Mr Clements Was Dead - There Was No Doubt About It.

Mr Clements was dead - there was no doubt about it.He was as dead as a doornail.In fact, he was about as dead as a hamster that hasbeen squashed by a ten tonne truck on the motorway,which is then scooped up and put in a microwave atfull blast super turbo heat for three days, andconsequently attached to a nuclear powered fireworkthat explodes into atoms after reaching the farthestreaches of outer space.So let’s make sure you understand and get the point.The hamster is well and truly, no doubt about it, areyou listening to me Jenson Kilroy DEAD!!!DEAD!!! DEAD!!! DEAD!!! DEAD!!!And also, when you think about it, probably the mostunlucky hamster in the entire, so far, recorded historyof hamsters. What a terrible way for the poor, sweetlittle fella to go to his maker SPALT!SQUASH!HMMMMMM!SIZZLE!PING!WHOOSH!ZOOM!Then a confused tiny ‘squeak’ – which is hamster forwhat could possibly go wrong now and then BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!That’s one dead hamster!

Anyway, where was I?Oh yes, Mr Clements was dead there was no doubt about it.But at the funeral that subsequently took place, there wereno tears or flowers. No prayers were said over the coffin andthere were certainly no kind words to be uttered about theman who now lay cold and still in his grave.For the truth of the matter, and I’m afraid thatit has to be said, even about a person who isno longer with us, so don’t take offence whenI tell you that Mr Clements was the grumpiest git thatever walked on our beautiful planet!He was a terrible teacher, who went out of his way to makeall the poor children in Year 6 about as miserable as a littleboy who has recently had a rather HUMUNGOUS session onthe toilet and then just noticed that there’s actually no toiletpaper left for him to do the necessary mopping up.

There were, however, three mourners inattendance at the funeral that day Mrs HarrisonMrs PantherMrs DaveyBut the three of them felt no tendernesstowards their recently departedcolleague. Far from being upset aboutthe demise of Mr Clements, they weregreedily gleeful about what they couldgain from his death.“I never thought he’d die!” grumbledPanther to the others, “he’s beenteaching the same old, boring lessons inYear 6 for about a century!”“You’re right!” grunted Harrison, “I wasonly about five years old when he firststarted teaching. But he stayed aroundforever like a really bad smell.”

“Like a TRUMP!!!” giggledDavey.Panther sniffed and looked down intothe grave, “I can’t think of a better way ofdescribing that horrible man.”“How about,” Harrison could scarcelyhold back her chuckles, “instead of callinghim Mr Clements, we change his name toMr Trumpants!”“TRUMPANTS! TRUMPANTS!YOU’RE A STINKYTRUMPANTS!”giggled Davey.“Anyway, let’s get down to business andnot waste any more time,” commandedPanther, “we’re here to take our share ofwhat the old goat left behind. What doyou want from the the dead duffer?”“How about,” Harrison rubbed her handstogether, “I now become the Year 6teacher! I can’t stand those little brats inFoundation Stage. They’re always pooingEVERYWHERE! It’s just not fair! You know,

the other day I was combing my hair inclass and I actually found a large stickybrown piece of ”“Enough!” interrupted Panther, “you canhave Year 6 as your class, Mrs Harrison.Now, what about you Mrs Davey? Whatdo you want to take from the beardedberk?”“TRUMPANTS! TRUMPANTS!YOU’RE A STINKYTRUMPANTS!”giggled Davey.The other two teachers were wellaccustomed to this unusual behaviour.For Mrs Davey had a condition that isreferred to by those in the medicalprofession as being technically COMPLETELY BONKERS“How about,” Harrison ignored a nowhappily skipping Davey, “we just give hera couple of packets of Haribo from hissweetie drawer?”

“TRUMPANTS! TRUMPANTS!YOU’RE A STINKYTRUMPANTS!”giggled demented Daveyby way of reply.“That’s settled then!” smiled Panther,“And as my reward for putting up withthe painful prat for the past few years Iget to take all the resources that he’sstashed away in his cupboards. All thoselovely new pens and pencil crayons andall that fresh, unused crisp card that I canput into my beautiful wall displays.”Panther closed her eyes in dreamytriumph at the thought of all thestationery treasure that she could nowget her greedy hands upon.“How about,” Harrison rudely interruptedPanthers pen filled dreams, “someoneexplaining to me how we finally got rid ofthe old git ”

“How Mr Clements met his end”This is for your part of the story.How did you kill me off?We are now briefly heading back to thefuneral or should I say the party orperhaps I should call it a gathering ofthree very much unmourning mourners.Actually, gathering three or morepeople is now illegal but it wasn’t whenwe started so we’ll ignore that!BORIS YOU DO MY HEAD IN!!!Let’s get on with the story

Mrs Harrison, Mrs Panther and the nowdeliriously dancing Davey, looked uponthe Clements filled casket with a growingsense of glee.All their dreams were about to cometrue Harrison beamed at the thought ofteaching Year 6 children. She could getthem to sit on the carpet, just likeFoundation Stage, but the slightly biggerblighters wouldn’t poop themselves orleave chocolate coloured presents oozingin her handbag as soon as her back asturned.As usual, there was little or no emotionupon Panther’s face, but her eyesbetrayed a look of steely triumph whichnow seeped from her avaricious peepers.

The fat oaf’s stock cupboard was now hersfor the taking. After all these years ofpatiently planning and biding her time,the Aladdin’s Cave of unused felt tips,pencils, crayons, rubbers, metalsharpeners, working staple guns withboundless staples, multi-coloured pensfor marking children’s books as well as themost rare and sacred, holiest of all holyteacher yearned for materials packets of Blu Tac.were waiting for her to simply ‘helpherself.’ Or in other words, grab by thebucket load, without a thought of sharing,and then hoard away like a squirrel withan over-eating disorder would do with hisnuts in Winter.

Mrs Davey, bless her, was still blissfullyunaware of well to be honest anything!“Haribo! Haribo! Megonna eat the ”At which point Mrs Davey actually forgotwhat she was actually talkingabout which was Haribo and so shethen proceeded to shout the first thingthat sounded a bit like what she going tosay in the first place “Alfie Boe! Alfie Boe!Me gonna eat theAlfie Boe.”

Alfie Boe, for those of you not in the know,is the internationally mega successfulsinger and performer who comes fromFleetwood. I went to school with him andwould regularly, in my role as Prefect,make him follow the one way system ofwalking around the school while alsopreventing him, on as many occasions aspossible, from going to the toilet when hewas desperate.And look how things have turned out!Who’s laughing now Boe you big loser!ANYWAY “Well ladies! Time to move off. He wasdreary duffer in life ” Mrs Panthersmirked.“And now he’s a dead dreary duffer,”interrupted Mrs Harrison.

“A dead dreary decaying duffer,” Panther’seyes narrowed as she rose to Harrison’s ‘d’word challenge.“A dead dreary decaying doughnut duffer,”Harrison carried on.“A dead dreary decaying doughnut dododuffer,” retorted Panther.“A dead dreary decaying doughnut dododustbin duffer,” snapped Harrison.“ A dead dreary decaying doughnut dododustbin dung duffer,” growled Panther.“A dead dreary decaying doughnut dododustbin dung despicable duffer,” Harrisonhated to lose at anything.But Mrs Panther had no intention ofbacking down to the young teachingupstart. She took the deepest of deepbreaths and “Alfie Boe! Alfie Boe!”Mrs Davey, chirped happily, while pickingthe petals from a bunch of flowers that had

placed at the front of a nearby gravestone.It was enough to end the battle of the ‘d’s.Both Panther and Harrison giggled, theyweren’t about to let a little squabble get inthe way of the occasion. They brieflyhugged and then took up the reigns whichthey always attached to Mrs Daveywhenever they went out for walks.For Davey was well known to chase cats,taking no notice of roads or oncomingtraffic, she would launch herself forwardlike a pack of huskies while bellowing “I want to stroke thefluffies!”

Okay Year 6, over to you What’s going to happen?Lot’s of detail, funny dialogue andsomething hilarious that causes theproblems.Mrs Harrison to have an accident andend up in hospital.Have fun with it!!!

“A rather unfortunate ACCIDENT”This is for your part of the story.What happened to MrsHarrison?We are now going to have what isknown in a lot of stories, films and manytelevision shows as a linking scene.After all the story is called Mr Clements and the unfeasiblylarge and stinkyUNDERPANTS OF EVIL DOOM!So isn’t it about time that thoseunderpants started to come to life

The Pants AwakenSomething stirred within the dirtylaundry basket.Something not human.It slowly opened two malevolent,differently coloured eyesand set its evil gaze on the whitewicker walls in which it was currentlyentombed.The pants were cross, no, that’s notright or very dramatic they were afurnace of burning rage. There waswork to be done, a mission of bitterrevenge that would bring doom anddestruction on those who had beenfoolish enough to commit anywrongs against the angry pair ofcotton and elastic undergarments.

The Pants AwakenBut the current situation simplywould not do! It just wasn’t fair! Howcould any evil genius be expected tobring about schemes that wouldcause the most delicious ofdestructions when it was stuck in thiscurrent and most irritating ofpredicaments?These conditions were terrible! Theywere ridiculous! The pants wouldhave complained if there was anyoneto complain to! And they wouldcertainly have written a stronglyworded letter if they had anypaper or a pen or for that matterany hands to write with in the firstplace!

The Pants AwakenDid you ever hear about one of thoseJames Bond villains planning to takeover the world from beneath severalpiles of increasingly cheesy smellingsocks? Did Thanos attempt to gaincontrol of the incredible power of theInfinity Gauntlet while wearing a bra onhis head?MOST CERTAINLY NOT!Those lesser creatures had muchbetter working conditions AND HALFTHE TALENT of these Y-Fronts, whilethe perturbed pants were forced tolower themselves to this tawdry(which means rubbish) level.The pants sighed a looked up at thelid of the basket.

The Pants AwakenIf only the blooming basket top wouldmove! The pants began to stareintently at the unwanted ceiling.Without warning, its one red eye beganto glow a fiery, blood red in the gloom.“MOVE! Do my BIDDING!” commandedthe pants And move it did! The basket lid flewinto the air and landed with a light‘scuff’ on the tiles of the bathroomfloor.Which was something of a relief forthe evil pants and to be fair, and evenmore of a relief for me because Icouldn’t think of a way of getting apair of underpants to do anythingthat was even vaguely interesting.

The Pants AwakenBut with the discovery ofEVIL PANTS MAGIC or how about TELEPATHY. Or we could callit PANTEPATHY.I have, quite by accident, along withthe flashing red eye, found a way forthe Underpants of Evil Doom toembark upon their vile mission ofremorseless revenge.The pants chortled, but there waslittle humour or for that matter‘happiness’ that accompanied thesound. Not because they were simplyevil – which is true, of course – butalso because the laughter was cutshort by the unwelcome taste of aparticularly cheesy sock that poppedinto the pants material made mouth.Much choking and coughing followed.