When I was in 9th grade, I had a mousy social studies teacher who displayed absolutely no sense of humor, and who one day decided to read aloud to us from some story involving roosters.
Only she didn't say rooster. She said cock.
To a roomful of fourteen year-olds.
The first time she said it I forced the giggles back down into my throat, but she kept saying it, over and over, almost like she was testing us on purpose (which she must have been, because since when do roosters figure prominently in American history?)
I lost it around the third cock.
(I don't think I need to tell you that that's what she said.)
Anyway, my teacher was quite disappointed in us. "I expected more maturity from you," she said, fixing me with a sour stare.
I hadn't thought of her in years until yesterday, when my sister bought me a gift:
Yup, still hilarious. It's good to know my inner fourteen year-old is alive and well.
P.S. How many copies do you think Cock Soup For the Teenage Soul could sell? I think a lot.