In Australia (somewhere in the middle) was a young chap named Boris Biggle.

He had big, brown eyes, ten fingers and toes, and a terrible habit of picking his nose. To make things worse, more often than not, he made a meal of his sticky snot.

His classmates often felt the need to belch when they observed the deed. His teacher, Mrs. Wondercheese, with twenty-seven kids to please, tried to find a simple cure with pungent herbs and some manure.

She stayed up late one Monday night stirring the blend ‘til it smelt just right, then carefully, she cooled the pot; the end to Boris Biggle’s snot.

When morning came, Boris yawned. Another day, another dawn. He noticed nothing straight away until he heard his father say, "In haste, I must set out to quell this mysterious, ungodly smell!"

Mr. Biggle swiftly departed through the front door, like a bullet he darted.

Using his hands to capture the waft, Boris first gagged, then choked, then coughed, but it was a sneeze that produced the green. Unable to resist, he licked it clean.

And as he chomped on his projectile treasure, the horror he tasted (too awful to measure), would determine the end of his snot-eating ways and all such cringe-worthy displays.

From the reclining chair in front of her telly, Mrs Wondercheese laughed and she wobbled like jelly. Committed to teaching, her methods weren't right when she emptied her pot in the dead of the night. To a young, sleeping Boris, he breathed it all in; it went straight to his boogers for marinating.

It didn't take long for the concoction to dwindle and the regular smells to return and rekindle. The Biggle's remained blissfully unaware of the source of the smell that polluted the air.