The Language Lab
Big fat kid called Sam in our French class at school, ran the unofficial tuck shop out of his school bag (undercutting the legit one by 1p on a bag of crisps), ate a worse diet than a Glaswegian taxi driver. Anyway, the pride of our school was the language lab, because it had tape recorders set into the desks and you could plug headphones in and listen to someone speaking with a less risible French accent than our teacher. There was all sorts of other weird stuff it could do and a big Star Trek transporter room-style control panel for the teacher, but I don't think even the school understood how it all worked.

This particular afternoon it's hot and stuffy and Sam has been hevaily consuming his own illicit stock of comestibles, quite probably in the manner of a drugs dealer hearing the battering ram at the door. He has barely got his hand in the air to attract the teacher's attention when a tsunami of pale watery chunder erupts from his lips and just keeps on coming. The smell is unbelievable and what makes it worse is that it flows over the desk and into the tape recorder, dripping down into all that delicate state-of-the-art 1980s technology. We never used the tape recorders after that. What's "diced carrot" in French?
(rogerzilla, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 22:23, Reply)