The Law of the Playground
the letter m
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If you are a teacher named Mr. O'Brian, it's not a good idea to introduce yourself to a class by telling them that the name 'Mr. No Brain' is not funny as you write 'Mr. No Brain' on the blackboard.
approved Jan 26 2003, submitted Jan 22 2003 by anonymous user
Similarly, the ludicrously diminutive Mr Hughes told his form class on the first day NOT to call him Mr Huge, as it really, really wasn't funny. The result was as predictable as night following day.
approved Jun 27 2005, submitted Jun 23 2005 by Em Bird
"My name is Mr. Reese. Don't call me grease!", snapped Mr Reese one day. To be honest, the thought had never occurred to us, so it was good of him to make us aware of the possibilities.

More than earning himself a new nickname, Mr Reese's outburst had such a satisfying rhythm to it that it quickly became a popular playground chant.
approved Oct 23 2011, submitted Oct 21 2011 by anonymous user
A non-racist version of Hello Pakistani featuring the inexpensive adventures of Mrs Smith's hole. And a jam roll.

Hello Mrs Smith
Can I have a penny whiff
of your hole
(sniff sniff)
Jam roll
(sniff sniff)
Does it smell
(sniff sniff)
Faaaaaaakinell

approved Feb 11 2013, submitted Nov 16 2012 by Barry Bingle
Despite her heroic name, Mrs Power had a gammy arm and a bonky leg, and fell over on her first day. We used to make her cry.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Stephen Bray
ms.
In the time pre-post-feminism, this was the title of choice for some female teachers who refused to be identified on the basis of their marital status.
Roughly translates as too old to be single, too dowdy to be married. Whispered accusations of lesbianism would follow.
approved Sep 25 2003, submitted Sep 17 2003 by Jon N
The mistaken belief (aged 7-8) that making babies involved nothing more than urinating into a girls vagina. In our school, vaginas were referred to only as 'muffs', as referring to a muff as a 'vagina' meant you were probably a girl yourself, or gay.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Nick
Weird kind of tie-in here. My friend Stuart and I used to call weeing into muffs a 'Golden Eggyolk' - we didnt think that was how babies were made, but rather used it as an example of how filthy an imaginary porn film that we didnt watch was to impress our friends.
He now lives in the Czech Republic, but we still ask each other if we've given any golden eggyolks recently whenever we speak.
Has this ever happened in real life? Does this practice have a name? (other than golden eggyolk obviously).
approved Dec 17 2002, submitted Dec 17 2002 by Harry Nice
mum
What not to call ones chemistry teacher in class, or any other time for that matter. Unless, by some strange quirk of fate she is your mum, but that would make you her uncle or something.
approved Sep 24 2003, submitted Sep 8 2003 by Nath Dogg
Another situation in which you should never shout mum - and there are many - is when you have been stung by a bee. And you are in your shorts, during a P.E. lesson. And you are running towards your teacher, who is a man.
Although the hysteria will get everyone sent to the changing rooms early, you will never convince anyone that your mother isn't a big hairy man.
approved Apr 14 2005, submitted Jan 12 2004 by anonymous user
I didn't say "Mum", but after being pushed over by another kid outside the school gates, I walked all the way home, bawling my eyes out with my hand up in the air. Kudos minus infinity.
approved Nov 9 2005, submitted Oct 31 2005 by Z Davis
The similarity between his roar in the opening credits of thundercats and the cry of an enraged window-licker was uncanny. He even looked a bit like a mong with that wild look in his eyes.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Dan Wakely
My (technically correct, you'll note) answer to the question "Where do hamsters come from?" in a Primary School Geography lesson. Had I not been watching a dog running outside, I'd have known the answer she was looking for was 'The Sahara Desert'. Hilarity, as you can well imagine, ensued.
approved Nov 16 2004, submitted Nov 10 2004 by Name Withheld
The not-common-enough practice of going into a graveyard and digging up a freshly decomposing corpse. It is essential that the corpse is in a certain stage of decay, were the organs have liquified and mixed with bodily fluids to form a fleshy soup. This "soup" ferments to produce gases that inflate the stomach of the corpse. Once such a corpse is found the munging can begin. A coin toss determines who does what. The loser of the toss places his mouth over the genitals or anus of the corpse (personal preference), while the winner proceeds to jump on the gas inflated stomach. The pressure should cause a fleshy explosion in the mouth of the loser and any deposits should be consumed (simple etiquette).
(Real, or hardly? You decide, dear reader Ed (Log))
(Jesus suffering fuck, Log, are "Slave Boy" and I the only people to watch South Park? *cough*ripoff*cough -Susan)
approved May 16 2003, submitted Dec 16 2002 by Slave Boy Forced to Shave Peni
This was a kind of 'Tag' game, played by hurling a tennis ball at someone's head from shockingly short range to make them 'it'.
As throws from behind were perfectly legal, it was quite possible not to realise you were playing until you felt a stunning blow to your occipital.
It was soon decided that tennis balls simply weren't murderous enough, and so they were replaced firstly by cricket balls, which themselves were succeded (on account of not having 'enough corners') by large cubes of solid pine stolen from the woodwork room.
Luckily, the game was outlawed before someone took the decision that lumps of timber simply weren't 'Ninja throwing star-y enough'.
approved Jul 13 2004, submitted Mar 17 2004 by Andy Mansh
The climax of Murder Ball - for the loser - was often the 'Tunnel of Death'. Everyone playing would stand facing a wall, with their arms forming the roof of the tunnel. The loser would then have to crawl through while everyone kicked the shit out of him, while somberly intoning 'Tunnel of Death, Tunnel of Death, Tunnel of Death'.
No-one ever died in the Tunnel of Death. Some wished they had.
approved Jul 13 2005, submitted May 19 2005 by Ste Chainey
We played a variant called "Roller Balloon", due to a very tenuous similarity to Rollerball.

Basically, you all sit in a circle and pat a balloon to each other. The person who allows the balloon to touch the floor gets the shit kicked out of them by everyone else. This game is interesting more for its combination of the frankly rather gay activity of patting a balloon with ultra-butch macho hitting.

Can also be played with a kinder egg.
approved Nov 13 2005, submitted Nov 12 2005 by Name Withheld
(high pavement, 1990-1992) An unusual figure of fun. The mockery was based around the fact that he was getting driving lessons from his mum's boyfriend, but had to pay for them himself. More than that, when we asked him how many lessons he had taken, the number was nearly 100. To us, this was a clear indication that Murray's mother was using her son as a source of income to keep her in sex and drugs. This fuelled a fantasy world based around their abuse of Murray, in which he was made to stand outside their bedroom door while they had sex, because he was hungry and all the food was in there with them. Occasionally they would slip him out a sandwich, but never enough to stop the hunger. The culmination of this mockery was the "Aspects of Murray" collection, which was cut up bits of paper with doodles which made every facet of his life plainly sad and revolting. He never saw the Aspects of Himself - we made sure of that. We may have been pointlessly malicious, but we didn't want to destroy the poor bastard. Well, not until he searches for his own name on the internet, maybe.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Jon Blyth
In the days before multimedia, there was BBC schools radio. "Music And Movement" was their public service to avoid P.E. teachers going into meltdown under the strain of ever having to have a single fucking idea, ever. Jonathan Cohen-type piano music and, for P.E., strangely soothingly-voiced routines of the "I'm a tree, I'm a tree, be a tree with me" kidney. The sort of things you could do without needing special P.E. kit, which is why to this day Debussy-type plinky-plonking takes me to the scary visual place of Paula Marshall in her tights the colour of diarrhoea. Manufactured in that colour, I mean. But even so.
approved Feb 6 2003, submitted Jan 30 2003 by Roy Watson
The Glockenspiel Beater : This weapon can be thrown with pin point accuracy to contact with a desired part of a victim's anatomy with almost no effort. It is one of the subtler weapons as it can easily be launched by a nonchalant flick of the wrist whilst the assailant casually stares in the other direction. Beater throwing is optimal good fun if the head of the beater can be removed and thrown independently from the stick thus giving a two-fold attack strategy.
The Coconut Shells : These are for your more tactical assailant. They can either be used for the basic 'trap someone's fingers in them as they slap shut at 47 mph' gag. OR, for the slightly more adventurous attacker, put one coconut shell over some unsuspecting victim's ear and hit with a beater (see above) until victim has perforated ear-drum.
The Xylophone Keys : Hard, metal, heavy, sharp. So many possibilities, so little time.
The Snare Drum Brush : Most popular of all. This tightly bound weapon consisting of half horse-hair and half wire is most effective when drawn agonisingly slowly over naked flesh - popular with the 'fat kid' bully network.
approved Dec 10 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Kerry Devitt
Maracas were the hand-grenades of the music room arsenal. Best launched from the upper platform in the drama studio, maracas would explode on contact with floor or head, scattering the enemy with small white pellets and imaginary gobbets of flaming napalm.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Paul Equinox Collins
Sheet music: although not a regular weapon, at our school a boy was sent to hospital after the kid who was handing out sheet music decided to just throw it at the class, and cut the boy's eyeball open.
approved Dec 15 2002, submitted Dec 14 2002 by Dupli Citous
The piano, if left on castors, can serve many purposes. At its simplest, it can crush people against the wall, causing anything between a winding and organ damage. Or use it to barricade the music room door, for a session of uninterrupted violence.
Get it out into the corridor, and you can use it to smash open lockers, and batter down the doors of locked store rooms, allowing you to gather pots of glue, paint and detergent.
Get it outside... then you can sit on top of it, and roll into an adventure written by Roald Dahl. You might need the stuff you robbed from the store rooms to thwart the wicked headmaster.
approved Sep 29 2004, submitted Jan 18 2004 by Andy Magee, Jon Blyth
Timpani Beater: During a fit of aimless classroom fidgeting I slid a timpani beater down into a cardboard tube so that its round head stopped it going all the way through. Mid-conversation with a slightly dim girl, I absent-mindedly flicked it towards her, and the drumstick shot out of the tube and hit her perfectly in the eye.

Fortunately I escaped punishment, as she screamed that I had hit her with a "trombone stick", and everyone was then too busy laughing for there to be any chance of repercussions.
approved Apr 18 2005, submitted Oct 16 2004 by Mark D
hur hur "re-percussions"

Please write in if you spot any other unintentional punnage on the Law of the Playground. What a hoot!
approved Jun 27 2005, submitted Jun 17 2005 by Dan B
The Guff Trumpet: Take one trumpet, guff with vigour into the horn end, and "play" it at other pupils. Be careful not to inhale.
approved Aug 1 2005, submitted Aug 1 2005 by Alana S
We used to have a music teacher called Mr. Hewit who looked like a ginger Art Garfunkle and pointed at the hymn line on the overhead projector with his middle finger. How wude!
approved Dec 12 2005, submitted Dec 12 2005 by anonymous user
We had a substitute music teacher who reputedly got sucked off at college by a well known opera singer whose name sounds a bit like 'Weslie Parrot'.
- That's enough - LOTP Lawyers
approved Dec 19 2005, submitted Dec 15 2005 by Gilbey Momerath
During assembly we were ordered to sing hymns, but since everyone hates singing, especially hymns, Mr Duckworth walked up and down the aisle that separated two blocks of chairs to ensure that everyone was singingk, and enjoying themselves.
We were later told by the physics teacher that people only sang when Mr Duckworh passed them, thereby creating a "musical sine wave" as he walked up and down the aisle, growing increasingly angry at the fact no-one was enjoying singing hymns.
approved Jun 24 2005, submitted Jun 21 2005 by red andy
A proper response to a stupid comment. Tongue pressed into the bottom lip in front of the teeth and the phrase 'muu, by dabe's .....'. If the need is great, you may finish with 'and I'm a spack', said in the same manner. Darren: What does 'wank' mean? Me: Muu, my names Darren, and I'm a spack. See also ehhrruuuuu, gay.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Rocky Shore Pervert
A game to play when you're bored. It looks like you're really interested in what the teacher has to say. But in reality, you're just waiting for him to say "put your hands up" so that you can all mutter "my arse" afterwards.

With a good enough mental library of double entendres, just about anything the teacher says can be followed with "my arse", with hilarity inevitably ensuing.

Oh, and Mr Jones, once you've realised just how immature your class really is, moaning 'oh come on...' isn't really going to help matters.
approved Sep 25 2005, submitted Aug 4 2005 by Davy .
My Aunt Nellie had a hole in her belly
And a hole in the biscuit tin
She was sitting on the grass
With her finger up her arse
And her tits going ding-a-ling-a-ling.

If anybody has any theories as to where the biscuit tin fits in to all this, I'd love to know.
approved Sep 26 2003, submitted Sep 26 2003 by Jon N
The biscuit tin is where she keeps her biscuits, I should wager.
approved Oct 9 2003, submitted Oct 9 2003 by Name Withheld
Oh, Richard Irons. People like you deserved all the abuse they suffered at school. *All* of it.
approved Oct 23 2003, submitted Oct 10 2003 by Nick Hunt
Another song may explain what the biscuit tin was for;
Oli oli oli,
Put your tits in the trolley,
and your balls in the biscuit tin

And i can't remember the rest.
approved Oct 23 2003, submitted Oct 20 2003 by griff .
This variation of the Aunt Nellie rhyme is for a man called Mike, and dispenses entirely with the frivolous whimsy of the biscuit tin.
Mike, Mike
Does your mother ride a bike?
With her finger up her ring
Ding a ling ling.
Is it the bike going ding a ling ling, or is that the noise Mike's mum makes when she sticks her finger up her ring? We never found out.
approved Aug 30 2007, submitted Nov 29 2005 by Medibot Evans
Maths teacher Mr Rawlinson used to throw the board duster at us with unerring accuracy if we were misbehaving.

However, for particularly unruly acts, he kept a huge book called "My Catholic Faith" which he dragged out and whacked us on the arse with.
approved Apr 17 2003, submitted Apr 15 2003 by - supermoving -
The definitive version of this hardy perennial primary school classic follows:

My friend Billy had a ten-foot willy
And he showed it to the girl next door.
She thought it was a snake
So she hit it with a rake
And now it's only 2 foot 4.


In some areas, the willy was left at a rather more impressive 5'4", which would have been of little consolation to Billy, who would have suffered considerable rake trauma and the loss of his helmet.
approved Sep 24 2003, submitted Sep 19 2003 by Sammy Potatoes