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Pudding Wars

 “TYLER NOT THE FACE!” God damnit. Right in the face. Not like it’ll leave a mark, we heal relatively quickly, but it’s still annoying.  I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. Hi everyone, My name is Darren, or Dink. Whichever you prefer, and I’ll be your narrator today.


       Now who’s Tyler?  Tyler’s my boyfriend. He found me wandering the woods in Oregon, covered in blood. He brought me back here to California about 50 years ago. The only problem with him is that he shoved a steel pipe through my face. It’s alright though; I stuck a chainsaw through his stomach.


We don’t die by the way, I think I failed to mention that. We’re immortal, annnd constantly have the urge to kill.


The only food we get energy from? Chocolate Snack Pack Pudding cups! He’s had 22 already today and I’ve only had 10. He was working on his 23rd cup.  I took it.  So he impaled my face. Which impaled my feelings. Which earned him his feelings being shredded. As you can tell we aren’t very good with words.  Or sharing.

Especially pudding.


We constantly fight over pudding every time we run low, which is about every 10 years. It’s become such a problem that we decided to pick a weapons category for each fight. Last time was fire, not fire arms, just fire.

He picked a flamethrower so I picked an RPG. He accused me of cheating but I didn’t. RPGs cause fire so technically I was following the rules.


This time we chose working equipment, mainly because we’ve been through everything. Firearms, medieval weapons, animals; don’t ask about the animals. It’s complicated. Lets just say that our house smelled like dung for months. 


  Currently I’m stuck under Tyler, with a steel pipe through my eye socket, trying to get him off. It’s usually relatively easy, considering how skinny he is. I’m the muscles in the relationship. But he must really want his pudding, ‘cause DAMN SON! He is one feisty man!


  “Ty let me up!”


  “No! You took my pudding!”


“Christ, babe, it’s literally one pudding cup! You’ve had more than me anyway!”


  “I don’t care Dinkey! It’s mine!”


This is when Todd comes in. Don’t even ask me about Todd, the only thing you need to know is that he’s like us and is practically like our mother.  He always walks in at the wrong time. When we’re cuddling, when we’re fighting, and when we’re doing things no one should walk in on. God, it’s awkward.


   “BOYS! WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” He grabs my curly hair and Ty’s beard. 


  “OW! DINK TOOK MY PUDDING!”


  “DID NOT!”


  “DID TOO!”


He picks us up and sends us flying across the room. Ty lands in one corner, I in the other. Todd, in his tall elegance simply sits down and looks at us, like naughty children. It’s whatever though, he does this all the time.


“Now, boys. Tell me what happened.”


“HE TOOK MY PUDDING!”


“NOT! By yelling. Please.”


“BUT DARREN TOOK IT!”


“ Do you need to go to your room?”


“I’m 100 years old you can’t send me to my room!”


    Ty was wrong. Todd in fact COULD send us to our shared room. He could also keep us there for days. Completely and utterly something he would do, keep us locked up so HE can have all the pudding.   Why did we even let him live with us in the first place? He’s such a jerk! 


  One week later, the last pudding cup, and with it the last fight of this decade. Todd suggests musical instruments as our weapons, so Ty picks up his favorite electric guitar.


I myself go for something slightly more useful. Full, double bass, ten cymbal, nine tom drum set.
Todd stands in the middle of the room, his hands up in the air like he’s about to speak to capital ‘G’ God.


  “You know the rules, boys. On my signal, you may start.”


He teases us for ten minutes before actually dropping his arms, so we decide to beat the bejesus out of him before we begin to maim each other. Relationship goals!


We fight for about three hours.  Tyler hitting me with his guitar and strangling me with the strings whilst I throw different part of my drum kit at his gorgeous face, using the cymbals as very large, round, guillotines.  
Let me paint a picture of what our current situation looks like.  The living room, with its marble columns, is messy as I’ll get out.  Toddy boy is beaten unconscious in the corner, cuddling the last pudding cup, like a teddy bear. My drumkit is obliterated, except for one of the crash cymbals, and Tyler’s guitar is nothing but a single E string. He’s also got drumsticks sticking out of his forehead. See what I did there? Sticks. STICKing?

Haha? No, just me? Alright. 


 We fight for maybe 5 more minutes, but  I have the upper hand. Within a matter of seconds I am on top of him with my cymbal guillotine raised above my head.


“ You want the pudding now?!” I ask.


“NO! No no no! You can have it!” He cowers into the floor. 


“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that, baby. Say it again?”

 

“You can have the GODDAMN PUDDING CUP!”


“OOO! Goody!”


I kiss him on the cheek and get up. I throw the cymbal across the room, and grab the pudding from Todd, who jolts awake as I grab the cup.


“HUH?! WHAT?! I’M NOT RELATED TO THE WALRUS!!! Oh. What happened?”


“I won Toddy boy. Go buy us more pudding. Oh and try not to fall asleep next time. ”


“Oh. Okay. WHA- I DIDN’T FALL ASLEEP! YOU- “


Before he can continue I push him out the door. 


“Pudding, darling!”


“F- YOU!” 


Silence. Just me and Tyler. And of course the anticipation of the next Pudding War. ♦




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