bfosd
Bag Full Of School Dinner.
Almost every lunchtime during the third, fourth and fifth form we made a BFOSD by pretending to eat our school dinners, but in fact each sneaking spoonfuls into a plastic bag. These creatures were then named and taken out to the playing field, where they developed a personality of their own as they were thrown around until they burst - usually on Wayne.
The best BFOSDs tended to be composed of a base of mashed potato, custard and segments of orange, along with other associated foodstuffs. The acidity of the orange was generally believed to curdle the milk in the custard, turning the BFOSD into a stinking near-lethal chemical weapon.
Early BFOSDs tended not to last more than fifteen minutes or so, and required rebagging at frequent intervals if their lifespan was to be increased. Then some genius suggested putting the BFOSD into a sock taken from the PE Block lost property basket, and a whole new era was born.
Putting a BFOSD into a sock meant that, when the plastic bag burst, the mashed-up food that was its very essence did not escape onto the ground. Instead it oozed into the material of the sock, making it very, very unpleasant indeed, but also maintaining the BFOSD's integrity. This meant that, rather than lasting for an hour or so, BFOSDs could last for days or even weeks before the foul stench of rot caused us to discard it.
With the lifespan of the BFOSD extended almost indefinitely, all sorts of shenanigans ensued. The contents of the BFOSD leaked from their M&S terry toweling home at a reasonably restrained pace; school blazers were frequently dotted with stains, but nothing approaching the full-on 1963 Dallas head-shot stains that bursting plastic bags left.
And so the BFOSD managed to live past the lunch hour until after school when they made their way into Walsall town centre - where hilarity inevitably resulted: thrown onto crowded buses, pushed through open office windows, deposited on the shelves of the local Sainsbury's. We behaved in a manner that brought shame to both our school and our families. But we didn't care - we were young rebels blazing through puberty, and we did it with stinking socks in hand.
Almost every lunchtime during the third, fourth and fifth form we made a BFOSD by pretending to eat our school dinners, but in fact each sneaking spoonfuls into a plastic bag. These creatures were then named and taken out to the playing field, where they developed a personality of their own as they were thrown around until they burst - usually on Wayne.
The best BFOSDs tended to be composed of a base of mashed potato, custard and segments of orange, along with other associated foodstuffs. The acidity of the orange was generally believed to curdle the milk in the custard, turning the BFOSD into a stinking near-lethal chemical weapon.
Early BFOSDs tended not to last more than fifteen minutes or so, and required rebagging at frequent intervals if their lifespan was to be increased. Then some genius suggested putting the BFOSD into a sock taken from the PE Block lost property basket, and a whole new era was born.
Putting a BFOSD into a sock meant that, when the plastic bag burst, the mashed-up food that was its very essence did not escape onto the ground. Instead it oozed into the material of the sock, making it very, very unpleasant indeed, but also maintaining the BFOSD's integrity. This meant that, rather than lasting for an hour or so, BFOSDs could last for days or even weeks before the foul stench of rot caused us to discard it.
With the lifespan of the BFOSD extended almost indefinitely, all sorts of shenanigans ensued. The contents of the BFOSD leaked from their M&S terry toweling home at a reasonably restrained pace; school blazers were frequently dotted with stains, but nothing approaching the full-on 1963 Dallas head-shot stains that bursting plastic bags left.
And so the BFOSD managed to live past the lunch hour until after school when they made their way into Walsall town centre - where hilarity inevitably resulted: thrown onto crowded buses, pushed through open office windows, deposited on the shelves of the local Sainsbury's. We behaved in a manner that brought shame to both our school and our families. But we didn't care - we were young rebels blazing through puberty, and we did it with stinking socks in hand.
written by Ph*l *lan*vil*, approved by Log
In America (or American films at least) they call it 'brown bagging', and it's quite a hip thing to take your lunch into school in a paper bag. In this country, a Kwiksave bag (or worse, the plastic bag the bread for your sandwich came in), marks you as the worst kind of pikey. Not like a good pikey, the kind who’s mum doesn’t pay the rent but keeps her kids in Reeboks and nose studs and consumer durables, but the rubbish kind of pikey who can’t afford school trips and has to stay behind at school pissing about with bean bags in the gym with a dinner lady.
The moral of this story is: buy your fucking kids lunchboxes.
The moral of this story is: buy your fucking kids lunchboxes.
written by Su*an*Toba*co, approved by Susan
If bags full of school dinner become boring, steal sheeps eyes from the biology lab and sling them around until they burst. The black ooze in the middle is... unpleasant.
written by gr*ff ., approved by Log