Bruce Butterlad, a man whose waistline was rapidly outpacing his paycheck, held a peculiar position: head chef at the “Little Lambs” kindergarten. Now, Bruce wasn't exactly known for his culinary artistry. His repertoire consisted mostly of glorified mush and suspiciously-coloured gelatin. But what he lacked in skill, he made up for in… appetite.
You see, Bruce had a secret ingredient in his kindergarten concoctions, and it wasn't listed on any recipe card. It was called “Bruce's Portion,” a generous mound of food siphoned from each child's plate before they even caught a whiff of it. “Waste not, want not,” he'd mutter, conveniently forgetting that the “want” belonged to the hungry little lambs.
His cheeks, akin to inflated balloons, betrayed his lunchtime activities. Meanwhile, the Little Lambs, once rosy-cheeked cherubs, began to resemble pale imitations of their former selves. Their once-bright eyes dimmed, their laughter faded, replaced by the distant grumbling of empty stomachs.
Miss Abigail, the kindergarten teacher, noticed the tragic transformation. “Bruce,” she'd inquire, her voice laced with concern, “are you sure these children are getting enough to eat? Tommy's starting to resemble a dandelion seed in a strong breeze.”
Bruce, ever the picture of innocence, would pat his protruding belly and declare, “They're eating like little piggies, Miss Abigail! Must be a growth spurt.” He'd then waddle back to the kitchen, humming a jaunty tune, ready to “grow” his own portion.
Karma, however, is a dish best served with a side of excruciating pain. One fateful afternoon, Bruce Butterlad found himself clutching his stomach, writhing on the linoleum floor of the kindergarten kitchen. His face, usually a rosy hue, had turned a ghastly shade of green.
The diagnosis? Pancreatitis, brought on by an excess of, well, everything. As Bruce lay in the sterile hospital bed, hooked to an IV drip, he had ample time to reflect on his dietary sins. The Little Lambs, meanwhile, were enjoying a veritable feast of donated pizzas, their laughter echoing through the halls of the kindergarten.
The moral of the story? Don't bite the hand that feeds you, especially if that hand belongs to a hungry kindergartner. And remember, a “balanced” diet involves more than just stuffing your own face. Sometimes, a little self-control is the best medicine of all.