Bottom line: your child’s Halloween chicken patty sandwich may come from an unspeakably filthy food processing plant, but it’s not necessarily haunted.
The items promoted for Friday’s lunches across the tri-state comprise an all-star cast of pants-shittingly scary dishes. Students have been forewarned of “monster mashed potatoes,” “Count Draculasagna,” “headless horse-radish sauce,” “Salisbury Satan,” “the cauliflower of Cthulu,” and, perhaps least imaginatively, “boo peas.”
Above: A "Grim Reaper's Roast Beef Sandwich."
Tests concluded it's actually an ordinary roast
beef sandwich. Labwork on the "Underworld
Pickle Spear" proved inconclusive.
“All lies,” assures state food inspector Carl Finch. “We’re not sure what these cafeterias are trying to pull, but any time we get a tip about possible paranormal connections to our children’s lunches, we have to take action.”
Finch wouldn’t comment on who called in the tip, but his office also wasted precious laboratory resources last Valentine’s Day ruling out claims of aphrodisiac qualities in “Cupid’s Fruit Cup.” Weeks later, Finch had to check into possible good luck charms supposedly found in one school’s “Blarney Stew” and “Leprecharn dogs” for St. Patrick’s Day.
“Let me be clear,” says Finch. “Ghoulishly grilled cheese is simply grilled cheese. Terror tots are actually plain old tater tots. And poltergeist pizza is, frankly, neither haunted by poltergeists, nor even pizza by even the most lenient scientific standards.”
Still, Finch says there’s a hint of truth to some of the advertising.
“They’re not kidding when they say ‘mummified mac and cheese.’ I wouldn’t go near it.”
