h a l f b a k e r yThe leaning tower of Piezo
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This gameshow is set out and about in various supermarkets. Hidden cameras are set up at night in the areas were food produce is made. During the day the TV crew wait to pounce on their unsuspecting victim. They watch the part-time student types preparing food and when they see food making mischief
going on they leap out.
Food making michief in the modern supermarket includes putting dead flies under pepperoni on pizzas, special cheese on sandwiches, extra tossed salad, hoopla with bagels and the all-time favourite filling dohnuts with special cream.
When one of the unsuspecting, dirty little student types is caught an alarm sounds, lights flash and out runs Davina McCall.
This is were the gameshow element comes in. If the student can eat what he made then the film of him making it won't be shown, but if he can't bring himself to eat it, the sickening film will be shown on national TV! If he destroys the evidence, then they destroy the evidence.
If it got a second series the show could be moved onto fast-food restraunts were we could see Bevis and Butthead style curly fries, and Eminem style onion rings.
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I used to work in the meat department of a Kroger delicatessen. The department was called the "Meat Shoppe" -- ugh. What a name.
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Anyway, we made this really addictive, probably heroin-injected glazed ham that people went absolutely insane over. One one particular instance we had but a teensy, 1/4-lb. sliver of the stuff left, but my profit-hungr-- er, "cost-concious" boss made us keep it on display anyway.
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Right before closing, a lady walked up to the counter. I could tell from far away her sole purpose was to procure said sliver because of the trail of drool she had left on the floor behind her. She, as I had predicted, requested that I slice the last bit-- but she wanted it *shaved*. Now, on the meat slicer is equipped with a "meat arm" which anchors the ham in place while it is sliced; however, for this small amoumt, and especially because of the fact that it ws being sliced so thinly, this arm was less than useless. I was forced to use my precious little fingers perilously closely to the whirling blade, with my salivating customer virtually peering over my shoulder from in front of the counter. I almost succeeded in filling her order.
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Or, if you look at it a little differently, I gave her more than she asked for. See, I ended up adding about 1/16" of the tip of my index finger to the pile of yummy ham on the slicer.
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The woman's one question, as I turned to her, clutching my finger tightly to stop the blood flow: "Did you bleed on my ham?"
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My question: Isn't a finger portion better than a puny little fly in one's soda?
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I want my prize money and a trip to Monaco. Or someplace where I can buy a new fingerprint for my right pointer finger. |
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