We had a teacher in our school so fat that when she walked down the corridor, it was difficult to get past her. To ease the stress of one particularly bad episode of fat-teacher induced gridlock, a kid stood behind her, spread his arms out to the size of her arse (in a "I caught a fish and it was this big" manner) and triumphantly held the arse-sized arm stretch high in the air above her head for all to see.

Kids! Did you have a fat teacher? A purulent pedagogue? Tell us all about it - if they didn't want to be laughed at, they shouldn't have eaten all the pies.

Michael Spencer had to be the fattest teacher ever. Unfortunately there are no amusing incidents relating to his girth.

It is a mistake, when a fat teacher, to dress as a cow for Halloween.

Ours was called Mr. Cheshire - he used to sleep through lessons until wakened by the 'ping' of his microwave. He always used to wear chains around his wrists - presumably to stop the flab dripping over the joint and preventing movement.

Mrs. Waring required the double fire doors to be opened in order to progress from one corridor to the next. Fact.
(OMFG! That's one fat teacher, Robert Thebruce! That crazy fat bitch don't never be saying no to no motherfuckin' Big Macs! But did you have a fatter teacher? If so, exactly how fat was it? Was it like a mince-filled Hindenberg? Or perhaps it put you in mind of a scaled up bumble-bee, dripping sweat from its greedy bloated rear. We have to know the names and possibly even the addresses of every fat teacher there is.)

Park High School in the '70s. Our music teacher was fat, and he was called Mr Tucker. We retired to the playground, had a twenty minute brainstorming session, in which it was proposed, and eventually agreed, that we should call him Mr Fat Fucker.
(Do re mi so fat you fat fuck! What a fucking fatso! Did anyone have a fat woodwork teacher? - Log)

Our fat teacher at primary school was Mrs Caligeerus. A name slightly too convoluted for some of our immature mouths leading to her being called Mrs Crocodile. Which might have been a pretty good insult, if we were Bengali.
(How does that relate to her behemothic monolithicness? More fatties please.)

Well, our music teacher was so fat and claimed a place in many childhood memories by having to be hauled undaintily to her feet by four of her colleagues, after falling down the two steps that led into the dining hall. Probably in a pudding rush, the fat cow.
(Fucking hell, that's two to an arm! I hope no-one took the legs; you don't want be giving this fat bitch the bumps! Not unless you want a journey to the centre of the motherfuckin' EARTH! I tell ya! Any more? Let's turn this site into Fat Chicks In Party Hats)

The home economics teacher at our school was massive. Her name was Mrs Pelley. You can see this coming can't you? She was therefore known as Mrs Belly. Cos she was fat. See?
When you're that fat, do your farts ever get out of your body? I mean, if you're crawling up some really fat teacher's buttock-space to give them the love they crave, do you run the risk of relasing some long-forgotten farts? Farts embedded for years in the labyrinth of arse? It'd be like popping some shit-smeared bubble-wrap. JESUS, you fat teachers make me honk!

Father Damian was the fattest teach-priest in the world. So much so that someone smeared the word FAT in mud on his clasroom window. This drove him to launch a plastic chair across the room in fat-handed rage.
(Have you said your prayers, Father Damian? What did you pray for? You say you prayed for a hill of butter? FAT PRIEST ALERT! Our father who art in heaven, seventeen chicken chow mein! Is there any other combination of FAT + something else we haven't done? Fat science dwarves? Anyone?)

At a school we used to play rugby against, one of the P.E. staff who refereed our games was so fat that he had to referee the entire game from the half way line.
Additionally, if he was knocked down he couldn't get up again. He'd thrash about briefly, like some gargantuan speaking tortoise enjoying a mudbath, before blowing the whistle and asking, plaintively, "help me boys, I can't get up".
(How can I get out of the mud? I know! I'll eat my way out! scronfscronfscronfscronfscronf! Oh no, I've eaten the entire mantle of the Earth! Why oh why was I cursed with my bigbones™?)

Fat teachers should always choose to dress in floral ponchos made from curtains, and - and this is perfect - drive a Mini. Mine certainly did.
So when the beast shoves its ham-joints through the tiny doors, and wedges itself under the Polo Mint steering wheel, at least it has the excuse that it is a Mini.
(Did your fat teacher use any comedies of scale? Perhaps it would drink hot lard from a thimble, before hurling Rubik's Barrels down a network of girders. Was it a knowing joke, or simple, fat-headed obliviousness? Who knows what goes on, in... The Minds of the Fat.)

Just as an aside, and for those that haven't experienced the joys of fat teacher loving, google "fat teacher". Go on. And then click on one of the links. Maybe the "Student fuck his fat teacher" one. Even better - "FREE Fat teacher fucking and New York black porn!" one.
Whoo! That kicks off November's round of fat-teachers with a global flavour! I wonder what a fat geography teacher tastes of? Does he taste more like Geography, or a messy pile of bacon? Let's find out!

Norma Huges was a very fat pottery teacher. Norma wasn't the kind of lady to let her immense size dissuade her from wearing tight leggings.
She took her dog, Lance, for walks by holding his leash through the open window of her old Golf Polo whilst slowly driving around the school.
A phlegm-sodden scream meant that Lance had slipped her sausage grip. This would set off a chorus of imitation shrieks, resulting in a very confused dog and a very angry fat woman sweating in a metal box.
Lance! Look for food, Lance! If you don't find food, I shall eat the car! Then there will be no more walks! Now I am lying on the ground, Lance. Please take off my jaw and walk into my mouth, where I will start the laborious process of eating you. I wish food was easier to eat *FAT SIGH*

Miss Dagg was nothing short of twenty stone. A follower of the floral tent-dress fashion, she was incredibly miserable and perpetually angry. From the very first day, we just knew she was going to be a pushover - and we were right. She left the class crying every other lesson, "took a long holiday", then came back and so on and so forth, as we mercilessly ground her down.
Sports Day - A pupils versus teachers rounders match, and to our absolute disbelief, Dagg is lined up on the teacher team. She clearly thinks that this is her chance to get back at us.
Dagg is next to bat. Some geek kid bowls a feeble ball and THWACK. She strikes it straight over the fence and sets off around the bases. Starting slowly, she gradually gathers speed and by the time we have climbed over the fence and retrieved the ball, she is going like a fifteen-ton runaway truck down a hill, towards the last base and a "rounder".
She is nearly there as Stu Black throws the ball. The ball flies over her head and is caught by the boy at last base who immediately stumps her OUT. Dagg is still running, however. She cannot stop herself in time and smashes head-first into the six-foot solid metal pole that is serving as final base.
While she lay there unconscious, with her dress around her waist and bloomers on display, it became horrifically apparent that a wet piss patch was slowly forming around her pouch-like fanny. The seconds passed and we gradually slipped through the gears, from stunned silence into screaming laughter.
And as the teachers stood around this scene of carnage, the head of year was clearly heard to say, "If you think I'm watching THAT fat cunt while YOU lot go to the pub, you're SADLY mistaken".

One of our Science teachers was a sweaty lard-arsed mammoth of a man called Mr Jones. To compound his unfortunate size, he also had a speech defect, rendering all 'r's as 'w's. One of his favourite sweaty fat phrases was "where is your wuler, you cwiminal?", which one of the sixth formers recorded with a dictaphone and sampled, creating a disturbing mid-90s rave masterpiece.

Mr Jones claimed to have had schoolboy trials for West Ham United. Presumably they didn't take him on because he was a gargantuan chair-worrier with a sweaty niff that could fell an ox at fifty paces.

English teacher Mrs Richards was so fat that she:

• Missed a lesson because she was stuck in an armchair in the staff room.
• Had to have the doorway to her classroom widened.
• Got stuck on a bus and had to be cut out with the fire brigade's "Jaws of Life".

The stories are all 100% guaranteed fatual.

It didn't take much effort to come up with the perfect nickname to describe the cetacean size of maths teacher Wendy Hale.

Mr. Roberts was the supply teacher who turned up when our normal teachers couldn't be arsed.

He looked like William Conrad in Cannon (A Quinn Martin Production), but without the moustache. Plus, he was bald too.

Best was when he had to take us for games. He'd make the pretence of refereeing a game of football or rugby for precisely two minutes, then stop us because we were 'doing it all wrong' and make us line up for some 'coaching', which, PURELY coincidentally, entailed him standing still for the rest of the lesson.

Fat maths teachers should always avoid the analogy of an empty Toblerone box when describing the dimensions of a triangular prism to a class of cynical 13 year olds.

In our school, we had a family of them.

Cooking was taught by Mrs Rudge
I.T. was taught by Mr Rudge
and they had a son, Robert Rudge.

Mr Rudge needed double doors opened to move around the school.

Can you guess what their nicknames were? That's right! Fudge!

Our Fat Teacher was also called Mr. Jones; he was so fat that his belly would rub against the board and rub off the writing underneath, which seemed to confuse him no end.
Also, to this day, there is a coffee stain on the ceiling above his desk from when he had a sudden heart attack and threw his cup into the air.

A chemistry teacher of ours nicknamed "Pauncho" (who has now passed on) was so fat, he used to drive his car to the part of the school that had the photocopier in.

We had Mr Burbridge, known affectionately by the 6th form as "Fat Burbs". What made him stand out from the fatty hordes of fat teachers listed on this site was that he positively revelled in his size, once taking a bow on stage at the Christmas play whilst we all chanted "You Fat Bastard".

Easy now; it's only the quarterly fat teacher update!

Gotty Gotty has written to let us know that he "Had a female I.T. teacher who was so fat that she once took a week off and when she came back it was revealed she'd been to have a baby.
She was so fat that nine months pregnancy was total unreadable under her vast bulk."

Rast Clat says: "Our R.E teacher, Mrs Hart, was so huge that when writing on the blackboard she would rub everything off with her huge boobies as she went, which confused her no end. She would also wear a bright yellow dress in the summer which, not only made her look like a tennis ball, but was also see-through, much to the disgust of everyone who set eyes on the massive beast."

Finally, an anonymous user wrote to say "My school must have been unique in not having any truly massive teachers. Perhaps the stairways were too weak/narrow to support them."

Er, quick question, anonymous user: do you find that people often yawn right in your fucking face, you pointless twat?

We had a fucking huge dinner lady if that counts, nicknamed 'Sweaty Betty'. She was gargantuan - legs like melted candles and a six part tit/gut shape defined by her huge bra and unfeasably massive undercrackers - all packaged of course in bright highly flowered curtains that doubled as a dress. We found her tabard unattended once - the size label had been cut out but it was easily the size of a six-man tent.

She was so slow it would take her half of breaktime to cross the playground. However, we didn't dare arse about too much, as the rumours was that a few years previously one boy got sat on when eventually caught and he was still living in the rolls of fat, scavenging from the various partly eaten food items that dropped in.

She even gave her name to a playground game, where one person would wobble around pretending to be hugely fat, and the rest would try and 'pop' that person with an imaginary pin.