‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
THE SECOND COMING Ah… January. When The Lord Jesus is finally tempted back down here on his second visit, I doubt it will be in January. Bitter winds toss shreds of wrapping paper down the street as freshly abandoned puppies search dustbins for food. Cezzy and Ford have wolfed down their last mince pies, resolutions beckon to be broken, and the Art Department grossly misjudged the integrity of Reading School boys in their recent Art Week. Now a reflection for Christmas, before we bid it goodbye. It’s bloody good fun, but we should spare a thought for the 30,000 people in Britain who spend it out on the streets… and remember the birth of Christ isn’t the only thing to celebrate; we’ve got houses! So why the wait for this issue? To cut a long story short, we got banned the shit out of us. Plan B was to get the thing photocopied at a newsagents somewhere, but like the rest of the Islamic world they all hid themselves away over Christmas. So here it is, better late, we hope, than never:
Congratulations – you’ve just purchased The Rag. Now for one of the most important bits of the whole publication: the material inside is in no way endorsed by the school or teachers. It wasn’t written, printed or sold on the school site. It’s meant to amuse,
ABOVE: ART WEEK A RESOUNDING SUCCESS
The Reading Rag Issue Two. CAN WE HAVE A WORD?
+FREE 8 PAGE XMAS INSERT
designed to entertain, intended to be funny. Whilst this is all we’ve endeavoured to do, what’s funny to one person may not be to another, so there’s a chance you may find some material offensive or insulting. Having informed you of this, we accept no liability for anything arising from the sale of this publication.
OPEN MIC night in the Staff Room! See members of staff drop EXPLOSIVE FREESTYLES! Bust a move, get crunked or even wild out to THE HOTTEST INSTRUMENTALS THIS SIDE OF SLOUGH!
COVER LESSON CRITIQUE
THE JEREMY KYLE SHOW
It’s a familiar situation: Mr Holt’s arranged to be posted on a “training course” in one of the more upmarket Caribbean islands and the fate of you and your class for the next hour rests in the cruel luck of the cover teacher rota. Here’s our opinion of what to expect and what to watch out for. ...Full article on pages 12 & 13
A round of applause. The camera zooms past the studio audience, a group of humanplankton that make the villagers from Deliverance look sophisticated, before lingering on the smug features of
...Full “article” on page 10 Jeremy Kyle. There is a ‘–schlock’ noise as he plucks his head from between his buttocks, and he begins… We bring to life the show that makes you want to end yours. ...Full article on page 15
NEWS SAFE DRIVE?
NATIONAL HEALTH SANDWICHES The Sixth Form at Reading School becomes a powerful political force as it emerges that their spending at the Hospital Shop is solely responsible for keeping the NHS afloat. A spokesperson from the Royal Berkshire Hospital explained: “At our prices, every BLT sandwich the boys buy pays for a new life-support machine.” And they don’t waste money on staff. The
PORN PIRATES EXPOSED Mr Jones finally has finally succeeded in putting an end to the foul pornography trade that has for years blighted South House. Again and again, the Welshman failed to track down the notorious bootleggers who bring the offending material in from the outside world. Until now. When Wednesday’s table-football competition was cancelled at the last minute, Mr Jones was amazed to find that the borders were nonetheless struck by the widespread bouts of wrist strains that typically follow the monthly tournament. It was only a matter of time before, with the help of Mr Owen, he put two and two together. The blackmarket brigands had been regularly using the innocent sporting occasion to mask the tell-tale signs of a recently arrived porno stash, thus evading discovery. Ingenious? Yes, but not fool-proof. As they say in the boarding house: you can’t evade the Wanking Watch forever.
tills are manned by patients from the nearby Skin Graft Ward to keep them occupied as they await operation. Aware of the damage Mr Holt could cause by banning students’ visits to the shop, the government was quick to win him over with a brand new suite of blue swivel-chairs for his office. Their efforts have so far been successful.
Following the “Safe Drive: Stay Alive” campaign by local emergency services, deaths caused by dangerous driving in the Reading area have fallen dramatically. Unfortunately, deaths caused by young drivers passing out in terror as they drive past trees and ditches have risen to horrifying and unprecedented levels. As a result, the total number of road fatalities has actually slowly risen since the campaign began. But at least we’re all wearing seat-belts.
SEATING AREA’S POPULARITY SOARS
HIGH SALES AND HIGH BROW As it sails to the top of the film chart, controversy continues to surround the big-screen debut of America’s favourite MiddleEastern reporter. Akbarian: Cultural Learnings for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Azerbaijan tells the story of the hapless hero’s misguided attempts to fit in with European culture, including a hilarious scene in which he tries to teach physics. “I thought
it was brilliant,” said one boy yesterday, “but it must have been staged – no-one could possibly have taken him seriously.” Of course, the mastermind behind the character is perhaps more famous for his other creation, a clueless 30-something white male who dresses in sports gear and acts far below his age. Mr Dawes Indahouse is still available on DVD.
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
The following is a list of the ideas implemented by various areas of our school, to help it into a more stable financial situation following the recent photocopying bill crisis.
The lecture theatre has been sealed off by concerned archaeological types, following the discovery of a nine hundred year old piece of graffiti on one of the desks. Though it is of course written in Latin, we are
Drama: To save on repainting the drama studio black at the end of each year, it was deemed more viable to have it demolished and rebuilt from coal. Economics: Instead of buying paper the department turned to Mr Brough who manufactured it himself, making good use of the abundant New Forest woodland and his new home wood press. English: Replacing “book box books” with erotic horticultural poetry was not only cost effective, but provided an audience for material Mr Baldock had previously struggled to get published. Games: Since the tragic yet beautiful deaths of the synchronised swimmers it was decided that swimming was to be replaced by lower maintenance “death-avoidance” sports, such as the minefield sprint and javelin catching. Physics: After brief analysis it was decided that there was no possible way that this department could operate viably so it was immediately closed, the staff being returned to their respective rehabilitation programs and safari parks.
MINORITY QUOTA ACCUSATIONS The last eighteen months have been hectic for the undercover Rag reporter, Mr X. By wearing knitted cricket whites, talking about Maths a lot and not eating meat, he has managed to infiltrate the elusive area of School administration known only as ‘Admissions’ that is only needed for a short period every year yet somehow warrants its own office. This ballsy writer has found reports that the School has been taking bungs from Wokingham District Council to admit set percentag es o f m i n o ri t i es i n i ts ‘independent’ entrance exams! It is claimed that the Admissions Office has taken over £300k to accept one ginger kid for every four normal children. There is no other explanation for the sudden influx of speccy ging gooners in recent years, who now make up an unacceptable over 1% of the School population. But this doesn’t only pose social problems in the School: there are also wider issues which need to be addressed as a result of this positive discrimination. Rotting piles of discarded carrot-tops are attracting vermin to the School (and we don’t
assured the words roughly translate to: “Physics is a load of boring bollocks”. Asked what he thought of the discovery, Mr Hussein sighed wistfully and observed, “Some things never change.” Mr Ruddick showed less affection however, explaining: “I’m certain I dealt with the culprit at the time. The little bugger obviously didn’t do what I told him to and scratch over it.” mean more caretakers); the Reading Fire Service has received five times more call-outs over the last year than ever before as bemused students think their classmates have had an unfortunate incident with a Bunsen burner, and large swarms of bees – attracted by the brightlycoloured locks of ginger students – have been terrorising pupils in younger years. There is only one solution. We at The Rag propose we take it to the street and lynch every stinking piece of ginger scum in our beleaguered School, and return our institution to its brown-haired majesty of yesteryear!
ON OTHER PAGES… ‘My ginger son won’t dye his hair!’ A father’s misery. Scientific breakthrough allows parents to abort ginger foetuses. Five delicious recipes using ginger, from Mr A. Cabbinal. Five delicious recipes using ginger kids, from Mr A. Cannibal.
NEXT ISSUE… Why we hate those peroxideswigging blondies who (continued page 1042)
SCHOOL LIFE daredevil [dáir devv'l] NOUN |1| a recklessly bold person • |2| a person who completes their Su Doku with a pen • |3| a person who elects to eat at the Tuck Shop • |4| a person who goes to Mr Cousins’ Chemistry lesson with white socks and an un-tucked shirt having left both his tie and prep at home • |5| a Rag writer who puts on Mr Weed’s desk for his casual perusal an article containing the slightest reference to homosexuality • |6| a Year 7, 8, 9, 10 or 11 student who illicitly leaves School grounds for a surreptitious sample of the culinary delights of the Hospital Shop, despite spying Mr Holt on the horizon • |7| a female member of staff who suggests they should perhaps be allowed one of the good chairs in the Staff Room • |8| a teacher with fewer than ten letters after their name who questions Mrs Blackman’s spelling • |9| a pupil who uses the Staff toilet in the John Kendrick Building • |10| a caretaker or groundskeeper who makes eye contact with any member of Senior Management.
Hey Big Spender
As political correctness continues to sweep the nation, we take a look back at specimen maths papers over the years:
We’re not just here for your amusement. Neither are we here (solely) to increase friction between students and staff. Our first issue raised £71.26 for Oxfam and in the spirit of encouraging further lavish splurges, we would like to name our biggest donator: Claude Springer, who kindly departed with a munificent £3. Shame on anyone who gave a meagre 30p: you’re all going to hell! Right:
GCSE maths questions you often see: 1) John and his friend Omar are sharing cakes. John has 8, while Omar has 12. John says Omar has 150% more than him, while Omar says he only has 50% more. Who is correct? A - The Asian kid. 2) Greg's best friend is Asian. We're fine with that. If they're talking about Maths, who is correct? A - The Asian kid. 3) Terry and his brother Jamal are going to the mosque. Jamal says that Fermat's Last Theorem required the invention of a mathematical revolution, and was fundamentally unsolvable in its time. Terry merely grins and dribbles down his chin. Who is racist? A - Not us.
And some GCSE questions you rarely see: 4) John hates black people. If he campaigns for white supremacy four times in a week, how often does he campaign in one year?
Claude Springer. Donate more than £3 and it could be your face here next issue.
Apologies for the page layout; one of our writers got given a jig-saw puzzle for Christmas and in a strange twist of fate, came not only to use and complete it but to develop a strange addiction to the mathematical wonders of complex tessellation... Yes, our thoughts exactly.
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
Weeds makes minor changes to school Mr Weeds has finally finished censoring The Rag, and we must say, what a fantastic job he’s done. He really is super. We at The Rag support Mr Weeds and his glorious campaign of censorship, and would like to add that we are under no editorial obligations whatsoever. In other happy news, freedom of speech has been curtailed, and while criticism is not explicitly banned it will result in you being taken outside and beaten with sticks. Mr Weeds has also taken steps to ensure that school subjects are taught properly, and without bias. In this vein several changes are to be made to the school syllabus, w
most notably to History, which will now include details on how Mr Weeds valiantly fought off the Norman invaders in 1066, invented electricity, and lead the Jews to safety in Egypt. Science is undergoing minor changes too, after it was discovered that elements weren’t formed in stars, but by the blessed fingers of Weeds himself. English is to be renamed “Weeds-speak”, and regular poems must be written in honour of the new headmaster. The John-Kendrick building is to be renamed the “Weeds building,” as are the Page building and science labs, and as of November a new school song is to be sung on the chime of every hour:
Our Glorious Leader
O Weeds, O Weeds, You birth’d us from the dust, You gave us the earth and plants and animals, O Weeds, O Weeds, You’re fab. Happily, the school day is to end four hours later, so all boys in years 7-13 can help build a large statue in Mr Weed’s honour. I must say, he is a marvellous man. We at The Rag feel almost a sense of love for him, as opposed to our old headmaster, who used to feed poisoned milk to babies and force disabled people to fight for his entertainment. Mr Weeds is also spreading his fingers of magnificent touch to extra-
curricular activities. The Lord’s prayer is currently undergoing a few adjustments, but until then, the hymns to be sung in chapel are; All Glory be to Weeds on high by Allein Gott, Amazing Weeds by John Newton, and You’re simply the best, Mr Weeds by Tina Turner. Wednesday is now known as Weedsday. All you have to do is re-arrange the letters and thrown away the ‘n’, so it’s not really that difficult.
Spot the difference:
I’m always watching you
Today’s Crossword: Across: 1) Our glorious headmaster 2) Our glorious headmaster 3) Our glorious headmaster Down: 1) Our glorious headmaster 2) Our glorious headmaster 3) Annoying plants
SCHOOL LIFE Editor’s Aside:
ALEX OTTERBURN DRUG DEALING SHOCK! The Rag has obtained photographic evidence that Reading School pupil Alex Otterburn is a dealer of Class A drugs! This photo of the Sixth Form Council member was taken moments before Mr Otterburn attacked the intrepid Rag photographer. In
the background can clearly be seen a milkshake filled with crack cocaine and heroin amongst other substances banned in the UK. Otty claimed: ‘This is ridiculous. It’s just a milkshake! Leave me alone please.’ But we know better.
Articles featured in this publication may be completely fabricated by writers and have no truthful element in them at all. This is part of the drive to make the Rag more like a real newspaper.
ALEX OTTERBURN RACIST ABDUCTION SHOCK! The Rag has obtained photographic evidence that School Prefect Alex Otterburn attacks then abducts members of the black community! This photo of the West House rugby captain was
taken moments before Mr Otterburn viciously attacked the intrepid, daring Rag photographer. Otty claimed: ‘This is ridiculous. He’s just a drugs baron! I didn’t abduct anybody, black or otherwise…
ALEX OTTERBURN DALEK FETISH SHOCK! The Rag has obtained photographic evidence that vice captain of the School’s rugby team Alex Otterburn has a bizarre sexual perversion in which he is aroused by Daleks! This photo of the Caversham Heights resident was taken moments before he didn’t attack the intrepid, daring, brave Rag photographer because he didn’t want anyone to see his boner. Otty claimed: ‘This is ridiculous. It’s clear that this socalled Dalek is just some black person that I abducted! Because I wanted to beat him up later, I simply restrained him by placing him in this Dalek costume. And the bulge in my trousers definitely wasn’t an erection – it was only a packet of Class A drugs in my pocket that I was going to sell at School. I repeat: I haven’t got a Dalek fetish.’ But we know better. 6
Honestly, how am I supposed to make a living as a Class A drug dealer if every time I meet with my suppliers I have a camera poked in my face!? I repeat: I abducted nobody.’ But we know better.
ALEX OTTERBURN NAZI SHOCK! The Rag has obtained photographic evidence that Aryan non-Semite Alex Otterburn is a member of Reading School’s Nazi club! (Room 8 Tuesday lunchtimes) The photo of the wacky Welshman was taken moments before he bludgeoned the intrepid, daring, brave, Jewish Rag photographer with a copy of Mein Kampf. Herr Otty claimed: ‘Reading School must be returned to its former glory by creating a ‘new order’, where Jews [not continued]
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
How to Lose a GCSE in ten days A guide to ‘learning’ history with Mr Hurst.
Receive your timetable sheet from Mr Cousins - a bizarre mix of letters and numbers that even Rainman would struggle with - and set about deciphering your subject teachers. “Who’s PFEH?” you ask, and someone gives you some loose change. You realise that now’s probably a good time to invest in some revision guides to help you out in the future, not to mention a major religion. But not one of the shitty ones.
2 And so your first lesson begins. The relevance of the phrase “shits to buggery” quickly becomes apparent, and the lesson slips happily into anarchy. Cross-classroom allegiances start to develop, i.e. the front row and everyone else, and for no clear reason someone rocks one of the nerds’ chairs with their foot, then films it with their phone and dubs over sex noises. The next day it circulates around the school, and everyone has a jolly good laugh. The day after that the poor guy finds himself an internet phenomenon, and has to enter a witness relocation programme in order to escape the advances of predatory chat room perverts. 3 But, things are looking up - it’s only 10 minutes into lesson 3, and you’ve already learnt more than yesterday. Sadly, Mr Hurst does eventually show up, and discipline levels slip considerably. The mayhem only stops for the Reading Chronicle to come and take a picture, and the next day the paper circulates with the headline: “Reading Boys study hard for
GCSEs”. Mr Hurst is given a pay rise, and there is much celebration as he finally fulfils his lifelong dream of earning above the national minimum wage.
4 The lessons, however, begin to drift out of control. With crossclassroom violence at a peak, everyone is forced to bring in a large heavy item as a method of deterrence. Mr Hurst ironically reveals that the exact same thing happened during the Cold War, but no-one listens to him, and the irony is lost as a stapler flies across the room and causes someone to bleed from the gums. “Can’t we all just get along?” cries someone in despair, usually the kid in the front row, but all hell breaks loose. Bottles fly everywhere. Someone else is throwing rocks, but no-one’s quite sure why. Meanwhile Mr Hurst stands patiently by, waiting knowingly for people to stop being stupid and realise that they’re putting their own education at risk. No-one does, and there is mass chaos as all but a few decide to escape and take refuge somewhere safer, like Basra. 5
After the chaos of the previous lesson, Mr Hurst has the perfect solution – yelling! For a while this seems to work, but camera-phones can only hold so many videos and soon a new idea is needed. He doesn’t have one, and takes to shoving in handfuls of antidepressants between periods. It’s quite depressing to watch a grown man cry, but everyone gives it a go.
A hollow shell of his former self, Mr Hurst slowly wheels him-
self into the classroom and puts on a video by the BBC. A shaky finger of his points to the screen, and remains there for the next two years. He stares blankly at the opposite wall, and you notice that his hair – once full-headed and flowing – now resembles a lonely ferret curling up to sleep. You are struck by a sense of intense sympathy, and a deep sadness fills your very spirit. Seconds later you’re struck by a bottle, and your neck starts throbbing.
7 The lessons continue on in much the same vein. Repeat this until you reach “Mr Hurst’s satisfactory knowledge level”. For example: “What was the Luftwaffe?” “Yes please.” Assessments tomorrow. You hear rumours that Mr Holt’s set has already done the entire syllabus and coursework, and now merely sits around smiling. Is it even worth bothering? In the end you decide to bite the bullet and take the test.
Fail the test and decide to bite Mr Hurst.
9 Revel in the many uses of your history exam-entry certificate, including something to wipe your arse with when you run out of loo paper.
10 With a predicted E grade your entire GCSE score is brought down, and Mrs Honickberg bluntly tells you that only the most rudimentary of career paths are left open: toilet-cleaning, human experimenting or being raped for money. It’s a shame really, if only you’d got a D - you could’ve taught history.
THE RAG REPORT
I bring a packed lunch. It’s a dark stain on my masculinity that I don’t find it easy to admit to, like having a small penis or liking Biology. Well, the other day I decided I’d had enough. I was fed up with my pathetically slender cheese sandwiches. I wanted an end to crumbly pork pies whose grease permeates the toughest of sandwich bags to thickly line the pages of my exercise books. Most of all, I’d had enough of the continuous, unfounded accusations that my mother prepares my lunch. I wanted freedom, I wanted nourishment, I wanted a thick, meaty Roast Chicken & Bacon sandwich from the Hospital Shop. I wanted to be a man! But where to start? Follow me on my School-wide search for culinary adequacy.
1) The AMT Box It was 8:25am and I was making my way lethargically up Craven Road. Having made the regrettable sacrifice of missing breakfast in favour of ten minutes’ extra sleep, I was firmly redirected by my ill-tempered stomach towards the AMT box in the Hospital. As I approached, a small Korean person of indeterminate gender appeared, presumably from a form of basic living quarters under the counter. I greeted “him” and inspected the prices on the menu. Then I inspected my wallet. Then I left.
Three out of five. A delightful selection of drinks. Sadly all I could afford to buy was a bag of “Assorted Dried Fruits”, quite clearly containing precisely four pieces of fruit: all of them raisins.
2) The Vending Machines Desperate for a snack to keep me going until break, I made my way to the Quad after period 2. A man appeared to have just finished filling up the vendors as I arrived, but they were nevertheless completely empty, save for a lone Cadburys Caramel bar that a Year 8 was eagerly prising off the bottom row with a 30cm ruler. Flummoxed, I turned to the Health Box (it was full). I had just decided on a ripe Granny Smith’s when I noticed the fob slot had been sealed off with chewing gum, no doubt by a sweet-toothed protester. I agitatedly kicked the machine, causing my hearing to be irreparably impaired by the deafening anti-theft alarm that ensued. On the plus side, being unable to hear during Physics next period left me in peace to watch the grass growing outside.
Two out of five. Not bad. Despite the mysterious perpetual lack of stock, a healthy alternative is made available. Security borders on overzealous.
3) The Tuck-Shop. Achieving little in my state of deafness, I’d been let out early and was making my way down past the pointless big umbrellas when I began to wonder what exactly tuck was and why anyone would want to buy it. Then the bell went and I was trampled to near death by about two hundred stampeding boys. Luckily the crowd became jammed in the bottle-neck of hedges and I was able to peel myself off the floor and recover some lost pride by marching to the front of the queue. (I am a Sixth-former, after all.)
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
As I stepped inside I staggered under the weight of the airborne fat particles that immediately began to line my arteries. I bought myself a bit of everything (battered batter, lard sticks and some grease for dipping) then made my way outside, gagging for air. Tucking in, I offhandedly asked someone why they give out such large boxes for the food, before answering my own question by vomiting up the meagre contents of my stomach into the cardboard container. I left, wholly unsatisfied.
One out of Five. Queue jumping was a nice perk but one largely negated by the fact that my stomach ended up less full than when I started. (I was also subjected to crude nicknames, like “puke -breath”, all the way through periods 5 and 6.)
4) The Hospital Cafeteria It was 1:10 and I was getting desperate. Initially I headed for the Hospital Shop but soon found that I’d converted too much of my money into worthless “tag-currency” to buy anything either there or at the cafe further on. Having heard talk of a legendary haven of balanced meals at reasonable prices hidden somewhere in the building’s labyrinthine corridor network, I decided to follow them up in a last ditch attempt at fuelling my flagging body. My search began. I soon learnt to avoid the hazy clouds of lingering disinfectant after unwittingly stumbling into one that scoured off most of my top layer of skin. At one point I came across an elderly man struggling towards an electric wheelchair. As I approached he looked at me and gestured towards it pleadingly. I know my manners, so I thanked him kindly for letting me use his wheelchair as I motored off down the corridor. The elderly are always so kind, I thought, as he
waved his stick cheerily at me. I soon had to ditch the wheelchair to climb some stairs and after about ten minutes of fruitless wandering, I gave up, ready to head back. But as I turned round I found myself face to face with a horribly diseased patient, leering threateningly at me. I lashed out, desperately, until the tubes running into his arm from the stand he held became dislodged and he fell to the floor. A lucky escape. I tried to follow the route I had come but couldn’t make out one door or passageway from another. Panic set in. I began to run. The coloured blobs that decorated the floor blurred as I blundered down corridor after corridor, flooring pensioner after pensioner as I desperately searched for a way out. After thirty more minutes and two attempts to take my own life, I burst into the foyer of the Maternity Ward and threw myself out of its main doors into the world beyond. Five out of five. Or so I’m told; I never found it. Perhaps the Hospital Cafeteria is mere myth: a gastronomic Grail, an edible El Dorado, never to be reached. To those who would search for it: in hindsight I’d advise you take a ball of string to unravel as you go. Oh, and bring a baseball bat.
* * * Conclusion I arrived home feeling a strong empathy towards the people of Ethiopia. I’ve come to the conclusion that our school is deliberately trying to produce horribly malnourished students in an attempt to crush our will-power, rendering us defenceless against their attempts to make us learn things. I say: bring from home and bring big! The student body will never be defeated!
MIGHT SAY IT SANDWICHED SCHOOL LIFE— YOU THE FOOD REPORT
Every Saturday night is OPEN MIC night in the Staff Room! Watch DJ LINTON SPARKS spin the SICKEST BEATS! See members of staff drop EXPLOSIVE FREESTYLES! Bust a move, get crunked or even wild out to THE HOTTEST INSTRUMENTALS THIS SIDE OF SLOUGH! DJ LINTON SPARKS: Waddup! Get familiar! I got some new hot exclusives coming up for y’all [explosions and sirens sound] but first up we got some new drama coming through and coming true! [gunfire and shattering glass. Audience (Dr Applegate) stands up and leaves to get a fresh cup of tea] What’s beef? Well this dude’s about to tell ya, coming straight outta the Games Department, it’s the invincible, the untouchable, Dazz Cazz the Waterproof! [sirens, exposions, gunfire] DR APPLEGATE: [from kitchen] Who? DJ LINTON SPARKS: It’s Mr Carrick. Try to play along Neil, you know I’ve got nowhere else to go now I don’t work here anymore. DR APPLEGATE: Sorry Ms Linton. Yo, I’m really in the mood for some recreational drugs, gun crime and unprotected sex. Is that better? DJ LINTON SPARKS: Yes. But it’s not Ms Linton anymore, it’s DJ Linton Sparks. Get familiar! Anyway, Dazz Cazz, what sparked this beef? DAZZ CAZZ THE WATERPROOF: Well, Mr Owen won’t change the School’s Admissions policy so that only people who are good at football can get in, even though I asked really nicely… DJ LINTON SPARKS: Okay, awww yeeah, well kick it Dazz, bust a flow, coz this beat is fire! [she drops ‘Takeover’ instrumental by Jay-Z] DAZZ CAZZ THE WATERPROOF: The takeover The break’s over, sucker God of P.E., me Mr Carrick Hey Mr Owen you ain’t ready for war DWC too strong for y’all It’s like bringing a non-reversible top to rugby, no tshirt to gym Leaving your trunks back at home when you are scheduled to swim We bringing them boys to Games You know Maths ain’t the same 10
This is grown man Dazz Cazz Saying Mr Owen’s a ras clat, bi-atch Chorus DWC, I’m running this rap shit DWC, I’m running this P.E. shit DWC, I’m running to improve my cardiovascular fitness Get zipped up in a tracksuit when it happens that’s it I don’t care if you teach Maths and are a cricketer too I’ve got stacks of forged absence notes bigger than you When I was lifting weights In periods seven and eight You was a cover teacher I got the pictures I seen ya And your claim to fame’s brains in the Mathematics arena Well I don’t believe you I breeze through C2 Games Department rulers of the game, run the classes but Nobody’s got lower attendance rates than we do Chorus Use your (braaaiin) You teach thirty periods a week I only teach five, smarten up guy Six modules in ten months, well, you can divide Tht’s one every let’s say two Here’s an ‘admission’ for you One was Pure, the other was Mechanics That was one successful module, 91% average And that’s so (laaaamme) Step up your game, you’re like children Go and play in the Page Building And all you other cats throwing shots at Cazzer You only get half a bar: My hair’s nicer than yours.
[Dr Applegate leaves]
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
BELOW: Burning of ‘inappropriate’ magazines A belief in the genetic superiority of head teachers, plus a romantic tradition disdainful of liberalism, freedom of expression and democracy, shaped the National Socialist movement in Reading School. Here, in May 1933, followers of Mr Weeds throw ‘juvenile’ and ‘frankly unpleasant’ magazines onto a huge bonfire in Berlin’s Orpenplatz.
JOHN I. WEEDS, HEADTEACHER ‘Hide, Noah – JEW!’ she reacted Awed, he injected E – or hash
Ha ha – he do incest wee, Ed Jr
‘Oh, he cheated? Answer, Jedi!’ Heed, JH: a washed erection
i.e. Jade he whore-snatched Weeds – cheer? No: hate! Jihad!
The One Minute Interview With: Mr Pedlow If you weren’t here, what would you be doing right now? Definitely playing basketball in the gym. Oh, or doing weights. What do you enjoy doing best outside of school? Basketball in the gym. Oh, outside of school, sorry. Probably doing weights. On your ideal Friday night, where would you be? Does 4:00pm to 6:00pm count as night?
If you understand this you’re more intelligent than half our writers, excluding one who’s a chimpanzee and another who we don’t see much because he’s not allowed visitors anymore... (See article above) I’m the Head of Economics now old man, and don’t you forget it. That means I decide when and if you get to go home. If anyone wants me, tell them I’ll be in my car, drinking.
If you had your time again, what would you do differently? I think I’d do less weights as a child, so that I ended up taller than my two sisters. And my dog. Who do you most look up to? Is that a joke? What’s your worst quality? My free-throws.
Cover Lesson Critique The reason your regular teacher is unavailable and needs their lesson to be covered is often personal and sometimes very distressing for that teacher. For this reason, it could be considered extremely insensitive for you to take advantage of their absence by misbehaving. Not that you’ve got time to worry about that. You’ve been posted on the landing outside H1 to scout for teachers whilst your History set takes part in an approximate recreation of World War II within. It’s a familiar situation: Mr Holt’s arranged to be posted on a “training course” in one of the more upmarket Caribbean islands and the fate of you and your class for the next hour rests in the cruel luck of the cover teacher rota. Here’s our opinion of what to expect and what to watch out for...
Mr Cooper I’m tempted to say you’re in for a tough ride with this, the quirkiest of classicists, but to be honest you get the best of both worlds. He’ll definitely be wanting and enforcing silence and for a bit this might seem slightly tedious – do not fear! Every ten minutes or so someone will breath audibly and he’ll verbally crush them in a manner so extrovert that it will keep you entertained for the next fifteen minutes, just in time for the next cough or shoe scrape to kick the process off again. It’s a decidedly devious way of tricking you into doing some work, but an effective one. And let’s be honest, there’s nothing worse than short-sightedly taking advantage of an incompetent cover teacher by doing bugger all work, then having to face the consequences when your tyrannical teacher returns. Oh, a word of warning. Don’t cross the line. Another word of warning: the “line” with Mr Cooper is about as easy to locate as the country of Bhutan. Crossing it is about as pleasant as going there. He might be both strict and worryingly unpredictable, but overall you’ve come off very well. Enjoyment: 4/5 Work done: 5/5
Dr Akbarian Covers with this gentleman are a lot like having lessons in a classroom with road works going on outside. They make a lot of loud, distracting noises and after a while it gets a bit tiresome, but once you learn to accept and ignore them they soon blend into the background and you can do pretty much whatever you want. I say: make the most of it. You wouldn’t be the first class to organise a small five-a-side football tournament. Nor the first to politely ask Dr Akbarian to referee (he quite likes that). Don’t though: he’s crap. Your imagination is the limit. Just take care to be back in your places for the second period of the double – luck has been kind enough to you already. Enjoyment: 5/5 Work done: don’t be ridiculous.
Mrs Jenkins Hers is a relatively common style of lesson covering, though she exemplifies it to more of an extreme than most. The life-hardened English teacher will stagger in, deposit a mercilessly tall pile of unmarked books on the desk then curtly explain the “rules”. She needs to mark her books: it’s as simple as that. Frankly, Armageddon could be taking place in the classroom and she wouldn’t notice or care, provided it was being absolutely silent. But if it makes even the slightest whimper, either it stops or it can get out. To be honest, there’s no getting round rules set by someone with about as much compassion as Godzilla and a similarly short temper. My advice: knuckle down, prepare yourself for a gruelling half hour of noughts and crosses and pray you get Dancey next period. Tedious. Enjoyment: 0/5 Work done: 4/5
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
Issue Two Mr Cousins Let’s make one thing clear: fate hasn’t treated you at all well. Teachers of his experience have long since learnt to reuse (or give up on) lesson plans, as well as reap fully the benefits of “peer marking”. Consequently, it’s unlikely he’ll have much to occupy himself and so his attention will largely be on you. Don’t be late. Don’t expect to do much talking. DON’T let your watch beep on the hour; he will in all probability have been savouring the possibility of such an error for the last forty-five minutes. Perhaps slightly surprisingly, don’t expect to get a huge amount of work done either. Though your class will be consigned to silence, Cezzy rarely extends this rule to himself and will probably inundate you more or less constantly with maddening riddles and witless quips about his colleagues. No one’s going to be rioting so you should be able to put pen to paper in between his puerile punch lines. What you won’t be doing is having fun. Enjoyment: 0/5 Work done: 3/5
Although a Physics lesson with Mr Ruddick sounds like any average class speeded up fifty times, it actually contains fifty times less information
COVERAGE FROM THE ANNUAL SCIENCE DEPARTMENT SCRABBLE TOURNAMENT Dr Pike: Akbarian, you can’t have ‘JZQWRIF’ – it’s not a word! Mrs Kang: Just because it’s worth 186 and will put you in second place. Dr Pike: Go on then Akbarian, use it in a sentence. Dr Akbarian: Knff giddsf kng wppx ‘JZQWRIF’ plytrim. Well spotted, this article fits about as well in our “Student Support” section as Dr Akbarian does in the UK’s largest A-level Physics department. And yet...
Ghana’s adult literacy rate is higher than that of Reading School’s Games Department
Was it YOU who quoted from The Rag in a report of Mr Dawes on ratemyteachers.co.uk? If so, we salute YOU.
LATE FAKES We’ve been inundated with genuine late book fodder on our website. (Not that we have an illicit website.) Thank you readers, keep them coming! This issue we feature Mr Webb and his uncanny ability to coherently express himself in The Book. “Wheeeeyy!! Lads!!”
Here’s one we’d love to find: “I got arrested for smoking cannabis.” Class C is still illegal, you know. Trawling through the dusty archives, we stumbled upon this diamond: “I wanted a cheese sandwich but there was no cheese left so I had to churn some milk, which took longer than expected.”
Matt Hayukane, Yr10, 2003
They don’t make them like they used to. And yes, he has very small handwriting.
We understand you perfectly Alex.
Mr Brough’s lesson plans are listed under the same legislation as the School’s buildings. Therefore, they will never change.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Mr Editor, You intimated in your excellent “Teacher Swap” article that Mr Cousins is Head of Chemistry, which I’m afraid is incorrect. I am the rightful despot: that fool doesn’t know his Ytterbium from his Yttrium! Or even his Caesium from his Cerium, which did lead to a rather amusing mix up in the Chemistry Department two years ago, where he was nearly blown through the roof of C3. Ha! He won’t be making that mistake again! Anon. *
Mr Editor, I was intrigued to hear that the author of The Rag Report on our school’s toilets found that the schlong angle which gave him the optimum trajectory was 45 degrees. Though I could understand a ballistician making such an inference, I would suggest that empirical studies might prove conflicting. I myself, and I don’t believe I’m alone in this, find that my urine is in fact ejected not on a path perfectly parallel with my pickle-winkle, but at between five and ten degrees below the normal. So it is only when I tip my todger at a proud 50 degrees, sometimes even 55 degrees, that I am rewarded with the remarkable range I know I am capable of. Yours sincerely,
Upon reading your “Toilets: A Review” I decided to take a tinkle in Mr Male’s private piss palace. But when I got there - bladder fit to burst - I found to my dismay that the toilet door is now home to a keypad lock as well as voice recognition and retina scanning systems. Desperate to urinate (the other toilets were also locked due to wet toilet paper fun) I decided to try and cheat the systems inside. I tapped in a code, whilst hopping from one foot to the next, spoke “Mr Male” into the receiver and placed my eyeball on the scanner, which promptly spat a shot of warm urine in my eyeball. Then a metal cage swung down from the ceiling, a red light kept flashing and the PA system warned “Intruder Alert” until Mr Male came and physically reprimanded me. A warning to your readers: Mayo is not to be messed with. P. Addict. *
Mr Editor, My boyfriend says I won’t get pregnant if we do it standing up. Is this true? Anonymous *
A keen pissing enthusiast. *
Mr Editor, We resent the implication in your article entitled ‘Exclusive: New Head Job Interview’ in your last issue that we on the Board of Governors only consider gender when going through the lengthy and exhaustive process of selecting a new Headteacher for the School. We also consider skin colour.
If you wish to contact the Editor with your queries, corrections, postulations, insane rantings or indeed any message at all, please post it to the below address: Mr Editor The Door to the Left The Sixth Form Common Room The Terrace RG5 4US
‘Verba acutiora cultris arma sunt’
The Jeremy Kyle Show
A round of applause. The camera zooms past the studio audience, a group of humanplankton that make the villagers from Deliverance look sophisticated, before lingering on the smug features of Jeremy Kyle. There is a ‘–schlock’ noise as he plucks his head from between his buttocks, and he begins: Jeremy: Right, welcome back to the show. My show. Now, apart from me, everyone has problems – including my next guest, a teacher from Reading. Please welcome, Mr Dance. Mr Dance walks on to general applause. The tagline reads - “Stop having sex with my relatives, chiropodist!” Mr Dance: I never said that. Jeremy: No, I know, it just makes an interesting tagline. Talk to me. Mr Dance: Well, it’s just… no-one respects me. I feel so small! I know you don’t normally deal with small personal issues, but I thought, well, “who likes to help people?”, then I… Jeremy slaps him round the back of the head, and the audience laughs. Mr Dance: Ow. Jeremy: Please continue. Mr Dance: I was just saying that I feel no-one listens to me. It’s a really big problem. Jeremy: I see. And you’re concerned the child’s not yours? Mr Dance: What? Jeremy: I can tell you now, selling yourself won’t solve anything. Trust me, I’ve been there. Mr Dance: Dammit, you’re not listening. No-one respects me. Just yesterday, several of my class put a guitar-case on my head and gaffa-taped me to a chair, then sold the chair on eBay. Jeremy: Let me tell you something.
Mr Dance: I never said that. Jeremy: Who wouldn’t turn to S&M? Mr Dance: You’re not listening. Jeremy: You know, there’s nothing that upsets me more than when someone’s heart is telling them one thing, and their pimp is telling them another. Audience: Awww. The audience applauds. Mr Dance: You’re reading this off the autocue. Jeremy: No I’m not. Mr Dance: Yes you are. A member of the audience stands up. Member of audience: My name John! Everyone applauds. Jeremy: Now, we have Mrs Johnson next door, and we’ve just told her that you had an affair with her husband. Mr Dance: What? A woman storms on furiously. The audience applauds.
Jeremy removes his ear-piece.
Woman: I’LL KILL ‘IM! Mr Dance: Oh, bloody hell. Woman: WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE IT OUT?! Mr Dance: You leave it out. Woman: NO YOU LEAVE IT ‘AH!
Jeremy: You deserve better than this. Mr Dance: What do you mean? Jeremy: Just because you fell in love with your brother-in-law…
The two of them continue to argue as the audience applauds and throws popcorn. Jeremy smiles to himself, and with a self-satisfied ‘–schlock’ he nestles his head back between his buttocks. 15
Specialist Schools and Academies Trust IRREVERENCE AND PERVERSITY
Five reasons why car insurance premiums are so high for young drivers: Now you have your new provisional licence you are entitled to apply for a fake ID. Simply hand your current licence, together with a ten pound note, to that guy in your form room who wears a hoodie under his jacket. Expect an extra charge for sticky-back plastic. Please check your fake ID carefully. You must produce the fake ID, along with at least some facial hair, in the unlikely scenario of being asked to do so by an After Dark bartender. For more information go to: www.direct.gov.uk/ underagedrinking
Heâ€™s not missing, he just has a funny face.
Matt Bargent Andy Strang Tom Allott Aran Kapila Alex Webb