Pudding! So cool. So creamy. So silky smooth.
I asked Uncle B to buy me a pudding cup for a prop (this being England, it’s called something gay like “trifle”). He said, “I still don’t understand this pudding thing.”
So I explained it to him.
He put on his best Colonel Mustard face and said, “firstly, you don’t have any balls. And secondly, I suspect this Ace person doesn’t have any balls either, or he would realize what an extremely unpleasant and dangerous experience that would be.”
Then he harumphed, brushed the deviled lamb’s kidney out of his mustache, rustled his copy of the Times and disappeared behind the Financial pages.
Yes, I’m whoring a t-shirt. Have a good weekend, everyone!