the cake of fatty Delores

Fatty Delores is sad because she doesn't have the materials to build her customary morningtime victoria sponge cake. She looks at her guinea pig with spite and considers whether it would make an appropriate substitute. Fatty Delores decides no, there would be too much effort involved in the skinning. So she puts on her wading boots and flabbily stomps to the nearest shop. Once there she grabs the ingredients and snorts monstrously at the cashier as he charges her. Back home she makes the victoria sponge. Having assembled the large disks of hearty renown, she watches the two halves baking in the oven, peeking at them in greedy impatience from out of her fat smothered beady eyes. Her wide hands shaking with excitement, she tears them from their warm lair, emptying a pot of jam onto the top of one, a pot of clotted cream onto the other. Ah! The sublime synthesis is near completion! All at once she smashes the layers together in a mighty handclap, and, gooily joined, the process is complete. Unable to wait any longer, she inserts the cake into her mouth, finishing it in five elephantine bites. As the conglomeration pushes itself in thick lumps down her trachea, she smiles! Sated at last! The guinea pig is safe for another day!