The actual name of our GCSE Biology textbook.

Check here if you don't believe me.

These books are still in use at the school I currently attent. It was in year seven that I

noticed the pun, and tried to explain the hilarity of it to my neaderthalic peers. It was about this time that the beatings started.

astounding and surreal compound obscenity exclaimed by James "Lucy" Lockwood during a game of Wembley.

The natural conclusion of an unnattended blackboard filth escalation. The number of people laughing at the phrase will reduce steadily as the class matures, until it is written on a university blackboard, when only I laughed.

Blackboard filth contests were taken to a whole new height of rudeness by the immortal line "suck the virgin mary's smelly cunt 666", discovered one morning by our registration class.

Unfortunately, some girls removed it before it was seen by any teacher, so this story doesn't have the "and-then-miss's-eyes-popped-out-in-shock-she-started-crying-then-had-a-nervous-breakdown" ending that I would have liked. Stupid girls.

After being told by a prefect to produce an essay for walking up the 'down' stairs, I spent an entire day and night carefully writing two pages of A4 in mirror writing. I believe there is a copy pinned to the staffroom noticeboard to this day.

This is because you are a fucking wanker

Ladies and gentlemen... Oscar Wilde has left the building. - Ponky

These coaches were used for disadvantaged inner-city kids as well as mongoloids. We were momentarily gutted when we had to go on one, but we soon got into the spirit of things, pretending to be spastic as the bus rolled through the streets of Leeds, all the way to the Lake District.

Paul Frame was known as "Vaseline Boy" on account of the rumours sweeping the school alleging that his father, Fred Frame, was in in the habit of buggering his kids over the bath. It was unclear exactly how many kids Fred "had", but it was generally agreed to be at least six, (Paul being the eldest). It was assumed that he had a large family simply in order to fuck it. Thus whenever Paul passed in the playground, classroom or corridor, his tormentors would sing, to the tune of "Japanese Boy", "Framey woke one morning and his bum was numb, He's a Vaseline Boy..." NB. His younger sister was affectionately known as "Four Stitch".

Maths teacher Mr Veevers is the source of no amusing stories, but has lent his name in perpetuity to the V-sign. Most of my class failed algebra because we spent every lesson flicking the veevers at Veevers's back.

Public swimming pool sessions reserved for the differently abled. You escaped the cold pissy chlorine ten minutes early on vegetable soup days.

In year 8 Chris Tinning found out about vibrators, and showed off by asking everyone else if they knew what they were. This reached a momentary high point, when Craig Swainson decided to show off back, and told the impressive lie "yes, I do, and I've got one actually".

That day, Craig Swainson got a new nickname.

Jimmy M allegedly took a crap in the empty case of "Adventures in Babysitting" in our local non-chain video rental store. I'm not sure if this was anarchy or criticism.

Despite not being there at the time I'm confident of the veracity of the story because I can't believe a 14 year old would be witty enough to arbitrarily insert a film like "Adventures in Babysitting" into the anecdote's retelling.

I once pissed into a 7 Up bottle and then put it back into the fridge in Barretts newsagents. This was because the shopkeeper had been enough of a dickhead to not 'let' me steal a Mars Bar from his shop.

I then went on holiday, but when I came back, my friends decided to shit me up by telling me that someone died from drinking it and it was being tested by the 'feds'. Needless to say, I steered clear of the 'murder scene' for many weeks after.

From a deepening appreciation of the niceties and textures of extremely pungent farts, you may declare a vintage. The earlier the year, the smellier and more complex the fart.

As in "Ewwwwww, Iain's done a vintage 1986".

Fictional purveyors of Chocolate Spread. Invented by Martin Gibbs for a jingle in a music lesson: Did you have your tea last night? Yes I did, it taste like shite. There's my mum, she's having a fag. Get my lunch you stupid slag! The one thing I like on my bread Is Violent Ben's new chocolate spread. The Violent Ben range later went on to include the scrotal masticator and pump-action granny raper.

The words "Emergency Exit" at the back of a school bus could with careful use of a penknife could be amended to "Virgin Exit". All well and good, but the one time in five years that the bus broke down, everyone refused to use it.

Led to our local bus company changing the signs to 'Emergency Door' - which, like some public-transport-fueled arms race, in turn gave rise to 'Virgin Loo'.

Why the fuck would it be virgin loo? Why not virgin door? I know loo is slightly more rude than door, but given that doors look nothing like loos, when faced with the choice between passing through a virgin loo or burning to death in a fiery bus crash, one could claim that one wasn't passing through a virgin loo as it clearly wasn't a loo, and thus the virgin element of the statement could be taken with a pinch of salt.

And whilst I'm at it, why the fuck did the bus company undertake such an expensive rebranding to avoid 'virgin exit', but rather than replace the modified word, they replaced the intact word?

Your childhood sounds like a sham to me.

(Have you spotted any inconsistencies or logical nonsenses in the behaviour of children? Noticed that some things they do just don't seem to make sense, and seem somehow childish? If so, drop us a line! It's kind of what the whole website is about.)

This story was told to me by Jim, a friend at my first year at university. I was sceptical at the story, and became more sceptical with every new depth. Then Jim showed me the video they had made of the Vogue Master, and I had no choice but to believe. Any inaccuracies can be blamed on the passage of ten years since I watched the video. Stockport. 1990. Madonna had rocketed the Vogue phenomenon from black gay disco into drunken slapperland. One young man, not the most popular boy in his year, became entranced with the hypnotic fluid roboticism of the dance, and confided in one of his more sympathetic colleagues. "Jim. I'm not a good looking bloke. There's only one way I'm going to get the girls, and that's by learning to vogue." Receiving nothing but encouragement from Jim, our man spent night after night practising in a basement. He emerged, months later, with a radiant confidence that was only let down by his utter inability to vogue. And still, he received nothing but encouragement from his friends, who told him they were so impressed that they wanted to make a video of him. The video contained classic moments; Vogue Master cupping his head in his hands and demanding "What You Lookin' At?", a manager describing his plans for this one man miracle, interviews with adoring female fans, and best of all, a Teen Wolf moment of the Vogue Master dancing on the roof of a white van, driving in very slow circles around the college car park. Copies of the video sold very well. I just wish I had a copy of the video to show you all. I also wish I'd kept in touch with Jim; a man who was wasted on Town Planning. Apparently the Vogue Master came to his senses in 1991, and no longer likes to talk about this period of his life.