Wednesday, 22 February 2012

BOFmobiles: Harnessing Science

As you know, Coyote and I strive to be one step ahead of BOFs and their BOFmobiles at all times.  This means that we sometimes have to put ourselves in extreme danger in order to bolster our knowledge of these pseudo-posh and downright obnoxious creatures.  We've been known to walk within six feet of a BOFmobile in a car park...we're that determined to glean information because we believe that knowledge is power.  

While we always appreciate your input, please remember that we put ourselves in these perilous situations so you don't have to.  We're trained professionals.  Our War on BOFs has been running for nearly 5 months.  In that time we've been stalked, bullied and thoroughly offended by them - but we know how to handle BOF encounters.  Please don't endanger yourselves and your loved ones; leave the front-line BOF battling to us.

Through some SAS-style manoeuvres (ok; running up to a parked BOFmobile, smashing the passenger window with a brick, delving in and legging it) we managed to acquire some BOF fuel.  It would appear that they don't drink ordinary coffee like the rest of us...oh no.  They drink boffee. There wasn't much left in the cup (because BOFs can't operate without caffeine) but we knew that, by harnessing modern forensics, we'd be able to learn a lot more about BOFs.  What goes into their fuel?  Is it responsible for their obnoxiousness, or does it simply enhance it?  Whatever information we could glean would boost our ammunition.

We took our evidence to a laboratory somewhere in a basement.  You know; like that one in 'Waking the Dead'.  We were expecting a big, glass wall with writing and photographs on it and banks of silent, high-powered computers.  We were expecting a distinguished man with perfectly coiffured grey hair and a dynamically swooshing white coat to greet us with fiery eyes and ardent handshakes.  We were expecting a level of professionalism at least slightly above that of a school chemistry class...

...but we had to make do with a spotty laboratory technician called Derek who wore loafers and horn-rimmed glasses with lenses as thick as re-entry shields.  He sounded like he had adenoids the size of golf balls and carried with him the definite whiff of Digestive biscuits.  However, having blown our budget on Penderyn whisky and strawberries, we were screwed.  Beggars can't be choosers, so we left the evidence in his geeky, capable hands and eagerly awaited the results.

Today, those results came through.

We sat and stared at the findings.  The laptop screen glowed in the darkness and the dense, studious silence was only broken by the sporadic crunching of Smints in Coyote's gob.  We drank coffee.  We ate ham sandwiches.  We stopped for an hour to watch a fascinating documentary about gerbils on BBC Four.

After several more hours we stopped pretending we were clever and called Derek.  He wasn't happy; apparently he was about to level up in World of Warcraft, whatever that means.  After we plied him with the promise of a delivery of Dr Pepper and Wotsits, he agreed to clarify what the little bubbles and lines meant by sending us a simplified version of the diagram:

That made much more sense.  We especially liked the pictures...but think they would've looked better in crayon. 

So in summary, there is a sure-fire way of eliminating BOFs and their BOFmobiles.  We need to stop them eating cake and bacon, bar them from vintage car rallies and ban them from wearing Chelsea boots.  (Actually, getting rid of Chelsea boots all together would be a better idea; but this isn't an ideal world.)  This poses a problem.

Bacon and cake are too readily available, vintage cars last longer than a Van Halen guitar solo and Chelsea boots are, regrettably, unstoppable.  We tried the brainy approach, but science failed us.  ('Boffins', see?  We should've known.)  This leaves us with only one option... carry on annihilating BOFmobiles one by one with the strategic use of land mines, hand grenades and antitank weapons; and by pushing them off cliffs where available.

It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.


One down; hundreds of thousands to go...

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