Never give your lover pet names during a famine – Advice #309J

Posted on May 11, 2010

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The boy swung a sledgehammer into the plaster, breathing heavily, trying to find the scavengers that lived in the wall. For weeks the scavengers had been stealing food until finally the pantry lay bare. The boy took a moment to catch his breath and said to his girl,  ‘I love you, Blueberry-Buttercup-Pumpkin coated with Honeysuckle.’

She smiled a pretty smile—one where the lips parted ever so slightly and her fingers tap, tapped the kitchen counter. ‘I love your pet names,’ she said. She went and kissed him on the neck.

His stomach growled for the fifth time that day. He was famished.

‘Ohhhh, Strawberry Pie with Grape Jam, I’m starving here,’ he said. He dropped his hammer and looked around the kitchen for a clean plate.

Once he found a suitable plate he ate her in one gulp. He didn’t leave even one crumb for the scavengers in the wall.

‘That was very selfish of me,’ he said as he lay on the kitchen floor. ‘I must have gained a hundred and twenty five pounds.’
‘Unggh!’
There was a sharp kick from deep inside his stomach. He said, ‘I meant ninety-five pounds, my little Sugar-coated Banana Muffin.’
The famine had been difficult for them, but they were a very happy couple.

The scavengers in the wall were hungry, somewhat nauseous, but lay perfectly still and silent.

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