FAG!

Just then a plump prefect burst into the staffroom. “Sir!...Sir!...Come quickly!” he squealed in upper class.

“How dare you use a staff entrance without permission, Porkins!” spluttered an erect member of staff. “Have you got no respect, boy?! This school has a great tradition to uphold! We’ve educated some of the finest homosexual defectors ever to disgrace the leather bars of Moscow!”

With that an aging maths master trundled forward unpleasantly and poked the prefect in the eyes. “It’s young, toffee-arsed scum like you what gives this school a bad name!” he hissed bitterly with his lips.

“B…but Sir…!” yelped Porkins in pain.

“I don’t know what this school’s coming to,” grumbled the history teacher as he lay smoking by the fire. “Only last week I caught two naked boys strung up by the cloisters.”

“That’s nothing,” chuckled a jovial fat fellow. “When I woke up this morning there was a frightened fourth former underneath me. Quickly, I penalized him for being out of school uniform and made him give me six of the best…”

“B…but Sir!” blurted Porkins. “Sir!”

“Oh for heavens sake,” groaned the staff. “What on earth is it, boy?”

“Sir! Wupert Everwett’s being bummed alive in the bogs, Sir!”

“He can be bummed flat as far as I’m concerned,” spluttered an enraged purple Head. “As long as he doesn’t miss his period!”

The End