Not my parents...
... who have among other things babysat for Ozzy Osbourne while he and the rest of the band got twunted off their faces. No, mine are pretty chilled out. Mrs. Spoon on the other hand...

Parents used to be strict Catholics - as in Mother was a Nun and Father was a trainee priest (obviously something went wrong somewhere for there to be a daughter but anyway). As she was growing up there were numerous acts of parental lunacy but this one wins.

They were ridiculously over-paranoid about drugs - even the slightest mention and they'd flip out, so one day when the mother of the story is in my missus bedroom and finds a wrapped up foil thing she goes fucking apeshit - but not in front of my missus. No, she has to be sure first, so off she goes to best mates house to consult with other parents... no-one can identify the former contents of the mysterious foil, but it smells kind of sweet...

wobbly lines
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one week later, having had no luck with parents, the mother of our story heads over to see the doctor, foil wrap in hand. The doctor has a look, takes scraping from the edge of this stuff to try and figure out what it is, has a sniff - same slightly sweet smell, a little bit like strawberries. He's getting on a bit though and doesn't really know what the kids are into these days. Best to open the whole thing up and see if there's a better sample anywhere. As the doctor opens up this tinfoil flower, a rather familiar looking word appears:


Petit Filous.

It was a strawberry yoghurt pot lid.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 8 Mar 2007, 17:08, Reply)