (mimicked with fingers)
Concentration!
Concentration!'

This could carry on for up to about half an hour with varying additional verses. By the end your back would be numb and covered in bruises, but more significantly, your soul would be damaged beyond repair.
approved Jul 23 2006, submitted Jul 14 2006 by Mary Woozley
There was an additional twist: After four or five verses, when you sense your subjects mental defences have been suitably weakened, suddenly switch to:

"You're on top of a tall building... AND YOU FALL OFF!!"

This line was accompanied by a violent forward shove. If, as was hoped, the victim's imagination had momentarily gotten the better of them, this sudden image would induce, at least a two-second show of shrieking and thrashing about on the ground, and, at best, a lifelong struggle with depression and psychosis.
approved Jul 23 2006, submitted Jul 18 2006 by Trip Fontaine
Dewy Gibbon, the dedicated onanist, ended up in the same class as me at sixth form college. In a unilateral bonding session, he decided to tell me more of his one-man sexploits.
He told me that he enjoyed wanking wearing a condom, as it was 'practice for the real thing'. But you had to be careful, as johnnies didn't always flush away down the loo.
His dad once found one of Dewy's spunk filled rubbers floating in the bog, and to spare his son's blushes, he fished it and put it in the bin.
Unfortunately, Dewy's mum then found it and demanded of her husband an explanation. To save his own skin, Dewy's dad grassed him up and Dewy had to face his parents, and explain that he wasn't having sex, but just poshing it around the house at every possible opportunity.
But it doesn't end there. It should, but it doesn't. Dewy went on to say that we couldn't be sure that he hadn't left floating johnnies in his grandmother's house.
I don't know what's more disturbing;
- an old woman poking at a floating, spunky sheath
- the fact that Dewy, on hearing that he was going to visit his grandmother, had grabbed a condom and said "this calls for a wank!"
approved Oct 13 2004, submitted Oct 13 2004 by anonymous user
A class of 15 year olds were waiting for French. The teacher had a reputation for a certain gayness; hand gestures, vocal lilt, being a French teacher - all conspired to colour him gay.
Gays being fundamentally unreliable, he was late for one lesson, presumably having been distracted by the new handbag shop in town. Five minutes into the lesson he burts through the door, huffing and especially puffing, and pants "Sorry, lads. Cock up my end."
approved Sep 12 2005, submitted Aug 16 2005 by Ben Crouch
"But I SUCK at oral!" complained Alexandra Cooper, the day before the oral portion of our German test. Mr. Keenan decided to commiserate with her while using her own slang to make her feel more at ease. Or something.

"Yes, I've always, uh, 'sucked' at oral too, but..."

The rest of his sentence was drowned out as the inevitable hilarity ensued.
approved Sep 14 2005, submitted Sep 13 2005 by Alice Smith
After a lengthy motivational cum bollocking lecture, our American maths teacher told us, in all earnesty, "Yeah, I know I ride you guys pretty hard sometimes."
approved Sep 22 2006, submitted Jun 27 2006 by D T
A couple of the Set 1 GCSE Maths class popped over to our Set 2 class one day, in order to tell us that our teacher, an awkward, sartorially challenged man, was "a bender".
They did this with black marker pen in capitals on every one of a stack of about forty textbooks, and then legged it and left us to suffer. Cue the head of maths, possibly from the Middle East somewhere, shouting in his Borat-esque accent that "That man has had more women than all of you have had hot dinners!" I didn't know where to put my face.
approved Jun 14 2007, submitted Dec 31 2006 by Struff Bunstridge
I didn't see David Widden from the age of 8 to 15. When I did see him, I amused myself by following him around and saying his name.
He was fucking bricking it after a while, and the look of confused terror on his squinty-eyed little face still makes me laugh.
I should really get a life and something more interesting to do, but only if David gets some decent eyes first.
approved Jan 18 2003, submitted Dec 18 2002 by Dan Wakely
Just as we were wondering why there had been no submissions referencing Blighty's favourite break-time competitive game, along comes this nostalgic tale-with-a-twist from Rayner. If any readers over the age of 60 would care to respond, feel free, and send us a picture of you in your school cap and shorts - Conor
Every autumn, we would bombard the local horse-chestnut trees with missiles in order to amass huge collections of the shiny brown nuts. These would then be stored in shoeboxes or biscuit tins until they all grew stinky black mould and our mums threw them out. Conkers would never, ever be played.
I can only assume that conkers were collected because of vaguely-remembered stories from Grandfathers of playground games of yore. In those days, they would sometimes pickle or bake their conkers to harden them.
On the one occasion Conkers was actually played, the vinegar-sodden little fuckers would disintegrate after about three blows.
approved Jul 12 2006, submitted Jun 25 2006 by Name Withheld
Connor Hugh was the gayyest boy in the class, so I wrote a song about him. It went;
Connor Hugh,
Connor Hugh,
He loves to put his cock in poo.
approved Jun 4 2006, submitted Jun 4 2006 by Peter Lynch
Shit but traditional time-waster of a game played with pens, strips of paper and as many people as possible (pointless if played with two, heartbreaking if played alone). The idea was that everyone started off by writing someone's name at the top, folding it over so that the next person couldn't see it, then passing it along. The next person would add a random sentence beginning with the agreed word, usually 'went', 'met' or 'had', occasionally 'shagged' or 'sucked'.

This went on until the strips were full, usually dictated by the thick kid with the huge writing, and the hilarious stories that you'd created were unfolded and read aloud. Most of the time, sadly, they were not the dada-ist flights of whimsy one would expect. They were either total bollocks that either made no sense, or contained endless variations on the same sentence from kids with fuck all imagination, like "went to shag a prostitute!!!" or "had a big shit on the toilet!!!"

William Burroughs did not write Naked Lunch after a game of Consequences.
approved Dec 11 2003, submitted Dec 11 2003 by Leigh L.
Or, more specifically, her name, his name, where they met, what he said, what she said, and what happened - the 'consequences'.
Here are two example games which pay homage to the hilarious differences between boys and girls. Like a proper stand-up comedian!
girl's gameboy's game
his namebradhitler
her namekatiemrs. hitler
where they metin a meadowup your bum
what he said"i think you're special""give us a biscuit"
what she said"i am riding a pony""who farted?"
consequences"they giggled behind their palms and secretly promised never to leave each other""they turned into zombies and bit each other's faces off and went to a fancy dress party as each other"


approved Feb 2 2004, submitted Dec 12 2003 by Name Withheld, Jon Blyth
Another story-generating game involves getting someone to try to tie a strand of her own hair in a knot with just one hand. While they try, you write down their exclamations of triumph, frustration or intense concentration: "It's so HARD!" "Why am I doing this again?" "I almost got it!" "Arrrrgh." and the like. These are then read back aloud as "what she said last night while having sex".
approved Feb 11 2005, submitted Nov 24 2004 by Name Withheld
Aged 8, Ian claimed he caught asthma from me after a particularly bitter game of tag. I did not know, until recently, that asthma is not an contagious disease.
I like to imagine myself, grown up and knowlegeable, retrospectively putting him in his place with an arsenal of words like respiratory, non-communicable, and retrospectively.
As it was, I just apologised for giving him asthma.
approved Jun 19 2004, submitted Apr 16 2004 by The Boy Tucker
Biology teacher, Mrs Bennison gave us this frankly forgettable mnemonic to help us remember the sections of the spinal column: Cervical, Thoracic, Lumbar, Sacral and Coccyx.
Cue a voice from the back of the class providing us with one that was much easier to remember: "Can Tony Lick Susan's Cunt?"
approved Apr 5 2006, submitted Feb 21 2006 by henry the thirst
The reactivity series of metals (potassium, sodium, calcium, magnesium, aluminium, zinc, iron, lead, hydrogen, copper, silver, gold) may be rendered mnenomically as 'Pauline's Smelly Cunt Made Andrew's Zoo In Leeds' Hippopotamus Catch Syphilis and Gangrene.
Effective? The co-author (my mate Colin) is now a professional metallurgist with a fucking doctorate and everything. True.
approved Apr 11 2006, submitted Apr 10 2006 by Name Withheld
The 5 layers of the atmosphere are: Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, Thermosphere and Exosphere.

I remember those because of a great mnemonic: The Straight Man's Testicles Exploded.

Jamie says:
Are we having fun yet?
approved Jul 23 2006, submitted Apr 17 2006 by Name Withheld
Ah, the power of mnemonics. Two I remember are:
A Penis Standing Tall Requires Deep Penetration
and
Angela Lansbury's Cunt Requires Fertile Men's Pumping Spunk.
Obviously I can't remember what they were mnemonics for. Probably something dull about chemistry.
approved Apr 20 2006, submitted Apr 18 2006 by rob smith
The phrase poofs like bum love all afternoon allows school-children - or, if I'm being honest, army medics - to remember the parts of the left side of the heart. It also reminds you to be extra-diligent at lunchtime, when gay men are like Gremlins in a swimming pool.
approved Oct 17 2011, submitted Apr 20 2006 by Tony Green
Tiny electrical resistors are colour-coded so that you can tell each one's, er, resistance. They're too small to write numbers on, you see.
Our teacher, a right twat, had the nmemonic 'Billy Brown Relaxes On Your Gym But Values Good Whisky' for the black, brown, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, grey and white stripes.
We came up with the infinitely more memorable (and substantially more racist) 'Black Bastards Rape Our Young Girls But Violet Gives Willingly'.
Actual number of engineers produced from that class: zero.
approved Jul 12 2006, submitted Jun 28 2006 by Dale Taylor
A "CAST" diagram consists of Cosine, All, Sine and Tangent arranged in a little box with "SA" on the top and "TC" on the bottom. I've forgetten what this is actually for, but our Maths teacher, Shabaz Ahmed, taught us the mnemonic All Students Try Cannabis (reading anti-clockwise from A).

Despite this, I'll always remember it as Ahmed Snatches Tiny Children.
approved Aug 16 2006, submitted Jul 23 2006 by Dunc Cameron
Our tech teacher taught us the colour coding of electrical resistors using the mnemonic 'Bye-bye Roger, off you go, Birmingham via Great Western'. A poignant farewell, hinting at a moving background story - "Brokeback Mountain" set in the West Country. Or perhaps the Ohm Counties. I didn't feel it was my place to ask.
approved Jan 17 2007, submitted Jan 15 2007 by Ollie Wells
Not having yet learned words to express the merits of an object/person/pop star, etc, only-six-months-in-London Sabil would exclaim excitedly, "Wow, creeping camels, man!" "Dancing baby baby!" and my all-time favourite, "Play rock and roll and suck it up your cock!"
Somehow, using the words "cool" or "smart" never had the same appeal.
approved Nov 11 2005, submitted Sep 8 2005 by Horrible Ives
Had a useful double meaning. As well as its common sensical meaning, it also stood for 'crazy on old ladies'.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Steven Stanley
What a schoolmate was said to have joined when he discarded his Game Boy, signed up for driving lessons, and started sneaking off to the pub at night with other cool-gang members instead of meeting the rest of us near the spooky old house around lunchtime on Saturday. Used with the jealous sneer.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Paul Equinox Collins
Hugh Simms and Michael Torbay were the two coolest guys in our year, but had radically different styles. Simms was a cocky, stocky little cunt with a short fuse and a cruel talent for mimicry. Torbay was more your aesthetic dandy type, enigmatic and aloof.

They were pretty well neck-and-neck in the coolness stakes, until the day in Year 9 that Simms saw Torbay getting ready for a shower after gym, and noticed that instead of grabbing his t-shirt by the collar and dragging it off across his head, Torbay crossed his arms, delicately grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it gently up & over in a rolling motion, like a fucking girl.

Once this got around, Simms' #1 Coolest Guy status was undisputed. Not only was Torbay revealed to be a girly undresser, but the deeper implication was that Simms could draw the comparison because he himself had witnessed a girl getting her gear off.

Game set and match, Tor-GAY.
approved Oct 21 2011, submitted Oct 21 2011 by Simon Mantle
A new student arrived at our school. She was called Asamara, she was from Somalia. Being the only black girl in school, there was endless speculation amongst all the boys as to what her beavoir would look like. One of our number, who claimed to have worldly sophistication, declared that it would be "All pink and orange inside, just like a coral garden." Asmara subsequently became known as "Coral Garden" and invites, (for some inexplicable reason in a southern American Negro accent), of "Come inside my sweet Coral Garden honey!" were constantly thrown at her. Asamara at first used to smile graciously at us - until some other girl told her what we were on about. She stopped smiling, then. I felt bad for years, because I was involved in her being dubbed Coral Garden. Years later I started seeing her on the train on the way to work. She was really friendly, and I thought I was on my way to the garden until she told me she was getting married soon.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Davern White
1976, when teachers still had coloured tissues pushed up their paisley sleeves. I was 6, and we had a lady come and give us a special talk about musical instruments.
At this juncture i should point out that my mother and father expected blood on my pages and had already crammed as much prehistoric knowledge into my still hardening skull as they could.
Anyway, this woman, probably called Mrs Fuller or something showed us slides of the very first musical instruments, up popped this image and she said, "this is the very first piano" I put up my grubby mitt and said, "actually the first keyboard instument was called a virginals", to which she replied, "Aren't we precocious". I said, "no, merely correct."
For my correctness i was made to sit in the 'entrance hall' at play time for about three days.
approved Dec 13 2002, submitted Dec 12 2002 by Name Withheld
The Assembly mantra of our head of year, Mr Farquarson. In a blatant case of not listening to one's own advice he was found dead in his car on a mountain in the Lake District.

Tom MacPhearson was suspended a few days later for finding an exhaust pipe on the school field and asking the Bursar if it was Mr Farquarson's.
approved Apr 24 2005, submitted Nov 23 2004 by Name Withheld
A cautionary tale to all those embarking on important modular exams. Upon the announcement of: "Last few seconds, finish what you're writing", DO NOT loudly sing the coundown tune: Do-do do-do dudududoo BOOOOOOO.
This contravenes the pre-specified exam conditions rules, as I was reminded whilst my testpaper was torn to pieces in front of my very eyes.
approved Aug 12 2006, submitted Aug 9 2006 by Tom Cutts
Sonny Moston was a hard bastard, who, even at the age of nine, would not think twice before ramming your head between the bars of the climbing frame. His particular punishment for me was more simple - an endless labelling of myself as 'gay'.
In a move that still shocks me to this day, I decided that the only way I could end this torture was to 'become gay', thereby somehow negating any further comments. Why call someone gay if everyone knows they are?
I announced my new found sexuality to Sonny by kissing my best mate David on the cheek. David ran away, but Sonny remained. I then 'came on' to him, by approaching him and making 'kissy' noises with my mouth. This was all too much for Sonny. He ran away and cried - and never came near me again.
Interestingly enough, David, my then unwilling partner in gayness is just about to graduate as a fashion designer. Sonny's sexuality remains unknown.
approved Jun 11 2005, submitted Jun 7 2005 by matronboy ngggg.
Country Fayre was a house that had been converted into a cob shop. It was run by an immensely fat woman, who was given moral support from the back room by her family. You never saw the family, but the noises they made were unnerving evidence of their existence. It seemed like the fat woman lumbered from room to room collecting the various ingredients, then presented it to you in a white paper bag. The cobs were very nice indeed, but trade suffered from the widely held belief that she buttered the cobs by rubbing them against her armpits.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Jon Blyth
Victim was approached and asked: 'Would you rather run a mile, jump a stile or eat a country pancake?' Hilarity ensued if the answer was the latter (as it usually was). A country pancake is a cowpat, y'see. Sadly if anybody gave the first or second answer, the riposte was not quite as cutting: 'Er, go on then.'
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Iain Mason