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Thousands of dun granola grains wait in one compartment of the pot, thick dark yoghurt lurks in the other. With the prepackaged spoon you Haig the granola over the top into the delicious mire, where they sink and drown, awaiting helpless their delivery to your mouth.
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||I have just one or two small criticisms, calum.
One, this is in incredibly bad taste. And two, it probably tastes incredibly bad as well. Three, where's the barbed wire? Four & five, and the artillery bombardment & withering machine gun fire also appear to be absent. Six, to add credibility to the simile, the granola 'trench' should be half full of muddy water (perhaps chocolate spread would serve well in this capacity?). Other than that, +.
As a side note, I'm imagining an advertising campaign based around the famous 'Kitchener' poster. The poster would be exactly the same as the original except that Kitchener's mouth & chin would be smeared with chocolate/yoghurt. Perhaps with some small people being munched up in his teeth or clinging desperately to strands of his moustache in order to avoid their inevitable doom.
||you seem to have a *thing* about these divided pots. is it a scotch thing?
||To further the irony, a pot must be eaten at dawn, every morning for three months, in exactly the same way.
||//thick dark yoghurt// There is just something profoundly unsettling in the arrangement of those three words.