I sppose you'll be wanting the full version of the QOTW question, then
"Come on then, Ernie. I dares ya... I dares you to... err... eat a toilet cake."

"You sick, sick bastard, Scary. I'll die."

"Aaah, no you won't. One bite then, just spit it out."

"You're on. Cost ya, though."

"How much?"

"Ten. No. Twenty. Fifty."

"Deal."

The bet was set at the nose-bleedingly high price of fifty new pence. We spat, shook and it was all official. There would be no backing out now.

Several of the round bluey-white cakes were procured from the cleaners.

Our school, keen to get the menial tasks done on the cheap, and with a ready pool of Eastern European migrants still two decades away, went for that other cheap market - sixth formers. Sixth formers who got at much as ten pounds per week, and were happy to take the cash and blow it all at the village bottle shop. For an insultingly low bribe, Ernie's brother came good with the gear, and we met up, next day, behind the Music Block.

One each, except for Manky Dave, who already had two of his own - fished, half dissolved out of the urinals by the language labs.

"Three... Two... One... Go!"

Immediately followed by: "Oh Jesus! This is foul!"

And: "Fuck me - it burns! It burns!"

And: "Hardly tastes like piss at all, really."

And, predictably: "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarch!"

And: "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARCH!", projectile style, all over the Music Block windows where a horrified Mrs Clarke had abandoned all attempts to conduct the Fourth Year Girls' Choir to take in the terrible vision unfolding outside.

Busted.

And there's a further 12-inch remix HERE if you still can't get enough.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 12:28, Reply)