In 7th grade, I was in gym class when I pitched a tent while playing basketball. I was wearing ball shorts with tighty whities (I don't wear tighty whities at all, but I reckon that day the clothes were in the wash or something).

I already noticed that both teachers and students alike were giving me strange looks, and I knew exactly why they were looking at me like that. That's the worst it can get, right? Nope. I run right into another player and smashed my dongozoid into his thigh (he accused me of kicking him at first; thinking back to it, I'm flattered [no homo]). Seconds after that, I trip over the ball and smash my puckered peter right into the glossy floor. As I got up, I noticed that my freckled fuck figure was now peeking out of my pants. I thought of running to the locker room, but I wasn't the type of kid to care much about what folks thought of me. My packed poker decided it's had enough fun fucking with me and I went limp in like a fuckin second. After class I was confronted by like 5 people about it, but I kept saying the same thing: "Basketball gets me going." A few awkward looks were exchanged and we went about our day like nothing happened.