Debate
The incumbent Spoon and challenger Fork finally met for the big debate. It was moderated by Spork, who was known for his wisdom and fairness. The cutlery in the gallery had to agree to watch quietly, and nary a clink was heard. Spork was pleased to announce that the debate was sponsored by the letter “M” (“I’ll have to do something about that,” muttered Fork to himself). There were two pressing issues to be discussed; meatballs and mixing.
“Meatballs,” Spoon said, “are a reflection of unparalleled success in our administration. I have a successful record of maintaining their roundness, and providing a means of transportation proven to be safe and cheap!” “Meatballs,” Fork interrupted, “have become bloated and unwieldy under Spoon’s administration. Only I, Fork, have a sustainable plan.” The chopsticks, who had snuck in the back, cheered at this and were quickly escorted out. To subdue the cutlery, who were clinking and clattering in shock and outrage, Spork loudly boomed, “Let’s move on to mixing!!"
“Mixing,” Fork said, “requires strength and speed and intensity and perseverance as any meringue will tell you and following my principles our kitchen’s obscene deficits will be reduced and all cutlery will never need to be shined again.” “Excuse me,” Spoon interrupted. “Mixing must be done with gentleness and care and planning and patience, as demonstrated by the 5 million gallons of crucial caramel sauce our administration has created over the past four years after inheriting a garlic press and two eggs.”
Spork then thanked the candidates and the letter “M”, and handles were shaken and backs pounded and children’s heads patted and wive’s shoes admired. The cutlery went home in confusion and despair, and the wire wisk, watching at home and no closer to deciding what to do, took the last thing she heard that made any sense and scrambled up a lovely omelet.
“Meatballs,” Spoon said, “are a reflection of unparalleled success in our administration. I have a successful record of maintaining their roundness, and providing a means of transportation proven to be safe and cheap!” “Meatballs,” Fork interrupted, “have become bloated and unwieldy under Spoon’s administration. Only I, Fork, have a sustainable plan.” The chopsticks, who had snuck in the back, cheered at this and were quickly escorted out. To subdue the cutlery, who were clinking and clattering in shock and outrage, Spork loudly boomed, “Let’s move on to mixing!!"
“Mixing,” Fork said, “requires strength and speed and intensity and perseverance as any meringue will tell you and following my principles our kitchen’s obscene deficits will be reduced and all cutlery will never need to be shined again.” “Excuse me,” Spoon interrupted. “Mixing must be done with gentleness and care and planning and patience, as demonstrated by the 5 million gallons of crucial caramel sauce our administration has created over the past four years after inheriting a garlic press and two eggs.”
Spork then thanked the candidates and the letter “M”, and handles were shaken and backs pounded and children’s heads patted and wive’s shoes admired. The cutlery went home in confusion and despair, and the wire wisk, watching at home and no closer to deciding what to do, took the last thing she heard that made any sense and scrambled up a lovely omelet.
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