The Law of the Playground
the pupil report of
anonymous user
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Unusually-shaped signs have been specially designed for the River Uck so as to provide no quarter to schoolboys with pen or paint in their hands and a gigantic letter 'F' in their heads.

However, the ever-so-diligent local council failed to recognise that the smutty minds of their schoolkids are not so easily thwarted; our roving reporter provided this photograph of a nearby town sign which shows that they still have some way to go before they can entirely eradicate filth from the streets of East Sussex.







approved Jul 11 2005, submitted Jul 5 2005 by anonymous user, Matt Fasham, Ponky Ponk
Mr Travers was a very old supply teacher who had hair the creamy-yellowish colour of a Milky Bar. It was therefore traditional to greet his entry into the classroom with a rousing chorus of the Milky Bar song. We enjoyed a love-hate relationship with him until the day Rachel Dawes put a drawing pin on his chair and he sat on it and morphed into the fire-breathing detention-giver of doom.
approved Aug 1 2005, submitted Jul 4 2005 by anonymous user
We decided in the changing rooms after P.E one day, to see who could endure the longest spray of aerosol deodorant point blank onto their nipple. After a few rounds, my friend Pobba beat the record with an immense 45 second long spray. The second after he finished however, whilst enjoying his applause, someone flicked at his icy nip, whereupon it detached itself from his body and flew away, to be lost forever.
Have YOU seen Pobba's nip? If so, call me, Mansh, at Police 5, and you could win a community action trust reward. Keep 'em peeled. - Mansh
approved Jun 27 2005, submitted Jun 24 2005 by anonymous user
A girl in my first school was not such a tease...

If you were quick enough to run back to the classroom after P.E, Helen Whitton would take her knickers off, stand on the desk and turn around. In addition to this spinning top of prepubescent wank fantasy, she would also sit on your lap in exchange for marbles.

Helen now plays for the Sussex County Womens football team (pictured top row, 2nd in from the left).

approved Jun 24 2005, submitted Jun 23 2005 by anonymous user
If your name is Nicholas, you should never admit to going commando on wash-day.
approved Jul 25 2005, submitted Jun 22 2005 by anonymous user
The number of partners you have of the opposite sex is linked directly to how gay you are. For instance, a boy with over twenty girlfriends is pretty damn gay - but if he had fifty girlfriends, his gayness would shoot through the roof. Similarly, a girl with two hundred boyfriends is such an impossibly up-front lesbian that she might as well have a velvet-tipping machine strapped to her jowels.

A woman with 225 boyfriends wearing her newest velvet-tipping machine.
approved Jun 24 2005, submitted Jun 16 2005 by anonymous user
  • Your whole class tries to stand on the playground bench at once on a windy day, arms out-stretched.
  • Everyone shouts "WILLY WHISTLERS!"
  • Then you all get off again.
approved Oct 3 2005, submitted Jun 15 2005 by anonymous user
As a six year old, I was blown away by the amazing film Indiana Jones: Raiders Of The Lost Ark.
At that age, I was oblivious to the stigma attached to Nazism, but was somehow subconciously affected by the film's sensitive portrayal of the Nazi war effort and the beautiful colours of their regalia.
The next week in class, we were asked to design a hot air balloon. My balloon was perfunctory, adorned with the usual childhood scribble. The picture was completed with a toothsome couple in leather jackets and milkbottle glasses, saluting to the people below.
Oh yes, and there was sign with a giant swastika on it, jutting out of the side of the basket.
I was really pleased with my effort. The teacher, however, was disgusted. And at the end of the year, when all our work was traditionally returned to us to take home to our proud parents, my nazi balloon masterpiece had mysteriously gone missing. My guess is it's either in my permanent record (providing a silent warning to employers that they have a potential Nazi sympathizer on their hands), or my teacher has it framed on her wall at home. In her secret Third Reich bondage dungeon. The filthy bitch.
approved Jun 14 2005, submitted Jun 14 2005 by anonymous user
The road signs pointing to the village of APSE HEATH on the Isle of Wight can easily be corrected using one piece of black electrical tape.
The county council doesn't think it's funny, but they're wrong.
approved Jun 14 2005, submitted Jun 14 2005 by anonymous user
Collecting ketchup packets became popular among some in my American high school one year. However, since they were free this considerably upped the ante for what made an impressive cache of the packets. Shortly after one zelous collector filled a trash bag with the packets, the school switched to pump bottles of ketchup. THESE then started disappearing until they were chained down to the counter.
approved Jun 14 2005, submitted Jun 13 2005 by anonymous user
Used correctly, a small, snappy National Health glasses-case can be used to capture and store a fart for most of the duration of a double French lesson.

This in itself is not surprising. What's more unsettling is the power that said glasses-case will exert over you as it sits on the edge of your desk, smugly full and pregnant with aromatic promise. You know perfectly well that it contains Spencer's fart, but for some reason the urge to check and make sure exerts a rising, and ultimately irresistable, pressure on you.

Eventually I checked. It stank.
approved Jun 13 2005, submitted Jun 13 2005 by anonymous user
After having discovered your site today and wasted most of it reading entries (on company time) I can only conclude British kids are suspiciously preoccupied with gayness. Little closet faggots, all of you, eh?
In my country (Sweden) we were never called "gay" just for being athletically challenged, interested in arts or books, or generally not fitting in. They beat us up, don't get me wrong - they just didn't call us gay while they did it.
(Two things, anonymous gay Swede; the fact we talk about it means that we're not scared of gayness. It's you lot, the Swedes, who are gay-scared, and that means you're super-gay. Arguing with the logic of this only makes you gayer, so just shut up, bend over and take one from big butch Denmark.
Secondly, the reason this website has a lot of gay references in it is that I'm a gay, and I'm pushing my agenda with a view to attracting burly doormen. Are you a burly doorman? If so, please get in touch. I'm Log, and I'll do anything for Dairylea.
)
approved Jun 13 2005, submitted Jun 10 2005 by anonymous user
Baby frogs strike amusing limbs-at-full-stretch "Kate Bush" poses when they jump from ones hand and land delicately into a fresh cup of tea.
approved Jun 24 2005, submitted Jun 5 2005 by anonymous user
The unfortunately monikered Rammy was widely rumoured to take it "right up the batty hole" and so a song was composed to commemmorate this. The only lyrics were as follows:

Who takes it?
Rammy takes it,
Right up the batty hole.


This grew in popularity to such a level that impromptu renditions, often involving the entire class singing repeated verses in close harmony, became commonplace in most lessons.

The dance remix was inevitable, but still welcomed.
approved Jun 1 2005, submitted Jun 1 2005 by anonymous user
Geeks sometimes get to play one of those funny big recorders.
In fact, those 'funny big recorders' were not for geeks - only the coolest people (me) got to play the Bass Recorder. Bass Recorders are to regular gay recorders as the Bass Guitar is to the mandolin. People openly envied me, and my gigantic plastic Aulos.

Similar to penises, the bigger the recorder, the more prestige. Strikingly similar to penises in another way, the tip of my recorder had an 'old spit' smell to them that no amount of rubbing on my jumper sleeve could remove. Teethmarks, too.
approved Jun 11 2005, submitted May 31 2005 by anonymous user
Ben Watt quickly learned to write his name with the smallest possible space between the words, to prevent a couple of 'T's being squeezed in there.
approved Jun 2 2005, submitted May 25 2005 by anonymous user
Our Fat Teacher was also called Mr. Jones; he was so fat that his belly would rub against the board and rub off the writing underneath, which seemed to confuse him no end.
Also, to this day, there is a coffee stain on the ceiling above his desk from when he had a sudden heart attack and threw his cup into the air.
approved May 25 2005, submitted May 24 2005 by anonymous user
Showing more adult sensibilities than DJ Splish and MC Splash, "Master Pete and Nigger Jay" laid down the rhymes at my school. Needless to say, both were uncompromisingly white.
approved Jun 1 2005, submitted May 18 2005 by anonymous user
Spencer Ashley brings in a fake, homemade bomb before a Spanish lesson consisting of a shitload of blutack, the face of an alarm clock, and some straggly, multi-coloured wires which he places under the desk of our teacher, Graham "Sweetie" Underhill.

We hide under our desks in readiness for Sweetie's arrival. And the depressingly predictable scene unfolds -

Spencer Ashley: There's a bomb under your desk!
Sweetie: Don't be so bloody stupid.

Sweetie kicks shoebox across room.

Not a particularly amusing story at all, unless one considers the vague, one-percent-at-best possibility that Sweetie just might - JUST MIGHT - have been wrong about this definitely not being an explosive device.





approved Jun 19 2005, submitted May 16 2005 by anonymous user
An early example of viral marketing. The people behind Hedgehog crisps, it was rumoured, used real hedgehogs to flavour their snacks. The age-old "well they do taste like chicken when cooked" excuse can be used when sampling a bag of the roast chicken crisps, though this will not get you very far when attempting to explain the distinct lack of hedgehog flavour in the salt and vinegar variety.
approved May 12 2005, submitted May 12 2005 by anonymous user, Phil Glansvile