The Law of the Playground
the letter p
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I spent a lot of time making a poison pen letter to insult my ex-friend, even assembling the note from cut-out letters from the newspaper like they do on Miami Vice. Once I had posted it to my victim's house, it only took ten minutes for me to be caught, slapped round the head and made to apologize. Perhaps I shouldn't have waved to her mum as I posted the letter through the front door.
Anyway, my best friend made me do it.
approved Mar 15 2006, submitted Mar 13 2006 by anonymous user
Take a Jammy Dodger biscuit, put it on the edge of the table, whip out your dick, and take a polaroid of your member touching the biscuit.
Warning. This will not work with a regular camera because the lab will call the police and you will be arrested for fucking a nostalgic biscuit.
Take a packet of Jammy Dodgers into school. Offer them around, with assurance that they haven't been spat on. The second the biscuit is in their mouth, show them the Polaroid.
The photo is good for around three packets of Jammy Dodgers before word gets around that it's a joke. Or that you're the guy who puts his dick on Jammy Dodgers.
approved Oct 3 2003, submitted Oct 2 2003 by anonymous user
He'll certainly have a "JAMMY DODGER" after that.
Do you mean "Jammy TODGER?"
You fucked up the punchline! Hahaha! Your name's Bulmer. BELMER, MORE LIKE! BELLLLLMMMMMMMMMMM. - Mansh
approved Apr 15 2005, submitted Nov 1 2003 by Dave Bulmer
A term of abuse attached to any poor soul whose hormones were rapidly changing, causing the kind of rancid body odour that only teenage boys and tramps that sleep in humid climates can exude.
approved Apr 24 2005, submitted Feb 5 2004 by Name Withheld
Polling is very much like posting, in that it includes slamming a child's balls against something unforgiving. However, polling takes place on the top deck of a bus, and rather than having one single "post", towards which all your energies are focussed, you have around ten metal "poles". This allows for a much more chaotic sense of potentially-endless bollock agony.
  • Form a committee. Nominate a Pole Master and a Pole Greaser. All other committee members are muscle
  • Block the stairs to the lower deck. The Pole Master shouts Grease The Pole!
  • The Pole Master walks up the aisle, looking at each boy, smiling and rubbing the poles. His gaze falls upon the selected boy.
  • At the same time, the Pole Greaser has been polishing the poles with a cloth - once the child is selected, he announces The Pole Is Greased, Master
  • The selected is hoisted up, and has his bollocks slammed against the poles.
approved Jun 11 2005, submitted May 4 2005 by anonymous user
Acronym for pants off, legs open. A general term for a slapper.
Alternatively, penis out, legs open which is a general term for tediously drawn out foreplay.
approved May 2 2003, submitted Apr 1 2003 by anonymous user
Also an alternative name for a mag (qv), where the penis is so small that it could fit through the hole of the Polo Mint.
approved Sep 25 2003, submitted Aug 7 2003 by d s
The Polo Hole is the female equivalent. Can be said in the same way Kenny Everett's "Air Hair Lair" (sounding like a posh and camp "Oh, Hello"), to make "Pear Lair Hair-l".
Alternatively, just scream PURRRLLLEH HUUURRRRL.
approved Apr 23 2005, submitted Oct 9 2003 by Name Withheld
A full packet of Polo mints had to be eaten outright, against the clock (ending with a mouth inspection for illegal residue). Crunching was the only stipulation with no full-mint gulping allowed, and the packet was usually split open length-ways to allow for quicker access beforehand. Manic chomping on a gobfull of brittle mint shards invariably resulted in lacerated gums, loss of fillings etc, but a small price to pay for a shot at the coveted title, last known to be held by David Crake at an impressive 21.3 seconds.
approved Mar 29 2003, submitted Mar 22 2003 by Neil Robinson
The Polo Challenge can be adapted to form the Fisherman's Friend Supermatch Game. One Fisherman's Friend is pretty hot, and will clear out your sinusses. Three or four, and you'll be batting the back of your head and weeping steam. Put the whole pack in your mouth, and a curious anaesthesia will take you, and your mouth will puddle with spicy drool. Racing to eat the Fisherman's Friends in this state will result in you biting your own mouth to shreds, numb and oblivious to the trauma you are causing to gob and tooth.
As played by a rosy-cheeked, spangly-chompered teenage Shane McGowan.
approved Sep 27 2004, submitted Dec 5 2003 by anonymous user
Patrick offers this eye-watering advanced-level variant:

Two competitors would crunch-eat a whole pack of Extra Strong Mints as fast as humanly possible, then drink an entire bottle of lemonade in one swig. The last person to pass out/have a seizure/drown in their own fizz was declared the winner. A popular spectator sport.

approved Apr 18 2005, submitted May 6 2004 by Patrick Kidd
Part of Clarkes Shoes better-thought-out plan for world domination. Realised that children only wanted shoes on the basis that they were 'good for skidding' when it snowed. Looked like Cornish pasties for feet.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Anne-Marie
AS YOUTHS IN THE LATE SEVENTIES/EIGHTIES WE WERE ALL IN GANGS. WE WERE PunX N SKINZ BUT THE WAS ONE LAD WHO WAS A SMOOTHY(Scouse for casual dress). HE HAD THE FIRST PAIR OF POLYVELDTS WE'ED EVER SEEN,WE ALL HAD NICKNAMES BACK IN THE DAY. AN CONSEQUENTLY HIS NAME BECAME "Veltz"!!!
FIN@M@N L@

Cockfingers says:
We've already got the gold standard for naming a man after his shoes. Thanks for whatever the fuck that was, though!
approved Feb 17 2013, submitted Jan 22 2013 by cockfingered
It is one thing to have the piss taken out of you by the other kids, it's quite another to have the piss taken by a teacher. Pontius Pilate was a nickname bestowed on one John Pennells by Mr. Young, the Head of Metalwork. Pennells earned this moniker by washing his hands every 5 minutes during Metalwork lessons. Young would further torment him by sending him on pointless errands such as "Go and fetch me a left-handed file" and John, being such a dick, would wash his hands and go look for one around the (quite large) Crafts block while the rest of the class laughed mockingly at him. If he felt himself get a little grubby during his search, he would pause to wash his hands before continuing his faux quest.
And of course when he realised that he was on a wild goose chase, he would stare darkly at all in the class, mutter under his breath.....and then wash his hands.
Fifteen years later and with the help of hindsight we recognise this behaviour as the start of Compulsive Obsessive Disorder that marked the start of John's descent into Clinical Depression and mild Schizophrenia, aren't you happy that our Teachers are such caring, perceptive professionals?
approved Dec 10 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Arth.
Matthew was the only child in our school lucky enough to have a colostomy bag, the school in their wisdom decided that an assembly would be the best way to promote understanding.
Imagine trying to explain to a group of five-year-olds why someone has to shit in a bag and carry it around all day.
Maybe now you can imagine Matthew's predicament, from now on he was the poo collector, and it became apparent to us that if he collects his own poo, he should want to collect ours, and was therefore to be avoided at all costs. So we managed to make the chronically ill kid in our year a chronically ill outcast.
As far as I know he's still alive somewhere, filthy cunt.
approved May 20 2003, submitted Dec 31 2002 by Richard Jackson
In middle school a boy was telling the class as part of story time that his little brother had what was called a 'colostomy bag'.
People started sniggering, much to the disgust of our teacher, but what finished us all off was when the boy tried to make us feel guilty, by yelling indignantly over the laughter - "MY BROTHER HAS NO WILLY!"
approved Jul 13 2004, submitted Feb 13 2004 by jenny harper
An unsolveable enigma, a confounding mystery a poo conundrum. Based on a time when an orderly queue of some twenty or so pupils had formed outside our boys toilets, eager to steal a glimpse of the wonder within. Somebody or something had somehow managed to deposit a spectacularly healthy looking stool, right at the absolute, trigonometrically-perfect-epicentre of the large tiled floor. This wondrous turd-column was 10 metres away from any wall, appeared to have suffered no impact-collapse from its deposition on the floor and was unaccompanied by wee-wee or any other form of calling cards. The party responsible was never found. After weeks of analysis we failed to identify anyone bright enough to work out the maths involved, or, thoughtful enough to have carried out such a needlessly well-considered act of dirty genius. It was a poo conundrum.
approved Feb 5 2003, submitted Dec 18 2002 by s field
For some reason our school was extremely prone to such poo-related pranks. Three quick stories spring to mind:
  1. Firstly, I once wandered in to a cubicle (presumably to blow my nose since I never once had a poo in a school cubicle, not being clinically insane) to be confronted by a wonderful sight: Someone had created an elaborate nest of toilet roll, pinning it in place majestically with the bog seat. They had then planted a single turd smack bang in the middle. What they did with the rest of their shit, piss, etc, and whether or not they went into another cubicle to wipe their arse is unknown to me.
  2. Secondly, in year 8, our absurdly naive head of year Miss Baines informed us that someone had shat in a paper tea cup and balanced said cup on top of a toilet door, with the result that it landed on the caretaker's head, and "he had to go home to clean himself up". Since we were 12 or 13 at the time, the reaction was not the shocked horror that Miss Baines expected, needless to say. I still can't stop laughing at the thought of an evil genius squatting over a paper tea cup and then somehow getting out of the bogs having balanced the cup on the top of the inside of the only exit. Especially considering the toilet in question was internal and had no windows.
  3. Finally, my brother once saw a turd outside in the playground, in a crisp packet. I do not know what brand of crisp it was, but my brother assured my that it was definitely human shit".
approved May 13 2003, submitted Feb 7 2003 by Jack Hyden
If you've found a dog poo on the way home from school, but are bored of the Poo Game", why not go solo and bedazzle your friends with a flamboyant "poo dance"?
Based on the (pooless) Scottish sword dance, the protagonist cavorts above the poo to the strains of a pretend bagpipe. Points are awarded for technical complexity and how close the Clarks goes to the poo without touching it.
The game ends when the Dancer either stands in the poo or gets bored and, if it is a dry poo, kicks it at a spectator.

approved Nov 5 2003, submitted Nov 4 2003 by anonymous user
Witnessed only once, on a lane close to my home. A large, firm dog turd had been painstakingly cut into sections and arranged to form the imperative "EAT ME". I was young enough to wonder whether there might have been magic growth or shrinkage qualities transferred to the eater had I obeyed; but not quite brave enough to try. Now I'll never know.
approved Nov 24 2003, submitted Nov 20 2003 by Andrew Freeman
Some healthy scepticism here from Nick concerning the veracity of Andrew Freeman's poo story.

Christ's cock and balls, Freeman. "A large, firm dog turd"? The Hound of the fucking Baskervilles itself must have laid that cable if we're to believe there was enough of it to spell out "EAT ME".
Next you'll be posting an entry to say that the following night, an artfully arranged "LICK ME" appeared written in piss up the side of a lamppost.
approved Apr 23 2005, submitted Nov 25 2003 by Nick Hunt
On cold frosty mornings poo found on the pavement could be more fearlessly kicked at passers by, safe in the knowledge that only the freshest, steamiest of bobs would not be frozen solid. Sadly the impact on the target is less impressive thanks to the very same splat-failure.
Life is a compromise.
approved Dec 18 2003, submitted Dec 8 2003 by anonymous user
Walking home from school with your mates? Found a nice, fresh dog poo? The conditions are perfect, so why not play the Poo Game?
Stand face to face with your mate, the poo between you, and link hands over the poo in a soldier's grip. The name of the game is to push and pull your mate until he steps in the poo.
Simple, effective, entertaining. Best practiced when your mate is wearing new shoes with good, deep treads.
approved Nov 5 2003, submitted Nov 4 2003 by anonymous user
Alternately, simply stick explosive bangers into them. I did this a lot, for some reason.
No, I'm being coy - I know why I did it. It's because I found it entirely hilarious.
approved Nov 24 2003, submitted Nov 21 2003 by griff .
Putting a banger in a dog poo is all very well, but it isn't playing with the life of another living thing.
  • Place a banger in the path of a large black slug.
  • Wait until the slug gets close. Move the banger if the slug changes direction.
  • Light the banger.
  • Watch the slugs antennae spring up in terror, as it realises what is happening.
  • Run backwards as the slug strains to do a 180.
  • Try to find traces of big black slug in the surrounding area for the proper, respectful burial.
approved Apr 18 2005, submitted Dec 13 2003 by anonymous user
When I was seven my best friend, Daniel, boasted the ability to tell you just by looking at a person the exact colouration of their poo. The girls in the upper juniors, for instance, produced yellow sloppy poo, and one boy's poo was described as being exactly like the underside of Daniel's tongue. One of the girls in our class provided proof that not all girls' poo was yellow, constantly inviting us as she did into the toilet to examine her poo, which if I remember correctly resembled rabbit droppings.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Dave Bulmer
One day someone pooed in the lower school boys drinks fountain. I vaguely remember there being a boys only assembley in which we were tole not to do this. Thats it. Oh - no it isn't - someone pooed in the bath twice while I was at university. Shapely 10 inch logs they were.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Mike
An amusing but dangerous game. Placing a firm but internally succulent poo on a stick, run headlong at someone direction, with the shitty end of the stick as far away from you as possible, shouting "eeuugghh poo on a stick!!!!!" Alternatively, just firing it at some unsuspecting passer-by with absolutely no warning. Then shout "poo on a stick", to let them know what happened.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Joe90
Neil Woodcock (who already had enough trouble with his name, I might add) found himself battling head-to-head with Newtons theory of gravity, when he held a stick of dog poo over his head and tried to launch it at me. The stick moved but the poo stayed where it was, for a while, anyway. Needless to say, Neil ended up with poo on his head.
approved Jan 15 2006, submitted Dec 13 2005 by Name Withheld
A grille-covered drain that was the terminus of a large-diameter grey plastic pipe outside the staff room.

Completely innocuous and unlikely to cause harm or even dirty your shoes, but having been given the nickname, being shoved into that deadly zone by an opportunistic fellow pupil would earn the unsuspecting victim many hours of bewildering taunting for having breached the "Poo Pot".

Possibly speculated to be the source of the "fleas" that everyone was so terrified of inheriting by any kind of glancing contact with the wrong sort of person (girls).
approved Aug 30 2007, submitted Jan 10 2007 by anonymous user
Back in the ealy 1970's at Borough Green CP in Kent, the toilet block was separate from the main school, with lads and girls entering via doors at opposite ends. Inside the building was a partition wall to keep the boys and girls apart, but, inexplicably, it only reached to within a foot of the ceiling. This left a clear opportunity for scat-based mischief:
1) Help yourself to a lot - say 6 yards - of bog roll.
2) Fold it over a couple of times so that it forms a thick, 18 inch long strip.
3) Use your arse cheeks to hold it in place hanging above the water in the bowl as you drop off a steamy bob into the waiting dung 'hammock'.
4) Gather the two ends that have been sandwiched between your buttocks and the bog seat and, in a David and Goliath stylee, sling your cack grenade over the top of the partition wall and into the girls' side.
5) Listen for screaming and walk out, whistling and with your hands in your pockets.
Considering how crap at lying 6 year olds are it is a miracle I got away with it.
approved Nov 15 2005, submitted Nov 11 2005 by anonymous user
A firm stool, wrapped like a brown mummy in toilet paper and dipped briefly in water, can be cradled in the palm without inconvenience or tell-tale odour. But, as sex offenders in Wandsworth Prison and English boarding school pupils can testify, it detonates on impact when thrown, like a big bomb of shit.
approved Dec 13 2005, submitted Nov 25 2005 by damon green
In the case of an arse which has not been wiped to the full, flakes of poo-dust are jettisonned everytime one farts. An inference of gayness can be made by the suggestion of white poo-dust. For example - "Is that dandruff on your jumper, Richard, or has your dad been farting on you again?"
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Dan Wakely
A game played by myself and Greg Sullivan at primary school. The premise of the game was that we ran a hotel built entirely out of poo. (Imaginary) guests would come and stay, and we would try and ensure that they never realised the true nature of the hotel. It wasn't just the walls etc that were excretal in origin, however - hilariously, the menu was mainly made up of such delicacies as "burnt sausages" and "lemonade". We also offered a fine range of after dinner cigars.
In retrospect, it's hard to escape the suspicion that the entire game was a a flimsy bolt-on to a rather poor pun - but it still kept us out of trouble. Readers may also be interested to know that as a mature(-ish) adult I harbour no cloacal tendancies and that this was obviously "just a phase".
approved May 13 2003, submitted Mar 4 2003 by Rik Burke
The hand action required when shooting at basketball, according to one of our P.E. teachers. A flap of the wrist in the well-known 'hello sailor' style.
This is what would happen if they let them in the Army.
approved Dec 16 2003, submitted Dec 3 2003 by Ponky Ponk