I am very ashamed of this.
Back when I was eighteen, before I became a perpetual student, I worked in a school. I had easy hours: 8.30-3.00, three days a week. Being young and carefree, I therefore took this as an opportunity to get as drunk as I wanted, as much as possible.

Sometimes I went into work, hungover, with puke in my hair.

On one such hungover Thursday, it was our weekly meeting, to discuss the progress of the childrens. I was not in this world: my still-drunk gut churned, full of last night's snakebite with black, and my mind worked as though it was full of custard.

The strong black coffee handed to me did not reinvigorate me as I had expected. In fact, it played utter havoc with my poorly intestines. I needed to fart. Badly.

A little cough to cover the sound, and a prayer that it would not smell, and I allowed nature to take its course.

It did, with gusto. A little too much. Something Did Not Feel Right.

Yes, that's right. I shat myself in a meeting, and had to spend the rest of the day supporting retarded kids with pooey knickers.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:05, 3 replies)

Your last sentence
Could be taken one of two ways...

So I'm assuming both you and the kids had pooey knickers.

Good one.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:08, closed)

Talk about the blind leading the blind...

( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:13, closed)

Beware..
... the farts containing liquid lumps.
And bless your heart - working with special needs kids is a challenge in itself - but with your added "challenge"...

*empathy* and *click*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 23:50, closed)