Shitty Feet

The school hall was full of parents, well wishers, and quite possibly members of the international paperazzi.

Young Spanky is looking rather dashing in tiny sparkly shorts and a white t-shirt. He's one of several little tykes, waiting patiently in the wings to wow the crowd. The plan was to skip onto the stage, do a few forward rolls on the PE mats the teachers had laid out, fuck off into the other wings, turn round, and repeat three or four times. Yes, it was a fucking amazing plan.

Our public waited with bated breath.

Then young Spanky noticed the smell... and the look of complete misery on his best mate Terry's face.

Dont worry, the smell will pass, young Spanky told himself.

But the smell lingered and the look of desperation on Terry's face grew, became like stone. The boy was utterly, utterly crestfallen.

"Whats happened," squeaked young Spanky, noticing the teacher was rounding up the troupe of six year old acrobats, ready to push them out towards their adoring public and undoubted world domination in the field of forward rolls.

"I pooed meself..." Said Terry. "I can feel it in me pants."

Young Spanky checked out his mate's shorts, sure enough there was a bulge. The smell was gaining momentum, intensifying in the hot hall air.

Young Spanky had a brainwave.

"Push it down into your shoe. No one will notice."

And Terry did just that, he reached his hand down the back of his pants and wrestled with the clutch of warm nuggets he had stashed there, forcing them down his scrawny pale legs, into his white gym sock, past his anklebone, finally to rest as a squidgy brown paste in his bright white trainer. Terry flicked his foot out a bit to get comfy, to make sure the shit was evenly distributed under the sole of his foot, and we were ready to roll...

The teacher, Mis Facey, clapped and out we went. Nearly thirty of us in a line, skip, forward roll, stand, skip, another forward roll, and then off the other side of the stage to the waiting wings.

We were absolutely FUCKING MAGNIFICENT!

Then we turned and started heading out again. As we'd changed direction this time, Terry was in front.

I could tell he was struggling to hold his shit together... He was fidgeting and scratching, holding the hand that he'd used to shepherd the shit out to one side as if it was a useless claw.

But I also noticed his trainer was working loose and his sock, aided by extra stinky lubrication of sorts, was rolling down his ankle.

But there was nothing I could do. We were off again. Skip, forward roll, stand, forward roll... and into the wings. Phewww! Made it!

And then we turned for a third pass. The crowd was literally silent. You couldnt hear a fucking pin drop. They must've been stunned by the excellent aerobic display. It was the only plausible explination.

This time Terry was behind me. I did my forward roll, and glanced back to make sure Terry was in formation. I was absolutely convinced we'd all be international forward roll stars.

And that's when it happened...

Terry's squidgy shitty foot gave way as he went into his roll, the slippery, liquified mashed up shit working like superlube on his sock and trainer. As he came out of the roll his trainer and sock shot off in a shower of shit droplets...

...and...

...sailed...

...in a HUGE fucking arc...

...into...

...the audience...
( SpankyHanky, Sun 1 Feb 2009, 1:26, 2 replies)

hull please...
pictures, or it didn't happen?
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Sun 1 Feb 2009, 10:03, closed)

I really dont care if it is true
It is a glorious tale. Nice work
( BadBadman saw an incorrect comma placement on, Sun 1 Feb 2009, 17:44, closed)