Feature by guest reporter Paula Houseman
Political correctionistas have come down on the beloved, traditional English steamed pudding, Spotted Dick.
The PCers have taken umbrage to the name, which is “not gender-neutral, sounds like an STD, and isn’t good for tourism”.
Crusading for a name change, they took to the streets of London en masse dressed in black suits and brandishing placards.
“Knackwurst… or is it best?” read one.
“Time to hide the salami!” read another.
An oppositional faction of pastry chefs gathered in their customary starched white hats, white double-breasted jackets, and black-and-white houndstooth pants. They lobbed fine-tuned insults at the group.
“It’s not a sausage, you morons,” one pâtissier yelled at them.
“Boring!” yelled another at a placard-bearer suggesting Spotted Dick be amended to “Currant Thing”.
The situation remained black and white. With no one breaking for lunch, police had to intervene as the two camps faced off.
Meanwhile, politicians left the House with their ears pricked up to see if they could pick up any juicy tidbits to hurl at their political opponents.
The PCers had little street cred, or any other cred.
With a groundswell of support from Everyman, the left-wing lot (with some confusing right-wing tendencies) eventually abandoned their campaign.
The chefs toasted their success with milkshakes, which had been banned some months ago from these demonstrations because activists were tossing them instead of drinking them.
Should we dick with the name of our pud?
Are chefs’ hats too stiff?
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