mr. philbrook, the meanest teacher from my high school, was brought up on statutory rape charges during my junior year of college. he went from making fun of us in science class to living in a studio underneath my apartment. we always called him 'dickless'.

a day before i turned 18, mr. tolson - my soccer coach - asked: 'for your birthday, do you want me with my cowboy boots off or on?' i believe he started a touchy-feely relationship with mr. grande, the spanish teacher (i know - haha), by the time i had graduated. they were both married, of course, but me and all the goth kids knew what was up, especially shannon cross, our lesbo valedictorian.

i caught our high school's athletic director, mr. jackson (whose first name was michael), giving it to mrs. talon, the principal's secretary, one day after school in a supply closet. my soccer coach (yes, the same one) and i were trying to get a bus for an upcoming weekend game, so we accessed said closet to get the necessary forms. there we saw jackson with his bike shorts around his knees and mrs. talon's legs V-ed in the air. it was of course awkward and funny and i never breathed a word of it until years later.