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Participants agree to wear a MedicAlert bracelet programmed to pick up heightened stress levels; as levels increase, changes in electrical resistance of the skin are detected by GSR sensors. This data is fed back to a central database which triggers immediate delivery of one perfectly-served portion
of the wearer's chosen pudding, to be consumed immediately on receipt. Tests have shown that the most reliable delivery agents are storks, which are uninterested in anything not tasting strongly of fish; a decision wisely backed up by the general assumption that storks are bearers of good news.
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Here I am minding my own business, choking on a fish bone, when this stork arrives, stuffs a half bakery croissant down my throat and extracts the fish bone. Super idea. |
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Stress sometimes leads to hypertension. Without enough pudding, or too much, you'd be in some kind of feeding loop. Maybe a vegetarian dressed as Santa Claus should deliver fish instead? |
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Steve was a small, skinny guy. He didn’t do exercise and his first response to having a gun poked in his face would be to empty the till and all his pockets before anyone even had to ask. Which was lucky really because that was exactly what had happened. Steve was a cashier at a bank. Having a gun poked in his face made him stammer, sweat heavily and want to go to the toilet really very urgently indeed. Perhaps, because he had handed over the cash so quickly, the men with the guns would go quickly about their business and leave so that he could dash off to the WC?
Mary used to work in a school canteen. She loved making proper, old-style comfort food puddings. She couldn’t believe that she had stumbled into her dream job so easily. She loved her new job. She loved the whole world really. And now, as she barged, smiling, through the doors of the bank with her trolley, she was just massively enthused about the prospect of serving up a delicious, steaming hot pudding to the poor stressed, bank employee who had signed up for the Pudding Pacifier Project. In fact she was so enthused that it took a while before she managed to fully appreciate the scene in front of her. Customers laying on the floor, cashiers with their hands in the air and three large, shotgun-wielding gangsters in balaclavas. All were loooking at her with various shades of astonishment
Mary’s smile faded and she came to a halt with a squeaking of casters from the trolley. She coughed gently to clear her throat. “Jam Roly-poly and custard anyone?” |
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Fortunately for Steve, Mary's years as a dinnerlady had given her the lifeskills to handle the situation. With a swift spinning movement she disabled the 3 shotgun muzzles with generously-applied free samples of sticky toffee pudding and placed a well-aimed Dr Scholl sandal in the 3 groins of the utterly-bewildered robbers, causing them to give up all ideas of keeping Steve from his pudding. As the police arrived to take them away, Steve sucked the last trace of custard from his spoon and watched Mary leave, comforted by the knowledge that the next robbery would bring a double helping of his favourite Bakewell Tart. |
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She did not leave! Or have you been reading the bowdlerised version again? |
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You were thinking of a fishmonger, like Molly Malone. |
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// Stork? I can't believe its not trebuchet. // |
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This sounds like a French villager's melancholy. |
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