The other day, while sat at my desk swearing at passing thoughts, I felt a hunger. A rumbly in my tumbly, as a certain trouserless bear is known to say before rifling through friends cupboards to steal their supplies. Wandering to my kitchen, I found myself in possession of not one but two of Mr P.O.T Noodle’s finest potted delights, Beef & Tomato edition. Famished as I was, I tore one open and…
Well, i’ve written a complaint.
Dear Noodlefolk
I am writing to you to express my dismay at recent developments in my life having purchased some of your potted noodles.
Around lunchtime on a wet and windy Monday, I flicked on the kettle and decided I would have a Beef & Tomato Pot Noodle to quell the rumbling in my stomach. Imagine, if you will, my delight when I opened my Pot Noodle to see the message in the attached image.
“There’s no time to waste, lift the lid of success”
Excitedly I immediately tipped out the contents of the pot onto the worktop and scrabbled through the dried noodles, powdered flavourings and the dessicated husks of what may once have been peas to search for the promised success within only to discover nothing but the ruined remains of what would have been a sustaining lunchtime snack. There was no success to be found. In fact, what I actually discovered was a ready supply of failure as I was now without sustenance.
Dejectedly, I retrieved my back-up Pot Noodle from the pantry and once more set about the task of preparing my repast. Upon opening this pot, I discovered a new message.
“Save time cooking to realise your potential”
Ah-ha! It dawned upon me that the success which I sought may not have been a physical item which I had won in a rather esoteric competition but rather an ideal to which I must strive, spurred on by the stirring words of your fine selves, purveyors of noodles to the nation. With this in mind, I immediately discarded all notions of cooking and food preperation, slopped some hot water into the pot and sat down to await inspiration.
Ten days have passed and I am sad to say that either my potential has yet to be realised or that I am doomed to a life of sitting in my pants, rationing forkfuls of cold, congealed noodles to sustain myself given that I have forgone any kind of meal preparation as instructed.
Is this to be my fate? Will my aforementioned potential see me amount to nothing but a life of slightly chilly times in a darkened room, choking down what once was noodle but now can only be described as slightly beefy wallpaper paste? What dark path have you led me down, noodlers? WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME!?
Please, I come to you in my hour of need. I seek your dehydrated guidance. Help me.
Yours lovingly,
Al.
Hungry, cold and smelling faintly of powdered cow, I await their response.
