Dear Cadbury
Dear Cadbury Person, complaints and suggestions department.
Just thought I would mention that whilst I was working yesterday from the studio, my son let out an odd noise. Upon enquiring what had caused such an unusual sound he ventured into the room making what I can only describe as heaving noises.
Oh oh, I hear you think. Now it wasn't as bad, in my opinion, as the time when I was about 13 and I bit into an apple, only to peer down and see the remaining half of a rather disturbingly juicy grub... this was swiftly followed by the sudden reappearance of the missing half, some partly chewed apple, my cheese and Vegemite sandwich and a tim tam all ejected unceremoniously onto my friend John's brand new suede desert boot which in turn elicited a similar and rather explosively propelled response from John who expelled his lunch upon Colin Lanetti's right leg. Which was an unfortunate turn of events and went down in Warragul Technical School history.
Colin was an inherently angry kid and responded, almost involuntarily, by punching John on the nose. Well, it would have been the nose but John, in a rare moment of good luck, lowered his head in horror to see the the damage his new footwear had just sustained and Colin punched him in the forehead. Foreheads have a much higher structural integrity than noses and this caused Colin's little finger to instantly fracture in two places, one of which had a piece of bone poking through. Upon looking up rather dazed to see what had just happened to his forehead John's eyes landed upon said exposed bone causing his brain to temporarily shut down in a brief episode of vasovagal syncope. This faint facilitated John’s forward and downwards trajectory causing him to hit Dave Buisinks Sunny Boy, which Dave was gripping tightly with a look of mild terror at the immediate events rapidly unfolding before him. Dave had recently finished sucking the entirety of the artificial orange flavour out of the Sunny Boy and had thus turned the tip into a translucent steel hard spike of ice. It is this newly honed ice tip that so easily lacerated John's forehead as he fell, spark-out unconscious to the grass upon where we all stood, frozen, mouths agape in the playground.
At this juncture our maths teacher Mr Stevens, whom after this incident had earned the nick name "Chook" came fatefully bounding over. Mr Stevens had the temperament of a bull ant after it's been stepped on and loved nothing more than to give obviously delinquent reprobates detention whilst dreamily pondering the days when we was allowed to weald the strap or at least the cane handle of a feather duster with careless abandon. Mr Stevens in his haste to reminisce of the marvelous yet tragically lost freedoms afforded by a bygone era of corporal punishment failed to look at where he was going and stepped directly upon Dave's now hastily discarded Sunny Boy. Dave was no fool and knew that if he just chucked the frozen beverage aside whilst everyone was distracted the evidence would soon melt away and he could maintain his intended facade of naive innocence. For Mr Stevens this ill planned podiatracal encounter was like stepping on a bar of soap, or in fact, ice.
Mr Stevens did the sort of uncontrolled dance that helped Jerry Lewis rise to fame back in the mid 1960’s and lurched forwards, all four limbs flailing of their own accord, to the great joy and lifelong amusement of all those fortunate enough to be present at what was soon to be known as ‘The Big Vom of 84’. All except for Colin who was now in the early throws of Acute Stress Reaction and had just lifted up his hand in trembling shock to show the world his horridly mangled pinky finger (and John as he missed the whole thing on account of being unconscious, something he still bemoans to this day). Unfortunately, again, for Colin and Mr Stevens, Colin's undamaged index finger slotted a rather disturbing yet equally comical distance straight up and into Mr Stevens left nostril resulting ultimately in a rare, unfortunate and long term condition, as we all discovered at assembly some weeks later, called Transnasal myopathy. Who knew.
Colin needed to have his finger surgically pinned in two places and was never quite able to straighten it fully. If anything he was ever so slightly angrier going forward having gained the nickname ‘The Pick’. John had 3 stitches in his forehead and got into trouble from his mum for ruining is new shoes despite his protestations of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She tried to take them back to Westin’s Shoe Emporium on account of them being stained and somewhat olfactorally offensive. Old Mr Westin wasn’t having any part of it and denied any accountability what so ever for the issue and banned John’s mum from ever entering the shop again on account of her making a such scene in front of customers.
Mr Stevens, forever known as Chook for his newly acquired crazy ice slipping running style abruptly quit teaching several months later as the left half his nose had gone floppy and kids had begun pointing and laughing at him. He went to work in a local abattoir, which everyone felt was a better fit anyway.
Now, having said all of that what my son presented me with was a squashed cockroach inside the wrapper of one of your easter eggs, so not as traumatic as what had happened to me but still rather unpleasant. Just thought you should know. It was in a box of eggs, but I didn't feel I needed to keep the box at the time. I merely kept what I can only describe as a sort of Tim Burton inspired Kinder Surprise. Which the dog has just eaten. I must now cut this communique short as, given I am temporarily unable to locate our emergency supply of activated charcoal, I have to dash to the vet.
