Not without its problems…

23 09 2008

More, more and a bit more. It's only wafer thin...

With 1,337,000 tins of Spork failing to sell, I was left with a predicament.  I could feed them to the snails, eat them myself, or use them as weaponry in my ongoing battle with the guy that smells of Marzipan in room 9.1b. 

As tempting as it is to put one over on the little guy with a surprise Spork related attack, he’s too easy to maim with far less valuable artillery.  Now the snails… they’re tempting.  You might think snails wouldn’t go for a meaty product like Spork, but the snails here are feisty and have been known to take down a cow if they get looked at a bit funny.  This one time, when Matron was hosting cow camp, 13 cows were slimed to death when the annual “Do your best Zoolander impression” contest turned ugly.  So anyway, whilst the snails could be fine recipients for my Spork, I didn’t really fancy encouraging their meat lust.  So that left me with just one option… I’d just have to eat them all myself.

Tin one went well.  I marvelled at the exquisite flavour.  My last minute decision to omit the Marmite was possibly my finest, though I did begin to question my sanity over the inclusion instead of the maggots.  No wait.  I definitely didn’t put any maggots in.  I remember now.  That is after all why I sing my maggot song everyday, reminding me not to put maggots in my food.  Hmmm.  Most odd.  Oh well.  Just more meat I guess. 

Tin two was less pleasing.  I was getting a real wriggly sensation in my stomach.

Tin three and my head was getting all spinny.

Tin four, someone was at the door.

It was Matron.

She didn’t look happy.  She took one look at my pile of tins and the maggot encrusted Spork around my mouth and she ordered me to head straight for room 102. 

I was to stop my stupid ways.  I was to embrace the way of the chocolate.  I was to lick it, lather it and digest it.  I was to consume vast quantities for her pleasure.

And so it began again.

I may never get to deplete my Spork mountain.

One day… one day.  So help me Gosh, one day.

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Spamtastic…

22 09 2008

Spam

I decided I needed to rebuild my strength after my death.  I needed top quality sustenance.  Tip top loveliness.  Something super splendid…

Nope… actually super splendid isn’t enough… 

Something meaty.  Initially I was thinking pork, then I had a moment of deliberation where I thought… no wait… ham…

But then, miraculously, I thought, what if somehow I could mix the joyous splendour of ham… with pork? 

This could work… I could be onto something…

I needed to apply my marketing skillz.

Need a catchy name.

Hork?

Pham?

Hark?

Amrk… that one needs some work…

Hamork… maybe.

Porkam… but was slightly worried about the connotations of that one.

Then Matron said What about Sperm?

 

No, I said.

 

No.

 

Silly Matron.

 

No.

 

But the seed of ‘S’ lodged in my 30% of brain and I had an ephifony…

Spork!

I rallied the minions and we produced 1,337,00 tins of Spork.  We were euphoric in our plans.  With a profit margin of -7p per tin we were well on our way to global domination. 

I bought a gold plated Sedgway in anticipation of the riches to come.

 

But they didn’t come.

 

Some other foo had had the same idea.  But he’d called it “Spam”. 

How stupid is that?

I feel weak.

How will I regain my life eccence after my death…

*sobs*