The Law of the Playground
the pupil report of
Nick Hunt
Search LOTP
Julie Greaves suffered from a terrible skin complaint. This wasn't just a few patches of mild eczema; this was full-on, Singing Detective-esque, weeping psoriasis.
No-one would go near her as a result. If it snowed, it was attributed to Julie sneezing, and blowing off another layer of skin.
Girls in her netball class would drop the ball if she threw it to them, screaming "Greaves Disease", like some extreme form of "fleas". Cornflake cakes were avoided in the canteen - the cooks had obviously used the flakes piling up around Julie's chair. Rumour had it girls wouldn't use the toilet if they knew she'd been in there first, lest they caught her sickening condition from the toilet seat.
In short, instead of the compassion she so desperately craved, she was shunned as the leper she so evidently was.
I last saw Julie working as a barmaid in a local pub. 15 years had passed and still I could only just bring myself to pick up the pint she served me, and drank it only after rigorously checking the glass and contents for "bits". Judging by the looks of disgust on the faces of the other punters she served, they spent their evenings doing much the same.
approved Jul 23 2006, submitted Jul 4 2006 by Nick Hunt
Right. Claire Rosemond, prepare to be stalked.
And I know you exist because I've googled you.
approved Jan 26 2006, submitted Jan 24 2006 by Nick Hunt
See! You can't deny it, CAN you?
approved Aug 26 2005, submitted Aug 26 2005 by Nick Hunt
Rosie and her brother, James, lived on a farm on the outskirts of a village near Derby. The school bus took us past their farm each day, a collection of ramshackle, rusting, corrugated iron sheds, some of which fell over if the weather was bad.
Because of their ethnic origin, it was widely acknowledged that the sheds were in this state because Rosie, James and their parents ate too much curry; first year R.E. dictating anyone from India ate curry and first year biology dictating that eating curry led to guffs-a-plenty.
To keep Anglo/Indian diplomatic relations healthy, an enterprising group of us took to throwing our sandwiches out of the bus window as we passed the farm, figuring that Rosie and James' bowels needed all the normal food they could get. When Rosie, who at the time was too young to attend senior school, began to wait at the bottom of the drive when the bus went past, the rain of uneaten lunches turned into a downpour.
The sheds were still ramshackle, though, and when it was eventually pointed out that Rosie was actually waiting for her brother to get off the bus, the sandwich throwing stopped. Our generosity turned to anger and we just threw whatever came to hand - text books, eggs, and even water balloons were popular for a while, but no-one managed to top Kevin's inspired "Do-it-all Painting and Decorating Guide".
Looking back now, the most tear-jerking thing about the whole sorry story is that *everything* we threw from the bus would be gone the next day. Their farm might have been a shithole but those Indians certainly kept their drive clean.
approved Aug 25 2005, submitted Aug 25 2005 by Nick Hunt
In Autumn, the hedgerows are full of fat, red rosehips, which can be split open to reveal small, hairy seeds. These seeds can then be shoved down someone's shirt where they will itch like buggery, and cause bright scarlet rashes.
Precociously recounting this fact in a second-year biology class earned me the moniker "Nature Boy" from the indulgent teacher.
This was to be a short-lived glory however, as at the start of the every new school year, I'd be pinned to the ground and covered with rosehip seeds by a snarling mob chanting "NAY-CHUR BUH-MER" at me. When the rosehips ran out, they moved on to conkers.
Autumn is not my favourite season.
approved Aug 29 2005, submitted Aug 25 2005 by Nick Hunt
Standard male reply to the age-old question "How's it hanging?".
A suitable girls' reply was never established. "Fine, thanks" seemed to suffice.
approved Aug 18 2005, submitted Aug 18 2005 by Nick Hunt
Our Home Economics teacher, Miss Munroe, would get the class to chant "salts and sugars are not nutritious" before the start of every lesson.
After school one evening, Miss Munroe was spied by Martin Jenkins gobbling off our sports teacher in the car-park of the local pub.
When she intoned her mantra in class the following day, Martin's reply of "what about the ones in Mr. Johnson's spunk, miss?" was enough to see her scream and run crying from the room. She didn't return to school.
A shame really, as we wanted to know if she'd gone against her own teachings by swallowing.
approved Sep 5 2005, submitted Aug 5 2005 by Nick Hunt
Listen to this,
Too good to miss,
dum dum de dum dum dum

*trump*

If you're lucky enough to have another trump in the tube, or cunning enough to clench mid-toot, then be sure to sing;

Here comes another,
Must be its brother,
dum dum de dum dum dum

*trump*

Timing is essential if you're to pull this off successfully. You must be on beat.
approved May 10 2005, submitted May 5 2005 by Nick Hunt
A similarly horrifying experience was if the snapped-off pencil lead stayed stuck in the end of the sharpener, causing the blade to slide impotently over the wood, no matter how hard you turned the pencil. Brown pencil crayons were particularly prone to this snapping-off phenomenon, and were guaranteed to provoke tears of hot frustration when you were in the middle of colouring in a picture of a big, fat poo.
approved Nov 27 2004, submitted Nov 1 2004 by Nick Hunt
Just as an aside, and for those that haven't experienced the joys of fat teacher loving, google "fat teacher". Go on. And then click on one of the links. Maybe the "Student fuck his fat teacher" one. Even better - "FREE Fat teacher fucking and New York black porn!" one.
Whoo! That kicks off November's round of fat-teachers with a global flavour! I wonder what a fat geography teacher tastes of? Does he taste more like Geography, or a messy pile of bacon? Let's find out!
approved Dec 17 2004, submitted Oct 21 2004 by Nick Hunt
Gavin Jones' Dad was a handicapped. His eyes didn't work and he had to be led everywhere by Guide Dog. Some of the more gossipy 3rd years had already started rumours about Gavin's dad's relationship with his four-legged friend, when, one Parents Evening, those rumours were given a massive boost of credibility.
Being next to each other in the register meant Gavin and I had adjacent time slots that fateful evening. Nervous with anticipation about my forthcoming report I'd headed off to the toilet. Pissing roughly in the direction of the urinal was Gavin's dad. Sitting faithfully by his side, lapping gently at the golden stream and the contents of the ceramic bowl was his dog. Gavin's Dad's dog was drinking his piss.
Looking back at the incident now, I think I'm fully justified in my telling everyone I could that not only did Gavin's Dad's dog drink Gavin's Dad's piss, he was actually sucking him off in the toilets.
I was justified, wasn't I? The filthy, dog-bothering pervert.
approved Oct 20 2004, submitted Oct 19 2004 by Nick Hunt
Consider also:
In days of old
When knights were bold
And Durex weren't invented
They just put socks
Around their cocks
And babies were prevented
Authors note: Possibly the oldest allusion to a "wanking sock" on record, this rhyme appeared in the appendix of the Domesday Book, under "In this village Harold Rex had a Poshe Wanke".
approved Oct 21 2004, submitted Oct 13 2004 by Nick Hunt
Similar to this, but called "Black Man's Willy":
Take two matches and push them into the end of a matchbox (one either side) so that their heads stick out. Wedge another match between them so that its head is touching one of the others. Like so.

Light it, and stand well back! No, further back than that! This is dangerous!
The wedged match will magically stand up, and blacken like a funny-faced brown's engorged member. Black Man's Willy - see?
Click here for a wee video clip of the Black Man's Willy in action.(.wmv, 300k)
approved Jul 12 2004, submitted Apr 15 2004 by Nick Hunt
Put your fingers to the corners of your eyes and pull as directed whilst singing;
"My mum's Chinese" (pull both fingers up)
"My dad's Japanese" (pull both fingers down)
"Look what happened to me!" (pull one finger up and one finger down).
If this visual gag wasn't hilarious enough, imagine a pubescant girl singing "Chinese, Japanese, Mummy please, what are these?" whilst gesturing to her new, pert bahongas!
Boys can gesture to their dirty knees instead, but that's not as funny as TITS.
approved Feb 2 2004, submitted Jan 19 2004 by Nick Hunt, Jon Blyth
A more cumbersome variant common to Derbyshire was the 'fart n blow'. You would have to get up, fart, bend down, and blow the fart upwards, and this would look pretty much like you were bending down to sniff your own fart, you scabby tramp.
The 'fart n blow' was largely eschewed in favour of the fart n waft.
approved Sep 27 2004, submitted Dec 30 2003 by Nick Hunt
To play Airwolf you will need a willing accomplice, and a park with a set of swings, ideally three seats next to each other.
Tie the outside seats to the posts, leaving only the one in the middle. This gives you loads of room in which to have your Airwolf adventure.
You, as Stringfellow Hawke, mount the middle swing, and your business associate, Dominic Santini, has to give you a push whilst you sing the Airwolf theme tune (your theme tune) and make whoosh, neeeow, er-er-er-er-er, peeow noises.
In practice, this was ace. Written down, it sounds shit. Sorry.
approved Feb 4 2004, submitted Dec 30 2003 by Nick Hunt
Hello again. King of Google here.
According to Luke 23:46, the last words of Christ were, in fact, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." Which is a bit rude, if you try hard.
Here be links.
Note: don't Google "I come too quickly" when you're at work and have a draconian information security team.
approved Jun 18 2004, submitted Dec 18 2003 by Nick Hunt
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
It might very well be true:
http://knightmare.v21hosting.co.uk/clips/series4/
And I quote, "Dungeoneer Dickon from Team 6 unlocks Motley from the stocks, then an Ogre appears."
You can even listen to it here: http://knightmare.v21hosting.co.uk/clips/series4/4mot_ogre.rm

Thanks Nick! And thanks Dickon!
approved Nov 1 2003, submitted Oct 31 2003 by Nick Hunt
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