Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by no1cares, May 9, 2007.

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  1. A science teacher at my sons school blew up half the science lab recently. Balding ginger cnut too with a comb over.

    Any stories?
  2. don't know him
  3. did it make a difference that he was a GWAR then ????
  4. obv
  5. At my schools, "stinks" masters were forever doing that. Went with the territory. That, and acid chemical burn-holes in their Harris-tweed coats.

    I'm rather thrilled to learn that this species is still alive in today's British educational system.

    Well done, Sir!
  6. My physics/chemistry master was a 100% LOONY! The example from NOC was a regular thing. end of term he would hold court in one of the labs and ask for challenges from the class.......oh boy!

    Sir...how do you mak T.N.T.?

    Sir..how do they make smoke?

    Sir...what would happen if we threw all this sodium into the head's garden pond........he got a telling off for that one!

    Great man, self taught, supported the forces and ALWAYS stood his round in the pub.

    (He tried to create a life form once just using the chemical components in a body........)
  7. Back in the day (four years ago), I had a mate called Mike and we were fcuking around in an English lesson, when we were told to sit down and be quiet, we couldn't stop laughing.

    Sir: Take that stupid look of your face, boy!
    Mike: But I always look like this!
  8. Why, what was the joke?
  9. My science teacher was probably by modern standards insane. Lived for his kit car which had to be regularly cleaned by the 'chosen ones' from the class. Dressed like a wigged out hippy and had not a clue about the practical side of teaching recaltrant 15 year old socially challenged pupils.

    He had an attractive girlfriend that constantly told him to fcuk off in front of the class when she showed up and bore a strange and uncanny resemblence to Bo Derek in the minds of wank weary pre pubcesents and dreamers. I fondly remember having shady hand shandys thinking of her 8)

    His crowning glory to the school in my last year there was to be able to set said car on fire in the staff car park and destroy the headmasters and assistant heads cars in the process. Much merriment followed and his departure was both sad and memorable. Bless you Cecil :cry:

    The english teacher was an atypical true blood bulldog by the name of Tweed. He didn't really teach us that much during his time, however managed to impart the basics of life in a form that would shock the very core of Marjorie Proops and the greater 'blue rinse' brigade.

    He discussed the finer points of masturbation and exotic pleasure of the flesh. Going on to deliver the finale that he, in a fit of depression had tried to hang himself.......and thankfully had failed in the attempt. We breathed a sigh of relief and waited with baited breath at his next installment of life and what it has to offer the frustrated, horny and brainless.

    As a youth I made some mistakes, however my parents thought that it would be a learning experience for me to attend a catholic school in Armagh. this in itself is not a major chapter in the annals of life, the fly in the ointment was that I was aligned to the protestant faith! A lesson that was learned with some personal and physical discomfort over the next few terms. Best years of your life.............My arrse :x

    In summary most of the teaching establishment are as mad as a bag of frogs. At least that covers the one's that I encountered!

  10. I always had a lot of respect for my teachers as they had all served in the War, and were mostly RAF aircrew for some reason.

    Accordingly I have no respect for my children's teachers who have not, and I treat them all with derision when I have to speak to them. Had cause to speak to my son's headmaster recently, and took great delight in calling him by his first name when he tried to introduce himself as "Mr ***", then crushed his hand when handshaky time, then sat in the best chair in the room when he wanted to start the interview. Dominated throughout, and led the interview with my son.

    Long Interrogation Course, 1999. One of the most entertaining I did, and a gift that just keeps on giving.
  11. I had a slightly unbalanced supply teacher for a few months who had been in the BSAP during the bush war in Rhodesia, a country I had no idea had even existed until he became our teacher.

    Apart from understanding his accent the biggest challenge in the class was stopping him from going into a major lamp swinging session in every period. By the time he moved on to another school we knew more about Rhodesia than we did about Scotland, the lads all idolised him (the non neds that could think beyond his previous occupation at least), the future head girl was getting to be an expert at being appalled by his stories and I wanted to join te BSAP after leavving school. I was a bit disappointed to learn that wouldn't be as easy as I thought it would.
  12. Torture and corporal punishment were still allowed when I was at school. Physics teacher would punish us for misbehaviour by charging the Van def Graaf generator to a couple of hundred thousand volts and attaching it to us.

    Abu Grahib was a holiday camp compared to my school.
  13. All chemistry teachers are bonkers - fact. If they aren't when they start out as a teacher, they soon will be, it's the result of being exposed to so many chemicals.

    Both my chemistry teachers made a habit out of blowing things up, putting potassium in dishes of water, making gunpowder (and inadvertantly giving us the recipe) and setting fire to the ceiling/lab technician/front row of students/shrubbery/playing fields. One of our teachers was still exposing us to mercury, because no-one had told him it was carcinogenic - it was probably the Hg fumes that made him 'eccentric'. I really should have taken chemistry at A-Level, but I chose Biology instead because the teacher was fit.
  14. Got the dreaded 'SEE ME' scrawled across my science homework. The teacher was an ex-boxer from SA.

    Come the next lesson, I was called up to the rostrum. After the ritual humiliation, during which I remained resolutely silent, he suddenly shot out a straight left, which, clipped me neatly on the point of the chin, and sent me staggering off the rostrum and into the front row of the class (my, how they laughed).

    I recovered, and went back up to the rostrum. When he had finally finished ranting he said that he was '...not going to take the matter any further...' as I had 'taken the punch well!'

    Happy days...
  15. old_fat_and_hairy

    old_fat_and_hairy LE Book Reviewer Reviews Editor

    I'm married to one. Not just a teacher, but a head bloody teacher. And she won't wear the mortar board and gown and carry the cane.