The Law of the Playground
the letter d
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Matt Foster's beautiful response when asked by knock-kneed celtic cunt of a bus driver, 'Jock', if his Mum lets him put his feet up on the seat at home.
approved Dec 27 2002, submitted Dec 23 2002 by Jaded Fool
I got to use that one when asked if my mum knew I was out dressed like that.
In your face, record shop owner.
Still burns, does it, Het? Actually, even after all these years, it's still plainly obvious that the record shop owner won THAT round. AND he owned a RECORD SHOP. If THAT'S not coming first in the lottery of life, frankly I don't know what IS. - Mansh
approved Apr 13 2005, submitted Jan 17 2005 by Het Phillips
A game you play with a young sibling or friend. Say you have 4 people in a room, three of you pretend that the other person died. They will laugh but if you play long enough they start getting really upset. All you have to do is pretend like you are crying and miss him or her.
approved Oct 31 2003, submitted Oct 25 2003 by System Error
Hilarious parody of the song 'Live it up' by 80s nobodys Mental As Anything.
Sung to a recently bereaved child thus: "Hey there you with the Dead Mum, go back to my place and dig her up..."
It didn't really rhyme, but it usually caused the unfortunate child to cry and/or explode in violent rage at the injustice of the universe.
approved Jan 31 2003, submitted Jan 21 2003 by Stuart Houghton
I'm not sure if this counts as a playground memory, seeing as how I was nearly 35 at the time it happened, but I was a teacher in Detroit, Michigan, USA, when one of my students came to me crying.
He had been "playing the dozens, you see (a game in which you engage in singular combat making fun of one another's mother. High comedy. I still do it myself) and another player had pointed out that, "DeShaun, you're mother is so ugly she could win the Dead Momma Beauty Pageant." It turned out that DeShaun's mother was, indeed, dead.
So she could, realistically, have won this pageant. DeShuan disagreed.
approved Mar 7 2003, submitted Feb 22 2003 by Name Withheld
As a deaf child, I sadly have a good appreciation of deaf related bullying. I especially recommend you don't try the "sneaking up behind the deaf child, removing his hearing aid, and throwing it to other kids" game, as one day he might finally snap and break your fucking cheekbone in 6 places. Alright?
approved Dec 26 2005, submitted Dec 22 2005 by anonymous user
As large a group as possible would gather round deaf-child and speak animatedly in mime to each other. Frustration growing, he would tap people and ask them earnestly "What are you saying? What? What?", his voice growing weaker and more pathetic to everyone's great amusement. On really special days, when the gods were smiling, deaf-child would frenetically adjust his farcically over-sized ear piece, and with astute comic timing, everyone would begin shouting at the top of their voices, pretending not to notice his confused squirmings. This may seem cruel, but he was a pikey little bastard.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Nic D
Producing a long, monotone whistle - traditionally used to whittle away the resolve of weaker teachers - will also convince any hard of hearing child that the batteries are running out in their hearing aid.
approved Apr 30 2003, submitted Feb 12 2003 by John Cheetham
Believe it or not, and I suspect you won't, we had a living Batty Book title in our year. His condition? He was deaf. His name? Ian Kinnear. No he can't. God how we laughed.
approved Oct 11 2004, submitted Mar 29 2004 by anonymous user
If you remove the ink tube in a Bic biro pen and blow through the bottom, it makes a very high pitched whistling noise.

If you do this whilst your deaf teacher's back is turned, she will think her hearing aid is broken and fiddle with the knobs on it.

What are they, volume or something? Fuck knows.
approved Mar 25 2008, submitted Apr 19 2006 by Jon Borley
It doesn't really have a name as such but was more a bizarre phenomenon which occurred several summers at School. We had a large field with a small woods that we were allowed to play football and amuse ourselves with every break time. Now break could last for over two hours as we had a benign and much loved headmaster who would allow morning break to carry into lunch time (this was a payback from having to sit inside and sing along to his piano when it rained). Since we had so much free time imaginations were given full reign. Kids would start to collect acorns, twigs, stones and pretend to run shops and trade with each other. If this was not strange enough someone even created a primitive fruit machine out of a funnily shaped half of a tree trunk base. These shops became jealous of each other and would occasionally attempt raids for disputed pieces of woodland booty. My involvement was that as a boy we would often be asked if would guard against raiders, spy, or even carry out raids ourselves. The politics that became involved were scary considering we all between five and eleven. That, and none of the merchandise had any real value, or was even desirable.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Matthew Sheridan
The somewhat remarkable ditty, "Mr Fisher" was devised by an unknown pupil from S1 and went something like this:

Dear Mr Fisher,
I was feeling pretty canny,
I tried to fuck your daughter,
But I couldnt find her fanny!

When I found her fanny,
It was hairy as a sock.
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't find my cock!

When I found my cock,
It was hairy, long, and thin,
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't get it in!

When I got it in,
I wiggled it about,
Dear Mr Fisher,
I couldn't get it out!

The true conundrum lies with the subtext. Initially it seems that the author is boasting of his sexual adventures, but maintaining a respectful distance by addressing the recipient as "Mr Fisher". However, this rapidly declines into a litany of sexual dysfunction. Perhaps the author is requesting assistance or even the physical presence of Mr Fisher, to see what the actual problem is.
More importantly to the boys, this raised the hither unforseen concern that 'it' could get 'stuck' 'in there', and no amount of wriggling could get it out.
approved Aug 29 2005, submitted Aug 8 2005 by Spastic Spider
Down in the valley where nobody goes
There sits *insert name here* without any clothes
Along comes *insert name here* thick as a brick
Down comes his trousers and out comes his prick
He fucked her till her tits turned blue
His prick was black as charcoal
When it got dark he missed his mark
And rammed it up her arsehole.

approved Aug 19 2005, submitted Aug 19 2005 by space monkey
Hello Mrs Murphy
How's your heart and soul
I tried to ride your daughter
I couldn't find her hole

At last I found her hole
Covered by her frock
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't find my cock.

At last I found my cock
as straight as a pin
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't get it in

At last I got it in
And waved it all about
Fot fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
I couldn't get it out.

At last I got it out
All sloppy and sore
For fuck's sake Mrs Murphy
your daughter wanted more.

This is kinder to the daughter than the original, giving her a nice frock instead of a hairy fanny, and enquiring into the "heart and soul" of Mrs Murphy before regaling her with the tale of fumbling, wild-eyed sex with her daughter.

It also enjoys a certain level of exasperation with the voraciousness of Mrs Murphy's daughter, who seems unsatisfied with someone sticking it in, panicking, and pulling it out again.
approved May 28 2012, submitted May 27 2012 by anonymous user
During a terrible spate of robberies plaguing the school, we were assembled by House Master Brian Shakeshaft for a briefing on the latest crime. We were told that the police had been informed and that the culprit would be found.
The crime? Stealing a plate of cupcakes and leaving nothing but some crumbs and a note reading 'Ha ha! I stole your cupcakes!'
Mr Shakeshaft's solution? Amateur sleuthing.
We were called individually to his study to write out a cleverly concocted phrase that would allow him to trace the perpetrator through his guilty handwriting.
The phrase chosen? 'Dear watertank has a life of about fifteen years.'
The whole episode was so mind-boggling that we hardly even believe ourselves when we recollect it. I can only conclude that the cupcakes were what tipped the scales after years of real brutality and substance abuse cases. Presumably police assistance was no longer required after Brian's detective work, as we heard no more on the matter.
approved Jun 27 2005, submitted Jun 27 2005 by Tyrannosaurus Flex
The trick was for a nominated individual on the outside of the group to feign interest in some aspect of improving their game, and get Mr Dearling to give them a one-to-one coaching session with his back to the rest of us. This was the cue for the rest of us (frequently numbering in excess of 30) to do a runner. I was never there to see his face, but I imagine by about the third time it got rather tiresome for him to look round and find everybody had vanished.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Macker G
Imagine, if you can, a PE teacher called Mr Dearling. This in itself is bad enough. Imagine further that Mr Dearling is very deaf in both ears. (You're getting it now, aren't you.) Thirdly, imagine that, due to his hearing aids, he can't hear anything said to him in a high register. Fourthly imagine how easy it is to scream without opening your mouth very wide. Finally, imagine a school gym containing fifty adolescent boys, running around in a big circle, screaming at the top of their lungs with Darling standing in the middle of it all completely oblivious. And, if you want to, you can imagine fifty boys all being put on detention when the headmaster bursts in.
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Joe S.
We had a kid in our school whose older brother died of a heroin overdose. But he had to leave because of two songs; the re-worked intro to Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep ("Where's ya brother gone, where's ya brother gone") and "Staying Alive" by the late, great Bee Gees.

Tut, the insensitivity of youth. Everyone knows that if someones brother dies of a heroin overdose (it was big in the Eighties) you must perform the entire rap from Grange Hills "Just Say No!", preferably at the memorial assembly, or, simply rework the lyrics from the Flash Gordon theme into a cautionary message. "Smack! Ahhhhhhhh!" Susan.
approved Apr 29 2003, submitted Mar 11 2003 by Paulo Mylai, Susan Tobacco
A book held by Satan, containing a list of all the names of the hell-bound, and breifly held by my friend Richard Gray, in year 6.

Curiously enough, my name was the only one to appear in the book, before the Devil had got bored and filled the other pages with squiggles.
approved Nov 16 2005, submitted Apr 26 2005 by Name Withheld
You call that a death book? (them's fighting words - jamie) Richard Burns' dad was a forensic scientist, and one day Richard smuggled one of his dad's books into school. It featured full-colour glossy photos of atrocities. These were way, way beyond the coping abilities of the dozen or so 12-year-olds who clustered innocently around to look. I remember a stab victim with multiple wounds, a shotgun-in-the-mouth suicide, a woman who'd died in the bath from loss of blood during an attempted DIY pregancy termination, and a guy who'd had a heart attack and fallen chest-first onto a circular saw.

Now that's a death book.
approved Nov 17 2005, submitted Nov 16 2005 by anonymous user
Overweight, possibly asthmatic boy runs wheezing across the playground with a look of terror in his eyes. Just before he can reach the relative safety of the canteen, the pack of ten or more lads descend upon him and take turns to fart without restraint on his face. Next time a kid from the year above asks him if he'd like some chocolate, he'll say "no thanks".
approved Feb 27 2003, submitted Feb 27 2003 by Donkey Kong
In one primary school assembly we were solemnly told that every nine seconds, someone, somewhere in the world, dies. The next week saw the playground filled with the eerie sound of small children chanting "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, somebody's died, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, somebody's died," usually whilst skipping.
approved Mar 27 2006, submitted Jan 19 2006 by Name Withheld
I was at school in the days when pupils were allowed to do things in chemistry lessons that might kill them. Now, of course, fatalities are only accepted in PE lessons, or in the janitor's house.
On one occasion we were told to measure out a quantity of some very volatile and noxious substance. No-one told us how to do this, so I decided that a mouth pipette would be approproiate. For those mercifully unfamiliar with chemistry, here is a man using a mouth pipette. Note how unsuitable it is for sucking on noxious liquids.

I put the end of the pipette in my mouth, then woke up surrounded by flames, smashed glassware, and my jeering classmates. And not one teacher rushed to offer me an out-of-court settlement of sixes of millions.
approved Dec 16 2004, submitted Nov 29 2004 by Tom Brown
I was a school contemporary of 'Tom Brown' in those halcyon days (Careful - Jamie) before the nanny state took all the fun out of chemistry lessons.

At my class' strangely ill-attended 25-year reunion, the conversation among the half dozen of us who were capable of finishing a sentence without the use of respirators soon turned to asbestos mats. Those crumbly grey panels, so essential for the health and safety of the lab tables, were suddenly replaced at the start of our Second Year with sheets of hardboard. These weren't nearly so much fun and flatly refused to leave fibrous impact marks when hurled frisbee-style at each other across the room. Hell, you couldn't even snap bits off with your teeth.

We all agreed that it had been political correctness gone mad. Still, it raised a hearty laugh and several ashtrays full of thick, brown sputum.
approved Jul 23 2006, submitted Apr 19 2006 by Name Withheld
Our computer science room was full of Commodore Pet computers. Well, I say full. It had three. But it wasn't a very bit room.
A playground urban legend amongst had it that there was a command you could type that was shrouded in mystery, and fashioned by the devil himself. When executed, this command would destroy the computer. This command was called the death poke.
This command was POKE 59458,62.
To make our crime untraceable, Pete wrote a small program that waited for someone to press a key before exploding. The rules of he-who-touched-it-last would then apply. Then, Pete asked Mr Samuals why his computer wasn't working.
Mr Samuals stared at it for a while, then tentatively tapped at the keyboard. And the dread poke was activated. We all stood well back - actually I think we leaned back - to avoid the shards of glass.
The display was reduced to a single line. A mild inconvenience, but no-one was picking sizzling electronics out of their face.
A quick double-flick of the on/off switch later, and the eerie reign of the death poke had ended.
approved Dec 16 2004, submitted Nov 8 2004 by Andy Caddy
to be laced, or planted. In context : "You'll get decked if you snitch - Holmesy may be a Trevor, but he's no scrap spastic."
approved Nov 24 2002, submitted Nov 24 2002 by Jon Blyth
A band name vetoed by virtue of a French teacher's miscarriage. Other names that were also rejected on the grounds of poor taste were Abortion Bucket and Minge Wipers From Mars.

Readers! Have you been in a band that's main purpose was to fanny about and shock people? If so, tell us your band name. We'd love to know... - Log
approved Mar 29 2003, submitted Mar 20 2003 by Matt Fasham
Hevi Sosij - 'Mr Fatgit's Casio Keyboard Compendium' (1988)
Thrill to the sounds of underage drinking in Matt Kitching's garage whilst a bossa nova beat sounds from Hubble's sister's Casio keyboard.
Marked the beginning of my rock n roll lifestyle that has most recently resulted in this.
Log says:
Any loss of fluids or balance faculties from listening to Phil's own interpretation of music are not the responsibility of The Law of the Playground.

approved Apr 22 2003, submitted Apr 1 2003 by Phil Glansvile
Lesbian Ashtray was formed whilst waiting for a taxi outside Manhattan's in Southport. Our success was based solely on the name, as only our drummer had ever seen or played an instrument. Our manager, Big Gay Al, probably added to our glamorous mystique.
approved Apr 24 2003, submitted Apr 1 2003 by Name Withheld
Our school band came *this* close to being called Bigfoot and the Groincrushers, but the powers that be made us choose something far wankier.
approved Apr 24 2003, submitted Apr 6 2003 by Harry Grout
Our thrash metal band 'uncle fester' had a song called 'Bush Dog' which was all about our Sociology teacher and Sixth Form Head, Mrs Bush. Remarkably, I can still remember all the lyrics, and I lay them below for your perusal :-

Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog.
Bush Doooooooggggggg
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog,
Bush Dog, bush dog, bush dog.
Repeat to fade
approved Apr 29 2003, submitted Apr 15 2003 by - supermoving -
The 'school band' due to play at our 6th form leaving do was called "Dad's Big Log" - I think because they were shit. They were forced to change the name, but kept the same initials - "Dark Brown Lada."
approved Sep 9 2003, submitted Aug 22 2003 by The Geej
I'm proud to day that I was the guitarist in the Purple Headed Warriors. Which is an even worse band name than that of a bunch of nutters I once met called ZX Rectum.
approved Sep 9 2003, submitted Aug 26 2003 by RL M
The principles of starting a teenage band are simple.
  1. Choose band name.
  2. Choose first album title.
  3. Design first album cover.
  4. Plan how to spend first million made by album.
  5. Disband for artistic reasons.

The pinnacle of teen fame was reached by my friend Simon's band 'The Myra Hindley Creche Facility' when they actually reached the play-off of Battle of the Bands in Bristol.
approved Sep 17 2003, submitted Sep 11 2003 by Andrew Deathe
Back in school, the hairy rockers in the year formed a band called "Sandpaper Fanny and the Rough Cunts".
approved Oct 31 2003, submitted Oct 28 2003 by Cornelious Einstein
"Skrote Hed Alien" My poncy band's 'side project' based loosely on a disliking of Slipknot, with the song 'Bike with a Spike (Pain in my Ass)', which contained the lyrics "bike with a spike", "pain in my ass", "bleeeeeeed!" and "wheeeeeee!".
The politically geared follow up 'Rape Room' based on the idea of Saddam Hussein's fictional rape room, performed in boiler suits, one of which had 'poo' written on the back.
1 goal
2 holes
3 poles
4 walls
The 5 balls of dictatro will destroy you all.

The number five is a combination of Hussein, Stalin and Hitler's testicular count.
approved Dec 15 2003, submitted Dec 8 2003 by Chris Pearse
I was in the Muleclops Ding-Dong Banana Band. Our principal members were Melanie Whiplash Haystack III, Verucca Tipex, Valmon Darkfire and Princess Leia (real name David). My solo project 'I spanked your dad' was not nearly as successful.
approved Feb 13 2004, submitted Feb 13 2004 by jenny harper
I played the drums in a band called Satanic Asylum. Our debut single Frisbee Grenade was also the title of our first album, which also included such songs as Nervous Auntie, Sick On My Shoes, Bone Cancer, I Love You (Despite Your Appalling Injuries) and Incest Vest.
Actually, when I say I played the drums, I mean that I would have played them if we had any drums, or in fact if we did anything more than make up song titles and lyrics. But we could have been huge.
approved Apr 24 2005, submitted Feb 17 2004 by Rock Hardon
In the 2nd year, Ed Pinto copied everyone's taste in music, so we invented a rock group called Triangle Sex Gods, complete with their own logo. We talked about them for weeks, mentioning the imminent release of their new single and album until Ed finally started claiming he'd heard them and that they were great. When we revealed the nature of our ploy, he denied it all, like the little twat that he was.
approved Apr 16 2005, submitted Oct 22 2004 by Roger Yumum
I was one half of the experimental duo 'Kipper Knickers'. We even took the cover photo for our first album: the two of us standing holding our noses in front of a giant pair of brown pants hanging on the washing line. We were 18.
approved Apr 27 2005, submitted Apr 27 2005 by Jo Breeze
Our school's contribution to progressive playground rock were called Bellend And Balloon, and comprised two highly-talented songwriters shouting into a tape recorder.

Their most well-recieved work was entitled 'Phil, How Many Fucking Grans Have You Got?', inspired by the persistent absenteeism of a classmate who seemed to suffer family bereavements far too regularly.
They achieved school-wide notoriety due to the daring artwork of their demo tape cover, which was a collage of pictures of male genitalia from porn mags interspersed with polaroids of their own cocks.
approved May 15 2005, submitted May 3 2005 by Tony Green
We were required to form a band as part of our Music lessons and this was the result.
Ice Desert were:
Guitar: Butler
Keyboard: Ratcliffe
Hitting a glockenspiel with one stick: Smithy
Lyrics, "singing" and artistic direction: Me
Our first (and only) song was a cutting insight into apathy, caused by the monotony of everyday life. I believed, however, that my voice was louder than it was, and that the levels on the mic were far too high compared to the other instruments.
Our first (and only) gig consisted of the others playing what passed for the tune, while I occasionally spoke, "I don't want this", into the microphone, which was being pushed desperately into my hands by the teacher with a frantic look on her face.
approved Aug 3 2005, submitted Jul 7 2005 by Gotty Gotty
Nottingham boasts a number of bands that sound like they were made up by schoolkids. Enjoy the melodic, Half-Biscuitesque strains of "Arse Full Of Chips" comes the wonderfully juvenile "Jesus Of Spazzareth".

What do Jesus of Spazzareth sound like? It is a noise that cannot be tamed and contained by microphones.

approved Feb 16 2013, submitted Sep 6 2012 by anonymous user
Steve was the best ice cream man ever. He was pale, but his ice lollies were cheap and tasty and he had the coolest afro that I've ever seen. Unfortunately, Steve let us down big style when he left for Australia and was replaced by a new ice-cream guy...Dino.
The guy was Italian and scary. The ice cream tasted weird and we told him Steve's was way better. He smiled and winked and told us that HIS ice cream was better because "It's full of the stuff that little girl's need and little boys know about" He laughed and handed over his "ice cream".
The guys loved him and used to rush out shouting "Deeeeeeno! Deeeeeeeno!" thinking that this guy was just the dogs bollocks...the girls used to avoid that side of the playground altogether and Dino eventually disappeared once a girl in Year 10 claimed that he tried to grab her. We never got a new ice cream man. Thank God.
approved Feb 6 2003, submitted Jan 26 2003 by anonymous user