Tramp Attack
Our school was big on trampolining for some reason. I honestly don't know why, it's not like we were the champions of the local Imaginary Trampoline League or anything, but we had two of the fucking things, and both our heads of sport were masters of the bouncy lattice. The big chief – let's call him Mr C, not because that was his name, but because I'm a huge Shamen fan – was a PE teacher in the classic mould. Every day he sported tracksuit and bling, with his glassy eyes covered in big tinted specs – imagine '70s Edward Woodward playing Jimmy Saville in a biopic. He was the Gene Hunt of secondary school atheltics, and as a result had earned the imaginative nickname of 'The Bastard'.
For our first lesson, in order to making bouncing seem somehow glamorous, Mr C assembled the class for a demonstration of tricks which were SO DANGEROUSLY DEATH-DEFYING that the pupils must NEVER, EVER perform them. Got that? That's the only reason I'm showing you these tricks, maggots, so you know not to do them. That sort of thing. To be fair, it was quite impressive as he performed a raft of double-kneejerk frock slides and underarm arctic rolls and all that stuff you do on trampolInes when you have NO FEAR OF DEATH.
Demonstration finished, Mr C then reached the critical 'warming down' phase, in which you gradually reduce the intensity of your bounces until you, and the mesh, come to a complete and harmonious stop, preventing you from falling off and bashing your head. You can guess what's coming next. That's right, he misjudged a bounce and landed bollocks-first on one of the springs, which locked its pitiless springy jaws fastly on the stems of his testicles. Mr C was in agony. Sweet, hilarious agony. Once the class realised this was not, in fact, a demonstration of a trick they should never try (well, I suppose it was in a sense), absorbed the awesomeness of the situation and stifled their hysteria sufficiently, they left the gym to alert another teacher, and eventually the emergency services. All the while Mr C was suspended by the balls, trying to hold himself steady as the spring crushed his nickynackynoos like a vice - after all, the slightest twist would result in instant nadputation. The sounds he made were along the lines of a wildebeest trying to rap in Chinese.
Once the fire brigade had stopped laughing, they realised the only way to free Mr C without eunachising him was to cut the attached of the trampoline away. Thus he was publically stretchered into the ambulance with a sqaure of trampoline chowing down on his dillbag. Following a short and humiliating operation, Mr C was finally freed from his bollocky nightmare. When he awoke, he was given the sad news – one of his men didn't make it out of the ordeal alive. The kids, as you can imagine, were sympathetic. They stopped calling him 'The Bastard' after that. Instead they awarded him a gentler, altogether fluffier nickname. 'Womble'.
(electricteeth, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:25, 5 replies)

Oh dear God.
I'm cringing, clicking and giggling in equal measure!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:40, closed)

Please let this win
"along the lines of a wildebeest trying to rap in Chinese" - I was already giggling, and that just tipped me over the edge!

So this is what they mean by the LOL!
(nonstopdancer, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 17:12, closed)

Thank you kindly!
You might also be interested to know that the loss of his spunkmarble didn't seem to affect Mr C's libido. He had a 'wank shelf' installed in his personal shower, adjusted to the correct distance and angle for him to be able to see his porn mags and turn the pages (how quaint!) while showering without getting them wet.
(electricteeth, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 17:45, closed)

wildebeest rapping in chinese
funny as fuck!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 18:58, closed)

I have repeatedly liked this
As with the rest of the commenters, it's the wildebeest line that pushed me over the edge. :D
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Sat 21 Nov 2009, 11:59, closed)