When we were all full of the christmas feast, fit to burst you could say, the pudding arrived to a silent groan. It was one more excess as we consoled our egos that we were some of the ones who could over indulge so. They say it isn't right to mention the hungry of the world at such times... I'm sure Jesus would have kicked off quite biblically on that one. We are supposed to feed the poor not exploit them and then turn the other way in a fit of self congratulating greed. It's only a pudding and a tasty one at that, and in more equal times I could enjoy it and laugh too. But the way things are... it's just another inappropriate diversion from the truth. People are dying of starvation the world over, kids too. It's time to say enough pudding; I have had enough.
My nana made the best christmas pudding. It was made with such love and soaked in so much brandy that it made us all quite merry.
The christmas pudding that would have been magnificent on the table of the hungry was a wart on that over heaving banquet for the "great" and powerful. There they stood watching the blue fire, themselves the consumptive flame of society, awaiting another portion.
The christmas pudding sat on the table as some melancholy lump waiting to become one with the overly cushioned hips of the diners.
The glory of the christmas pudding was not the taste to Sylvester. It was a fat pudding in a season that made a fat pudding of as many people as possible. Then it was set on fire, glorious! They might as well have burned their money as brandy, though the ashes could have been problematic, or perhaps more dramatic...
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