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One day at school we had a PE class with Mr. Marsh who was one of those teachers who thought he was quite funny and well liked. Most of us thought he was a wanker. We all got changed as usual and congregated outside on the playing field, for it was a summer’s morning and there was running and jumping to be done.
Mr. Marsh went through the register and we each called, “Here” when he read our names out. When he called out the name Parsons there was no response. Nick Parsons was a plump, red headed kid in our class who could be very amusing at times. He was quite disorganized and often late for class but always seemed to get away with it. Mr. Marsh asked the class if Parsons was at school. “Yes sir,” we replied, and someone said he was in the changing room.
A loud noise made us all turn around as Parsons burst out of the changing room doors and ran the fifty metres over to join the class. We all watched him, expecting an amusing exchange between annoyed master and oafish student.
Upon his approach, Parsons came to a dead stop, smiling, and then jumped around one hundred and eighty degrees, bent over and let rip an enormous fart, splitting his PE shorts the length of his crack in the process.
The whole class, quite literally, fell about laughing as Mr. Marsh tried to restore order by angrily telling Parsons to spend the rest of the lesson in the library.
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