In walks your track coach Mr Bayer, with a big baby bottle! You've been a cocky jerk to him all season, and by the look in his eye, he's about to enact his revenge.
"Well, well, it looks like the team brat has been acting too big for his britches. Good thing your mama put you back into pampers."
You break into a sweat, you're coach seeing you dressed like a big baby. You look imploringly at your mother.
"Honey, Bob and I have been dating for a few months now. We thought we'd keep it private at first. But we were both concerned about your behavior this year, and I think Bob will make a wonderful DADDY to help discipline you.
Daddy? DISCIPLINE??
The muscular older man lifts you up and places you into a cradle hold on his lap, binding you while simultaneously forcing the bottle into your mouth. The gross tasting formula slops down your through, dribbling down your chin.
"Uh oh,' you mother coos as she ties a baby bib around your throat. To your shame, it reads "Mr Poopy Pants." Once the terrible tasting bottle is finally completed, Coach Bayer hoists you over his should and pounds your back until-
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