See you next year was funny in Junior High

On a hot day stepped little Pudding Boy into my kitchen trailing blobs of pudding across the vinyl floor.

He was selling some small trinkets for some small school project and I said to him, "Come in, little Pudding Boy. Come in out of the heat and let me view your wares, your chocolates, your candles, your two pound bags of popcorn."

In the door walked little Pudding Boy trailing blobs, trailing blobs and I had just mopped. I had just mopped can you understand this?

Down put Pudding Boys his wares and it was then that I stabbed him in the face with the larger and sharper of my fine kitchen knives.

The knife cut through faster and deeper than one would expect. Apparently pudding is not as dense as most would think. The blade cut through Pudding Boy's sweet face and into his neck.

Little Pudding Boy looked shocked and a bit stunned as his small artery sprayed gashes of chocolate blood on my wall.

I had just mopped and now I had young, dead Pudding Boy on my small vinyl floor. There was but one thing to do. Eat little Pudding Boy.

I started with the head and worked my way down. He was delicious. It took me three days and he was full of chocolate except for his heart. His heart was a cartilaginous over-sized tapioca curd. I choked that part down with extra gobs of chocolate.

After three days the deed was done. Little Pudding Boy was dead and digesting.

It was on that day I heard another knock.

When answering the door I saw that it was little Pudding Boy's mother.

"Have you seen my son, little Pudding Boy?" she asked.

"Yes, come in, Mrs. Pudding Boy. Please wipe your feet."