Being a little pr**k as a kid - we all did it.

can't have been the only little s**t on these forums. What did you get up to?
I got shagged by a milf on a Friday evening whilst on my paper round collecting the money for the Evening Herald deliveries, it was during the summer between leaving school and going to AAColl Arborfield, helluva going away present. I still think it ranks in the top 3. She was in in her 30's which seemed quite old at the time, the smell of nivea cream still sets me off, plastered in it she was.
 
A relatively harmless by our standards, but still cunty trick was to get Petit Filous yoghurts and pierce a small hole in the lid.

You could then squeeze the pot and fire a jet of yoghurt about 20ft.

A brilliant classroom weapon and even better when deployed outdoors because people would think it was bird shit.

A lot of kids frequently went home from school smelling of slightly off yoghurt.

When we were slightly younger secondary kids, we (the boys anyway) got very good at flicking spit off the end of the bendy shatterproof rulers. We were surprisingly accurate. There was one particular maths teacher (Dr J****, who in later years once we had grown up a bit turned out to be a truly brilliant maths teacher) who always wore a green suit, and had the habit of pacing the room, when he turned round to go back to the front of the class the back of his jacket was just a mass of dark green spots. It came to a head one day when someone managed to land a gob right in the mouth of one of the annoying kids at the front of the class and he puked all over the girl sat next to him.

Flicking flob from rulers became “officially discouraged” from then on.
 
When we were slightly younger secondary kids, we (the boys anyway) got very good at flicking spit off the end of the bendy shatterproof rulers. We were surprisingly accurate. There was one particular maths teacher (Dr J****, who in later years once we had grown up a bit turned out to be a truly brilliant maths teacher) who always wore a green suit, and had the habit of pacing the room, when he turned round to go back to the front of the class the back of his jacket was just a mass of dark green spots. It came to a head one day when someone managed to land a gob right in the mouth of one of the annoying kids at the front of the class and he puked all over the girl sat next to him.

Flicking flob from rulers became “officially discouraged” from then on.

Nothing beats the teenage craze of lobbing Jellyfish at each other, I'm just surprised no one got hurt
 

Yokel

LE
I remember looking in one of the cupboards at school and some dirty bastard had left a turd in a kettle.

Why? Just why?

What sort of school turns a blind eye to things like that but punished you for swearing when someone came near to with a knife?
 
When we were slightly younger secondary kids, we (the boys anyway) got very good at flicking spit off the end of the bendy shatterproof rulers. We were surprisingly accurate. There was one particular maths teacher (Dr J****, who in later years once we had grown up a bit turned out to be a truly brilliant maths teacher) who always wore a green suit, and had the habit of pacing the room, when he turned round to go back to the front of the class the back of his jacket was just a mass of dark green spots. It came to a head one day when someone managed to land a gob right in the mouth of one of the annoying kids at the front of the class and he puked all over the girl sat next to him.

Flicking flob from rulers became “officially discouraged” from then on.

We used to take the inners out of Biros and use them as a pea shooter for well chewed up paper that we'd torn out of the back of our exercise books. The "bullets" would usually stick to whatever surface they hit as well and the range was pretty good. When the teacher had their back to us while writing on the blackboard we'd fire shots at the wall or ceiling next to them to see how many we could get to stick before the teacher spun round saying "Who was that" and we'd all just be sat there looking innocent. When you look back at it with adult eyes you can see why so many of them go off with stress, and why everyone who goes into teaching just wants to teach junior school kids before they become teenage shitbags!
 

Ravers

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
When we were slightly younger secondary kids, we (the boys anyway) got very good at flicking spit off the end of the bendy shatterproof rulers. We were surprisingly accurate. There was one particular maths teacher (Dr J****, who in later years once we had grown up a bit turned out to be a truly brilliant maths teacher) who always wore a green suit, and had the habit of pacing the room, when he turned round to go back to the front of the class the back of his jacket was just a mass of dark green spots. It came to a head one day when someone managed to land a gob right in the mouth of one of the annoying kids at the front of the class and he puked all over the girl sat next to him.

Flicking flob from rulers became “officially discouraged” from then on.

Something about a good thick greenie that you can’t really beat.

I fondly recall a mate of mine hocking a massive chunk of lung butter on the overhead projector to create a 6ft high phlegm masterpiece on the wall.

**** me my school was a zoo.
 
why everyone who goes into teaching just wants to teach junior school kids before they become teenage shitbags!
Nothing like it, in my experience anyway. In secondary while you might have 30 14 year old ********* you only have to put up with them for a couple of hours per week. If you're in primary and get a shit class you're stuck with them all day every day.

Plus it's acceptable to tell teenagers to sit down and shut up or they're in detention and that you don't care even the slightest bit about whatever nonsense they're upset about that day. That sort of thing is frowned upon when you've got a class of 7 year olds.

Combine that with the whininess, the neediness and the apparent increase in kids turning up in nappies and I wouldn't teach primary if you paid me.
 
When we were slightly younger secondary kids, we (the boys anyway) got very good at flicking spit off the end of the bendy shatterproof rulers. We were surprisingly accurate. There was one particular maths teacher (Dr J****, who in later years once we had grown up a bit turned out to be a truly brilliant maths teacher) who always wore a green suit, and had the habit of pacing the room, when he turned round to go back to the front of the class the back of his jacket was just a mass of dark green spots. It came to a head one day when someone managed to land a gob right in the mouth of one of the annoying kids at the front of the class and he puked all over the girl sat next to him.

Flicking flob from rulers became “officially discouraged” from then on.
There was a corner on the stairs that was above the door to the girl's toilets where we would chew up mars bars and stuff and drop the masticated mess onto the hair of the girls entering their sanctum, I think it might have been either a primitive mating ritual or evidence of the existence of the patriarchy.
 
Something about a good thick greenie that you can’t really beat.

I fondly recall a mate of mine hocking a massive chunk of lung butter on the overhead projector to create a 6ft high phlegm masterpiece on the wall.

**** me my school was a zoo.

It was a thing at our secondary school that every time you went in the toilets you had to get a big bundle of toilet paper, soak it in the sink and then splat it on the ceiling, the entire thing was just covered in it all dried on and a lot of it had been there for years.
 

Ravers

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
It was a thing at our secondary school that every time you went in the toilets you had to get a big bundle of toilet paper, soak it in the sink and then splat it on the ceiling, the entire thing was just covered in it all dried on and a lot of it had been there for years.
Yep we did that too.

My favourite trick was to get the gherkins out of your maccy dees burger and flick them at the glass boards or windows above the tills.

They stick perfectly.

Pro tip:

Order extra gherkins in your burger, then take them out in full view of the cashier and flick them at the signs.
 
Yep we did that too.

My favourite trick was to get the gherkins out of your maccy dees burger and flick them at the glass boards or windows above the tills.

They stick perfectly.

Pro tip:

Order extra gherkins in your burger, then take them out in full view of the cashier and flick them at the signs.

Back in the 90's rich kids bought burgers just for drive by's, ie they'd venture into to town and lob them at oiks as the sped past

I've not seen it happen for a long while though, I guess St Greta and the like put paid to that kind of fuckwittery
 

Ravers

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
Back in the 90's rich kids bought burgers just for drive by's, ie they'd venture into to town and lob them at oiks as the sped past

I've not seen it happen for a long while though, I guess St Greta and the like put paid to that kind of fuckwittery

I was out on the piss with my Navy oppo Scouse Dave a few years back. He nipped off for about 20 mins, returning with a bag full of baguettes.

“Fookin reduced to 10p each lah. Bargain like.”

He had 10.

“What are we going to do with 10 nearly stale baguettes?”

“We’ll come up with something.”

A few minutes later we’re walking down the street when a limo pulls up to the traffic lights next to us.

It’s full of some slags on a hen party or something.

Without a second thought, Dave runs over and starts posting the baguettes through the open sunroof and window, while all the birds inside are screaming.
 
I let a local farmer’s breeding bull out of it’s field one summer’s day, the poor bloke must’ve had a f***ing coronary as it went for a wander into the local town.

This was the mid 80s so well before mobile phones etc. The thing must’ve been roaming free for a good couple of hours by the time he was told, according to one of my stepdad’s friends it made it into the car park of the local Co-op.

Coppers, RSPCA vans, local vets called out, the works.
 
Kids and fireworks.
We had made improvised 66's out of plastic rod tubing, sealed at one end. One loader, one Gunner.
Great fun being had running around launching at kids off the opposite estate. All good fun until one mega big bang rocket is fired down range.. And scores a bullseye on a police car! Bloody coppers swarming all over the place. We however had a hidey hole, two drainage tunnels running under the main road, halfway up the left hand tunnel was a set of ladders that went into some type of inspection / Work room. Door could be closed as well. We waited an hour for the plod to bugger off.. Then restarted our little battle with the kids opposite.

Coppers were on us like a tramp on chips inside of 5 minutes, 15 kids bomb burst in all directions, I must have covered about 5 miles doing a massive circle in order to come in from the opposite direction. Got stopped, gave a sob story about being stood up by a girl, was sent on my way.
 
I remember looking in one of the cupboards at school and some dirty bastard had left a turd in a kettle.

Why? Just why?

What sort of school turns a blind eye to things like that but punished you for swearing when someone came near to with a knife?
You really are a permanent victim.
 
I let a local farmer’s breeding bull out of it’s field one summer’s day, the poor bloke must’ve had a f***ing coronary as it went for a wander into the local town.

This was the mid 80s so well before mobile phones etc. The thing must’ve been roaming free for a good couple of hours by the time he was told, according to one of my stepdad’s friends it made it into the car park of the local Co-op.

Coppers, RSPCA vans, local vets called out, the works.

I've got so many stories to add to this thread, this one just reminded me of when one of the farmers had a huge breeding bull in one of the paddocks in the middle of the village, and Steve who I mentioned a few posts back about the fireworks fired a ball bearing from a catapult and hit it square in its low hanging knackers. Understandably the bull went absolutely mental, thundering round its paddock bucking and rearing before smashing its fence down as everyone scarpered. I didn't see what happened after that or how it was caught but it was talk of the village for a week or so afterwards.
 

CplFoodspoiler

War Hero
Book Reviewer
Aged about 10 in the very early 60's all summer long we were off out from dawn till dusk armed with a bottle of water (corona pop bottle with spring plug on top) sarnies if it was just after payday or a pocket full of stale biscuits. The world was ours to explore, the only limit was that we had to be home before dark.
The incident that has put me firmly in the 'little shit' category happened one fine sunny day; I find it strange that all I remember of those summer breaks are the sunny days - didn't it rain in those days? Sorry, thread drift. Myself, Paul, David and his little brother Chris came upon a pig sty which was home to a huge boar. The boar was, as they are in the habit of doing, rooting around in a pile of shit. Paul said to us "look at the balls on this ******!" Then he dared us to kick the boars balls. We nominated Chris, a shitty thing to do because he was two years younger than us and a scrawny kid. Gamely, he got behind the boar and gave it his best shot. MAYHEM!
Boar took off, bounced off the wall, turned to Chris and charged back at him. Chris was wearing his new 'all terrain' sandals which were not up to the job of immediate evasive action. He slipped in the shit and got run over by a boar that was heavier than him by a factor of, well, lots. He was saved by a farm hand who came to see what all the noise was about. We were all taken home to respective parents and placed in their custody. The pucker factor increased ten fold when my mam uttered the fateful words - Just wait till your father get's home.
I had the misfortune to be reacquainted with dad's leather shaving strop.
Happy days!
 
There was a corner on the stairs that was above the door to the girl's toilets where we would chew up mars bars and stuff and drop the masticated mess onto the hair of the girls entering their sanctum, I think it might have been either a primitive mating ritual or evidence of the existence of the patriarchy.

We used to do a lovely game where we would take a swig of pop and a bite of a choccy bar, lemonade and Mars bars seemed to be the best combination, swallow, and then see how far you could get a glob of brown sugary spit to stretch and still get it back up without breaking. The maestros could get it past their knees. This level of mastery usually ended up with the end of the flob flicking up the nose, into the eyes or indeed up and over onto the head on retrieval.

Took us a long time to get girlfriends. Can't think why.
 
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