"I will take you, and you, and you..." I say to my left hand at the fridge door as I grab a selection of left-overs, and head back to the couch to take in more than my fair share of infomasturbatory cosmic crapparoni. That's where I noticed (with a look that could only be called 'regretable'.) some fucker had gone & finger swiped the pudding? And thus begins the mystery of "The Prepropositioned Pudding". And my queer dilema.