Animal Antics

Have you ever thought what it would be like to be a biscuit? Stuck in a tin for years and years - how long are biscuit years? - only to be removed and devoured by some lardarse, with a biscuit addiction. And plus the fragility of being a biscuit, just hundreds of crumbs all pressed together. Any old play ground bully could crumble you with just one punch. Particularly those wafers, they're quite weedy really. Biscuit dating must be a problem, too, due to the packing away, and the constant moving. Imagine you're in the factory, just about to get it on with a nice custard cream, and BAM, you're stuck in the tin, packed away with all those yattering relatives, pointing out how much you've grown, or reprimanding you for having too much icing on. You know the score.

I honestly can't see one good point to being a biscuit. It seems to me that you start off life as a mush of usual cooking stuff - I don't know what, I'm not a chef, alright - get shoved into an oven burning you at hundreds of degrees, trust up into shiny, restricting plastic, and left to mould on supermarket shelves, or in the backs of cupboards until a large, posh relative visits, and forces you down her cholesterol-swimming gullet, to feed her sugar cravings. Great life. That's right.