Well, since we’ve gotten on to the subject of evacuating into one’s pants and we’ve gotten one personal story already, I feel marginally comfortable enough to relate this one.
It’s 6th grade and the teacher in this particular class has a “sign-out” book for bathroom use. You know the drill - name, time out, time back in. This one day the urge hits me something awful - the ol’ water-balloon-just-under-the-abdomen feeling. Unfortunately, there’s someone already out and the teacher won’t let me go until he gets back in.
So here he comes, and I make a beeline for the book, literally hopping on one leg. So what does he do? [TAKES HIS SWEET FREAKING TIME WRITING HIS TIME IN. Deliberately, ‘cos I can see him smirking. I grab the pen, write my name and time, and barrel for the boys’ room.
Too late.
There’s nothing I could do. The school nurse hasn’t got a spare, it’s summer and I don’t have a jacket or anything to cover the monstrous stain. We’re talking knee-length here. And it’s not even lunchtime yet. I’m 12 years old, just starting to hit adolescence, and middle school is already hell enough without this.
*ahem So anyway. [deleted], wherever you are, I want you to know I don’t wish you burn in hell for this. I just want you to suffer from rampant incontinence, the kind that makes the people from Depends say “God damn, he’s gonna put us on the gravy train!” from the age of 65 until your death. And I hope you live past 100.
Ahh, high school, the setting for life’s most mortifying scenes. During my senior year, the prettiest girl in the school was elected homecoming queen. (Of course, she was also the snottiest - some stereotypes are true.) Anyway, during halftime of the big game, she was getting ready to ascend these little stairs to a small platform so she could get her crown. She’s wearing a halter-style full length dress - you know, the kind with a little spaghetti strap tied around the neck?
Anyway, she hits the next to last step, and her foot comes down on the hem of her dress. The neck strap snaps, she takes a header, and the combination of no neck strap and tangled legs causes her dress to yank downwards so the neckline now falls just below her belly button. This poor girl is laying on her back, groggy, flashing her ta-tas at the entire crowd. Her quarterback date, with remarkable presence of mind, flings the waiting bouquet of roses onto her overly exposed chest.
I now invite you all to consider this; not all florists are thorough enough to remove thorns from the roses they sell.
I was walking home from class one day my junior year in college. It was very cold outside, and I had to walk down this long path that had a very gradual slope to it. There were parts of it that were quite icy, so most of the time I chose to trudge through the snow rather than having to worry about looking for ice all the time.
Walking in front of me was a rather large woman carrying a lot of books. She was sort of waddling down this path, and I kept thinking “Better be careful.” Soon after she started to flail her arms around, books and papers flying everywhere. She almost regains her balance, but then totally loses it and lands flat on her ass, all remaining articles not fastened to her person flying in all directions and lets out a loud yelp. Now remember, we are on a slight grade, so she continues to slowly slide down this path on her back while her belongings get blown about by the wind.
Here’s the part I regret: I laughed so hard that I fell down. I really wish I could have helped her up or tried to gather some of her stuff, but all I could do was laugh.
During a seventh grade social studies class, middle of the class period, middle of a test, everyone silent. M. Martin(full name not used because, well, you know), who is sitting in the middle of the room, suddenly lets rip with a loud, obnoxious-smelling fart. Like it was choreographed, everyone sitting around her scoots their desks toward the outer walls… it couldn’t have been better synchronized if we had rehearsed for weeks. M first looks startled, then bolts out of the room as we all start cracking up (cut me some slack, we were in the seventh grade). It didn’t help matters when our teacher said “Ok, ok, quiet down. Move the desks back. Open a window.” Poor girl.
Later as a sophomore in a geometry class, again in the middle of a test… One of my “friends” (she was valedictorian of our class, and never let anyone forget it…) had just finished a test and walked to the front of the room to turn it in. As she was walking back to her desk, one of the upperclassmen in the class was looking at her, so she says “Stop giving me a dirty look!” Upperclassman says “I wasn’t giving you a dirty look!” Then, our mild-mannered, yet sarcastic geometry teacher mutters “Mother Nature”. My best friend and I didn’t stop laughing til the bell rang…
My freshmen year of college, first semester: the Delta Chi frat had a fundraiser. A bunch of dorms, frats, and sororities did lip-synched dance routines. I only went because my buddy Sean was a D Chi, but boy was it memorable.
One of the routines mid-way through was four girls who danced to that Destiny’s Child song that goes, “Ladies, leave your men at home, the club is full of ballers and their pockets full grown (?)” - something to that effect. So the four girls come out in these tiny strappy gold-and-black tank tops, and one of the girls is much larger than the rest. Well, they start, and for the chorus they do this move that involves flailing their arms and jiggling their breasts.
The fat girl’s boob popped out during the first chorus, and she didn’t realize it. She danced, it bounced, we laughed hysterically. Four minutes later (felt like an eternity) a guy comes out to lip-synch to the rap part, and he points out the fallen boob. She ran off stage clutching her chest.
This happened when I was grade school. I think it was fifth grade. Back then playground equipment wasn’t so user friendly. The swingsets had bare steel chains with open hooks attaching to to the seat. The game at the time was to see who could get the most distance after jumping off the swing. This one unfortunate kid had all kinds of speed built up when he went for his dismount. Some how his jeans got caught on the hook, and instead of breaking any distance records, his pants ripped from the waist along the outside seam down to about his knee. So there he was laying face down in the dirt (we didn’t have wood chips or pea gravel) with his pants around his ankles, and his tighty whiteys exposed to the world. :eek: I would have laughed hard enough to split my britches if it hadn’t been me. Life can be cruel, having split britches without the benifit of the laughter just isn’t right. Luckily, I had a jacket to tie around my waist and hold my pants together for the last couple hours of school. Not a pleasant experience nevertheless.
Okay, so it’s 8th grade health class, and we’re watching one of those lovely films on childbirth. We’ve all been hearing about this particular film. This is THE ONE. The one that shows EVERYTHING. And the film’s about halfway done. Camera cuts to the woman in labor, and pans back to show her in the hospital. The next edit shows a close-up of her nether-regions, fully dilated. This is when one of the Scribner Panther cheerleaders, Miss Allison B, stands up in the darkened room, points at the screen, and SHRIEKS in amazement “Look at her hole!” Needless to say, the film continued running, but we were unable to retain anything, as the entire class, teacher included, laughed ourselves into a stupor.
My freshman year in college, my girlfriend’s high school was having a blood drive, to which I donated. After we’d been bled in best young love fashion (Adjoining tables, holding free hands, all the other nauseating stuff), we walked past the rest of the civic minded students lined up to be sacrificed. I heard a snicker, then quiet laughter, then unrestrained general laughter. Looking around for the cause, I found that my girlfriend had got her period while donating, and hadn’t noticed. She was wearing white pants. Fortunately, I had a jacket she could use until I could get her home.
In the Navy, in Singapore, a number of us were in a restaurant, when one of my shipmates decided to act the Ugly American. You know the archetype: Whining about the menu, whining about the service, loud speculation about the cleanliness of the staff and kitchen, demanding special service, and so on. The staff were stone-faced polite. The rest of us suffered in horibly embarased silence, unable to appologise for fear of causing the staff loss of face, unable to stop her from losing her own face, and crushed completely by our own loss of face. I couldn’t look this bitch in the face for the rest of the deployment, and she had previously been a reasonably close friend. Gah, I cringe just thinking about it today, 12 years later.
8th grade. Prettiest girl in the class standing in front of class reading something or another. White pants. The gods of humiliation choose that moment to bless her with her first period. Class stares in amazement as the blood spot gets bigger and bigger.
She eventually catches on and runs from the room in tears. It took her the rest of the school year to live down the nickname “spot”.
—High school, senior year. Our football team had won the Sectionals, or whatever, and was going to the next round in the competition for State. Joe Somebody was the team captain, a nice guy but a little rough around the edges. During the morning announcements, the mike clicked off, then on again as a voice called, “Joe Somebody”.
“Oh shit,” said Joe with a nervous laugh. He took the mike to make his rousing speech about how the team was going to kick butt and take names in that night’s game, but it was hard to hear him over the guffaws.
When I was in 2nd grade, I was given a crew cut. I thought that was the most embarassing thing I’d ever go through.
Looking back, I realize that I should have been much more embarassed by my solution to the problem. I wore one of those yellow rain coat hats. The kind that have a hole cut out for the face. The teacher had no chance of talking me into removing it.
8th grade, academic honor roll field trip. We were at this park down the street from my middle school. A bunch of stupid 13 year old boy types were taking turns standing on one end of the seesaw, while the others pushed down on the other end and sent the boy flying. Christa Lind, the quietest girl in the school, decided to take a turn. She went up, her dress flew over her head, and she landed on her arm, with her undies exposed for all to see. I don’t know what was worse, the sight of her bone sagging down from her arm, or the humiliation she mst have felt for her underwear…
You know that guy in the year above, or the suburb away who go kicked in the nuts, and had to have one of them removed in primary school? Well I was that guy…cept I didn’t have it removed. Just operated on in Year 4. Didn’t actually give a shit a the time cause I was so popular no-one made fun of me. Only became an issue of insecurity when I became less popular in high school, and any sihn of weakness was big fo-pa…so I kept that one quiet.
I can’t remember if it was 4th or 5th grade but his name is Harry H.
He got up to sharpen a pencil. While he was sharpening he started shaking his leg. The boys were all watching him because we were in the middle if a game called “spike” where you punch people for some reason or another and were looking for him to screw up. On the trip back to his desk he gave his leg a few more shakes and stopped dead in his tracks up in front of the class. After a while the teacher asked him if he had a problem he said no. Some time goes by and the teacher asks again and he says no.
This situation starts to get strange and everyone stops what they are doing to give it full attention. It gets to the point where the teacher is ordering him to either sit down or go to the principal’s office. He decides to sit down but is dragging his foot leaving behind a smeared shit trail all over the floor.
The class collectively lost it. Although we remindid him about it often he seemed to get passed it with less damage than I would have expected.
…This didn’t happen to me, but I was a witness to it. My then-girlfriend, Rebecca, was over at my apartment a few years ago for the night. We were laying in bed, the TV was on. My cat, Beru, when she was younger and littler, loved to sleep on my chest, right underneath my chin. Beru was curled up there, and Rebecca decided that she wanted to lay her head there. So she places her hands gently on Beru’s hindquarters, and starts to lift. At this point, according to Rebecca, Beru let go with a fart that could end a marriage. It hit Rebecca full on in the face (then again, I guess Rebecca’s partly to blame for getting too close to Beru’s tush. Rebecca was so close that she actually had FART VAPOR MOISTURE on the cheeks and nose). I was oblivious to the whole thing initially. Beru’s butt was pointed away from me, and the smell hadn’t wafted over yet. So one minute everything’s okay, and the next Rebecca’s gagging and running to the bathroom to vomit. When I learned what happened (which I gathered from when I started to smell it), I laughed so hard I actually cracked a rib.
